Chapter 8 Asher #3
“No?” My voice rasps low, guttural, as I close in on Landon. The room hushes to catch every word. “You think you have a fucking choice? You think she has a choice?”
I stop so close he can smell the smoke and copper still clinging to me. My gaze locks on his ocean blue ones, fury and desperation swirling in them, and I bare my teeth.
“Someone needs to pay the club back!” I hiss, heat vibrating through every syllable. “So tell me, Lan—how do we fill your shoes if you walk? How do we balance the blood ledger you left wide open?”
His lips curl into a snarl, his voice cracking as rage leaks out like poison.
“You already killed my sister.” The words rip free, heavy as confession, and the room bristles.
For the first time, he admits what he believes.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe Marcus did slit Kelly’s throat in the dark, but thanks to our little Toy, the truth is buried too deep to drag out now.
“You have your blood,” he growls, venom and grief twisting the words.
“Allegedly,” I mock, leaning closer until our noses nearly brush, feeding on the crack in his armor. My voice drips venom, my grin sharp enough to cut. His gaze falters, darting toward Jasmine—just for a breath, just long enough—and when he swallows, the hesitation sings louder than any confession.
And I know I’ve found it.
“What about me?” Conner’s voice cracks like a pistol shot. He steps forward, fire in his eyes. “Jump me.”
Xavier turns, slow and deliberate, the kind of turn that makes the room hold its breath. A smile spreads across his face, wide and mad, and it hits me like a burn of whiskey down my throat, hot and merciless.
“That’s not an option you have, Con,” Isaiah laughs, his voice booming, feeding off the tension.
His gaze cuts to Jasmine, who stands stiff as glass, trembling but holding Xavier’s stare with narrowed eyes.
She’s pale, but she doesn’t look away. Not even when Isaiah sneers, “We can jump Jasmine, and Landon walks. Or…” He spreads his arms wide, theatrical.
“Landon stays, Conner joins, and we can all forget it. Right?”
The crowd roars their approval, their voices unified in bloodlust. The sound rattles the walls, a storm breaking loose inside the garage.
“We don’t want to lose a brother, Lan,” Xavier says, voice soft with mock sympathy, tilting his head like a king offering mercy when everyone knows it’s a death sentence.
“Fuck you,” Landon spits, the words aimed like daggers. His spit lands on Xavier’s cheek, dripping down his jaw.
The room goes dead silent.
Xavier’s expression never cracks. He wipes his face with the slow, deliberate motion of a man in complete control. Then his eyes cut to me.
“Ash,” he says, calm as a judge pronouncing a sentence. “Start the timer.”
The command slithers down my spine.
Jasmine trembles so hard her knees knock together, her breaths coming in shallow bursts.
The Raiders begin to close in, a ring of predators tightening around prey, fists flexing, grins splitting wide.
The sound of boots scuffing concrete grows louder, the scent of sweat and iron thickening as the circle closes.
“Wait!”
Valentina’s scream tears through the chamber, slicing through the jeers and the shuffling of boots. Every head whips toward her, emerald eyes blazing, chest heaving as she shoves herself into the center of the storm.
“I’ll take her place.”
The words hang in the air, shocking the room into silence. Isaiah’s laugh bursts out sharp and ugly. “The fuck you will. This ain’t—”
“I said I’ll jump in for her!” Valentina cuts him off, her voice carrying with the steel of command, not plea. She steps forward, her chin tipped high, fire sparking off her like gunpowder about to ignite.
Xavier regards her from his throne-like stance, sneer carving deep into his face. “No.” The single syllable lashes like a whip. “You don’t get to make demands here, Vixen.”
But Valentina doesn’t flinch. She moves to the center of the ring, shoulders squared, voice steady.
“I’m not asking.” Her words drop heavy as lead.
“I am a professional assassin. Blood runs in my veins the way cowardice runs in his—” She jabs a finger at Landon, her gaze never leaving Xavier’s. “I can take it. I deserve it.”
The crowd stirs, restless, their whispers building into something heavier.
“You do not get to come here and give orders,” Xavier stands on the table looking down at his subject with disgust.
“You said a body for a body, you didn’t say who it had to be.” She opens her arms wide and looks at the audience. “Don’t tell me you aren’t a man of your word.”
Her words hit the crowd like gasoline to flame. Someone pounds a fist against the table. Another howls. Then the chant begins, low at first, then swelling:
“In-i-tiate! In-i-tiate! In-i-tiate!”
The garage shakes with it, Raiders pounding their fists, stomping boots, their bloodlust bending toward something new—initiation.
A rite as brutal as execution, but holy in their twisted creed.
Valentina is mad, as crazed as the rest of us.
I look at her, eyes clear and focused. Her lips twisted as she gnaws on her bottom lip, the only sign of nerves.
Isaiah’s grin widens, teeth bared, his manic eyes drinking her in like she’s just handed him a feast. “Oh, fuck yes.”
Xavier doesn’t smile. His sneer lingers as he studies her, cold and calculating, the master weighing whether to give the mob its spectacle or crush it beneath his heel. He raises one hand up, silencing the crowd.
“Next Saturday. We will initiate our new bottom bitch Valentina Torres.”