Chapter 9 Valentina
VALENTINA
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Xavier snarls, his face inches from mine as he slams me against the wall of what looks like some abandoned office, papers scattering off the desk from the impact.
“You’re going to stop tossing me around,” I snap back, shoving at his chest with both hands. But he doesn’t budge. He just leans in closer, his breath hot against my lips, the weight of him pressing into me until I can feel the hard line of muscle beneath his shirt.
His scent engulfs me—smoke, leather, and the faintest trace of apples—and my knees damn near give out. I hate that he can do this to me. Hate that the smell of him, the heat of him, has my body trembling instead of fighting.
“You think I’m going to let you run your pretty little mouth in front of my crew?” he growls, his hazel eyes burning with something feral. His hand fists in my shirt, yanking me tighter against him until there’s no space left to breathe.
“I already did,” I hiss. “You were going to kill that girl—and that girl just happens to be my brother’s girlfriend’s best friend.
Do you know what she would’ve convinced him to do to you if you’d hurt her?
” My pulse hammers, but I refuse to drop my gaze.
My voice shakes, not from fear, but from the ache curling in my stomach, the magnetic pull of him.
“I just saved your ass. You should be thanking me.”
But the truth is, I didn’t step in for him. I stepped in because I saw the desperation in Landon’s face. The fear in Jasmine’s. They were cornered, out of options. I’m trapped here no matter what. Helping them felt like the only thing I could do.
Xavier smirks—that sharp, dangerous curve of lips that makes my thighs clench. “Saved my ass by volunteering to get yourself killed? Three minutes in the pit, Angel.”
“I’m stronger than I look,” I snap back.
His eyes flash, dark amusement dancing there. “I bet you are. But this isn’t some bar fight, or you playing lone assassin. This is the pit. You against twenty fucking people.”
Fuck. My stomach plummets. I didn’t think that far ahead. I thought it’d be me against maybe five, tops. I could’ve handled that. But twenty? Twenty burly bikers tearing into me at once? There’s no way I’ll fucking survive.
“Xavier,” I whisper, my eyes locking with his warm honey ones, and despite the annoyance in his gaze I know he hears the pleading in my voice.
We’re close—too close. His breath fans hot across my lips, the faint bite of whiskey and smoke clinging to it.
The rough line of his jaw brushes mine, and I swear I can feel the heat rolling off his skin, sparking against my own.
It’s magnetic, unbearable, like my body is already leaning into his before I even decide to move.
I hate it. I hate that the same man who terrifies me, who pins me against walls and snarls in my face, has this kind of gravity—this pull that drags me toward him until every thought blurs into heat.
His gaze drops to my mouth for the barest second, and my heart stutters so hard I’m sure he feels it.
“God, you don’t even know what you have done.” His voice is low, rough, dangerous in its softness. Like he’s two seconds away from devouring me—or destroying me. Maybe both.
The air is taut, humming, and then—
“No.”
The door slams open, and Isaiah storms in, his moss-green hair wild, his eyes blazing. “There is no fucking way she’s getting jumped in.” His voice crashes through the room, sharp enough to slice the tension in half.
Xavier doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even look away from me. His hand is still braced on the wall beside my head, his chest still pressed close enough that I can feel every breath.
But Isaiah’s fury shakes the air. “Over my dead body, X. You put her in that pit, and I will fucking kick your ass myself.”
Xavier’s eyes harden as they rake over me, and then he exhales through his nose like I’m nothing more than a nuisance. “How am I to blame? She did it herself.”
He pushes off the wall, his body all sharp edges and shadow as he strides across the room. He snatches a blunt from the desk, sets it between his lips, and flicks the lighter resting there. “I can’t keep being blamed for her bad decision making skills.”
Isaiah steps closer, heat rolling off him until the desk and Xavier might as well be miles away. His hands come up suddenly, rough palms cradling either side of my head. The touch is firm but not cruel, anchoring me in place, forcing my eyes to his.
“Angel,” he says, voice low, almost ragged, his thumbs brushing against my temples as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish. “Why did you do that, huh? Why throw yourself in like that?”
“I—I couldn’t let Jasmine get hurt, okay?” My voice breaks on the words, my pulse hammering beneath his touch.
His dark eyes blaze, searching me like he’ll drag the truth out of my bones. “She was never going to be jumped.”
“What?” The word slips out, weak, disbelieving.
“We were just boxing Landon and Conner in, and it was working—until you opened your mouth.” His grip tightens the smallest bit, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me there’s no running from this.
“Oh, I didn’t—” My voice splinters, shame catching sharp in my throat.
“How would you?” Xavier cuts in, his tone cold enough to freeze marrow.
Smoke curls around his face as he exhales, the blunt burning like a small, steady threat between his fingers.
His hazel eyes narrow, glinting in the dim light.
“You’re not a member of the club. You don’t know the rules, or the mechanics of this organization, and yet you always have something to say. ”
Isaiah shifts, stepping closer, cutting into the storm. “Xavier—”
“No.” Xavier’s voice lashes through the room like a whip.
He takes a step forward, and suddenly the smoke between us feels suffocating.
His golden eyes burn into me, pinning me harder than any wall ever could.
“She should know. She fucked this up. She put herself in danger, and now I have to get her out of it.”
Guilt claws up my chest, sharp and choking. He’s right. I didn’t think—I just saw Jasmine’s fear, Landon’s desperation, and I reacted. I thought I was saving them. I thought I was proving something. But now? Now the weight of what I did presses down, heavy as chains.
Xavier’s voice drops lower, crueler, like he wants me to feel every syllable cut. “The club has been restless since Marcus’s death. They’ve been circling, waiting for an excuse to tear into someone, anyone. And now, thanks to you, they’ve got it. You made yourself the perfect outlet.”
My stomach twists, sinking like stone. They wanted vengeance. They wanted blood. And I’d just offered mine without even realizing it.
Isaiah’s hands stay on my face, thumbs brushing against my temples, grounding me. But even his touch can’t stop the chill that rips through me at Xavier’s words.
I fall into his dark abyss, drowning in the way his gaze softens for me when no one else will. My head shakes, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes until they spill hot down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice breaking. “How do I stop this? How do I fix this?”
Isaiah exhales like I’ve gutted him. Then he pulls me forward, erasing the inches between us.
His mouth finds mine—slow, tender, nothing like the chaos swirling around us.
His lips taste like smoke and salt, catching my tears as they fall, and the way he kisses me feels less like possession and more like a promise.
I clutch his shirt, desperate, trembling.
He kisses me again, softer this time, like he’s memorizing me, like he wants to stitch me back together with every brush of his lips.
For the first time since the pit was mentioned, the fear doesn’t crush me—it cracks open into something fragile, dangerous, hopeful.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath uneven. “You don’t fix this, Angel,” he murmurs, voice raw. “We do. Together. I’ll burn the whole club down before I let them touch you.”
Behind us, Xavier exhales a long plume of smoke, his eyes sharp with something I can’t read—anger, hunger, maybe both.
“You can’t protect her, Zay. Not from this,” Xavier counters, flicking some ash into a tray next to him on the desk.
Isaiah pulls back from me, but only enough to glare at Xavier, his dark eyes narrowing, jaw set tight. His hand finds mine, fingers threading through, locking together like he’s anchoring me to him. The warmth of his skin settles me, slows the tremor in my chest.
“Are you going to fight me on this?” Isaiah demands, voice low and dangerous, the kind of tone that could topple walls.
“No.” Xavier scoffs, folding his arms across his chest, every inch of him carved in control. His gaze drags over me like a brand, heavy, unyielding. “There’s only one way for a member to escape initiation.”
Isaiah stares harder, his grip tightening around my hand until my pulse skitters. His jaw works, tongue tracing the inside of his lip, a tic I’ve learned means he’s close to snapping. He nods once. Twice. Then his voice cuts, sharp as glass: “No. No fucking way.”
“Only way, Zay.” Xavier’s shrug is casual, but his eyes are anything but. They lock over Isaiah’s shoulder, landing on me with a heat that makes my skin prickle. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver—he just looks. Looks until I feel stripped bare, until I’m shifting under the weight of it.
The intensity of his stare flickers downward, slow and deliberate, and when it catches on the curve of my body, I can’t stop the small betrayal of my thighs pressing tighter together.
Xavier sees it. I know he does—because his smirk curves, dangerous and slow, like he’s already decided I’m his answer.
I lean further into Isaiah, my fingers tightening around his, my voice slipping out smaller than I’ve ever let it. “What’s the only way?”