Chapter 9 Valentina #2
Xavier slinks forward, each step measured, deliberate—like a lion circling prey that already knows it’s cornered. His gaze never wavers, drinking me in with a hunger that has nothing to do with mercy.
Normally, I’d be spitting fire by now. I’d bare my teeth, claw back, fight until my knuckles split. I don’t submit. I don’t fold. That’s who I’ve always been—Ricardo’s weapon, Cast’s secret, my own hard-headed storm that refuses to break.
But Xavier… he’s different. Something in him burns straight through my defenses.
That molten gaze strips away my anger until there’s nothing left but heat coiling in my stomach.
Around him, the fight in me falters, not because he takes it from me—but because I want to give it up.
My defiance softens into something dangerous, something I don’t recognize.
More submissive. Less angry. And that terrifies me more than any pit fight ever could.
Xavier stops just shy of us, smoke curling lazily from the blunt between his fingers, his honey eyes locked on me like I’m already his. “You want to know?” he murmurs, voice low, velvet-wrapped steel. “The only way out is to be claimed.”
Isaiah stiffens beside me, his grip tightening like he’s ready to tear Xavier apart. But I can’t look away. My chest is tight, my breath caught in my throat, because Xavier isn’t just speaking to me—he’s undoing me.
“You’ll be my old lady, Vixen,” he whispers, a wicked smile curving his lips.
The words hit me like a slap. I jerk back, shaking my head, bile rising in my throat. “Old lady? What the hell does that even mean?”
Xavier tilts his head, amused, smoke curling from his mouth as if he’s savoring this moment.
“In this club? It means you belong to me. Everyone knows it. Everyone respects it. You’d wear my patch, sleep in my bed, answer to no one but me.
You wouldn’t need to fight, wouldn’t need to bleed—because you’d already be marked. ”
My stomach twists. I snap before I can stop myself, “Why can’t I be Isaiah’s old lady then?”
Isaiah’s jaw ticks. His hand squeezes mine, but his voice comes low, steady, even though his eyes burn when they cut toward Xavier. “Because it doesn’t work that way, Angel. You’d still have to be jumped in. The only one who can bypass it is the club leader’s old lady. The First Lady.”
I shake my head, confusion tangling with anger. “Why? That makes no sense.”
Isaiah swallows hard, his thumb stroking over my knuckles like he can soften the jagged edge of his words.
“Because if you betray him, you die. No questions. No trial. That rule keeps the First Lady in check. It keeps her loyal. You’d be his, body and soul, and the club would treat you like untouchable property. But it’s still a cage, Angel.”
Xavier smirks, lifting the blunt to his lips. His hazel eyes burn into me while he drags deep, slow. He exhales deliberately, smoke curling between us like a veil. “Not a cage, Zay.” His voice is rough silk, dangerous. “A crown.”
And the worst part? The way my body betrays me. The traitorous shiver racing down my spine at the thought of wearing it. Of being seen, known, claimed. Crowned.
“You bastard,” Isaiah snaps, his voice cracking through the smoke. His grip on my hand tightens, anchoring me as his fury rises. “Is that why you wanted her at the club meeting tonight? So you could parade her in front of them and stake your claim?”
Xavier’s gaze slices to him, sharp as a blade. “I didn’t know she was going to do all of this. Don’t twist it.” His tone is low, measured, but there’s fire banked beneath it.
“Bullshit!” Isaiah’s voice rips through the room, fury vibrating in every syllable. “You’ve been circling her since the moment she set foot in here—don’t act like you didn’t plan this.”
The air bristles, heavy with smoke, heat, and the crackling electricity of two storms colliding. My pulse hammers in my ears, caught between them, caught in them.
The door swings open, breaking the standoff. Asher steps inside, his gray eyes cool, cutting across the room like a blade of ice. “You three do realize anyone outside that door can hear you, right?” His voice is calm, quiet—but the warning underneath it lands like a hammer.
“Good,” Isaiah snaps. “Then you heard the stupidity he just spewed.”
“It wasn’t stupid,” Asher says, his cold grey eyes looking me over with an analytical glance. “It makes sense.”
“You can’t be for real!” Isaiah snarls, letting go of my hand so he can run his hands through his own hair. “Asher you know--”
“Do you care about your obsession more than her?” Asher snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. The look in his eyes chills me to the bone, so cold, so unflinching, that I drop my gaze and fumble with my hands in my lap just to have something to do.
“I—I…” Isaiah falters, looking at me, his lips parting before he squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck.” The word falls from him like a prayer, like a curse, and when he opens his eyes again the desperation there makes my heart seize.
Because I see it. His devotion. His ruinous kind of love. He would burn with me, die with me, if that’s what it came to. And I can’t lose that. I don’t want to.
So I speak. “Okay.”
Isaiah jerks his head toward me, panic flashing across his face. “Wait—Angel, no—”
“I’ll do it,” I push, my voice trembling but sure. “I’ll go through with it. I’ll be Xavier’s old lady.” My throat burns as I force the next words out. “But only if it means I can still see you, Isaiah. And if I can call my friends, tell them I’m alive. That I’m okay.”
“No.” Xavier’s voice cuts sharp and final. His honey eyes harden, his smirk gone. “No past leader of the Raiders has ever shared a girl. Not one.”
“Then be the first,” I snap, my pulse pounding, anger bleeding into my desperation. “You want to lead? Then lead differently.”
“Absolutely not.” His tone is a slammed door, cold and immovable.
“Selfish bastard,” Isaiah growls, and then he lunges, fury boiling over, ready to tear Xavier apart.
“Stop!” I shove between them, hands splayed on both of their chests, forcing my body into the heat of their collision.
The air vibrates with their rage, with the smoke and testosterone and unspoken want, but I hold firm, my voice cracking.
“You’re not going to kill each other over me. Not here. Not like this.”
Their bodies stay taut, ready to strike, but my touch—my plea—hangs between them like a fragile thread, keeping the violence at bay.
My hands stay braced on their chests, my body the only thing keeping them from colliding. My pulse pounds so loud it’s all I can hear, but I force my voice steady, sharp.
“You’re the boss, Xavier,” I say, turning my eyes on him. His golden stare narrows, but I don’t flinch. “You make the rules. So break them. Share.”
For a moment, the room is nothing but silence—smoke curling lazy between us, Isaiah trembling with barely leashed rage, Asher watching like a hawk from the shadows.
Xavier studies me, slow, deliberate. His honey eyes rake over my face like he’s trying to see if I’ll crack, if this is just another bluff. Then, finally, he leans back a fraction, dragging on the blunt one last time before crushing it out in the tray.
“Fine.” The word is low, grudging, but it lands like a thunderclap.
His gaze hardens, and when he speaks again, it’s not a concession—it’s a command.
“But only if you talk to Cast. You want to play First Lady? Then prove it. Convince your cartel brother to sit down and discuss an alliance with the Raiders.”
My chest tightens, fear and relief tangling until I can barely breathe. Cast. The brother I was raised apart from. The man Ricardo kept me from. My blood and my mystery.
I lift my chin, meeting Xavier’s fire with my own. “Deal.”
The word is barely off my lips before Isaiah explodes. “You smug, selfish—” He surges forward, fury bleeding out of him in every line of his body, curses tearing from his throat as he lunges toward Xavier like he’s ready to rip him apart.
“Isaiah!” Asher barks, but Isaiah’s already moving.
Asher jumps into action intercepting him mid-stride, one arm locking around his chest, the other braced against his shoulder, dragging him back with sheer force. The impact rattles the room, Isaiah thrashing like a caged animal, teeth bared, spit flying as he fights to get loose.
“Let me go!” Isaiah snarls, shoving, twisting, the veins in his neck standing out as he strains against Asher’s grip. His boots scrape the floor, his fists clenched like he’ll shatter bone if he can just get one swing in.
“Valentina.” Asher’s voice cuts sharp, his gray eyes flicking to me even as Isaiah bucks against him. His hold is strong, but Isaiah’s wild strength is breaking through. “Get him out. Now.”
My heart lodges in my throat, but I don’t hesitate. I dart forward, grabbing Isaiah by the arm, then the front of his shirt, yanking with everything I have. “Zay!” I hiss, tugging, stumbling backward as his weight resists me. “Come on. Don’t do this here.”
He twists toward Xavier again, chest heaving, but Asher shoves him hard into my grasp, forcing him into my orbit. For a split second Isaiah’s dark eyes find mine—storming, furious, desperate—and something in them cracks.
I use that moment, that sliver of weakness, to drag him toward the door. He curses under his breath, every step a fight, but his body follows mine.
The hallway swallows us, the door slamming shut behind, cutting off Xavier’s furious gaze. My pulse thunders in my ears. Isaiah jerks against me once more, his arm tight under my grip, his breath ragged and hot.
For one fragile heartbeat, I don’t know if he’s going to bolt back inside—or collapse into me instead.