I shrug again, letting a grin curl at the corner of my mouth. “You said it. Not me. But yeah. She’s predictable. Desperate. Easy to maneuver once you know how. And with Xavier out…” I let my voice drop into something darker, something conspiratorial. “Someone has to step up. Someone the club actually respects.”
Johnson studies me for a long moment, his beer halfway to his lips, eyes narrowing. I hold his gaze, keep my expression open, confident, unbothered. He’s deciding whether I’m the right kind of bastard for him to approach. Whether I’m hungry enough to be useful. Whether I’m already halfway to betrayal.
Good. Let him think all of that.
Finally, he leans in slightly, his shoulder brushing mine. “If a man wanted… more,” he says, his voice dipping into a hushed tone, “if he wanted the top spot—president, say—is that something Valentina would just give away?”
I laugh under my breath. “She’d walk into it blind if she thought it was ‘for the club.’ You paint it as stability, keeping the peace, honoring Xavier’s legacy, whatever. She’s easy to shape.”
He tilts his head. “And you’d be the right person to help her see that?”
“I’d be the only person,” I say without hesitation.
His smile is small, dangerous, amused. “Interesting.”
I can feel the hook sinking into him, the curiosity sharpening behind his eyes. He likes the idea of me corrupted. He likes the idea of someone else taking the fall before him. He likes thefantasy of switching allegiance to someone who might actually share the power with him instead of placing him on the kill list.
Good.
Let him bite.
In my head, the plan unfolds like a blueprint Xavier once sketched out for me on a napkin: keep your enemies close, your traitors closer, and your shadow indistinguishable from theirs. The moles think they’re playing chess, but they’re still pawns. All I have to do is convince them I’m a knight willing to turn sideways.
Under all of that strategy, though, another thought stays lodged in my ribs—sharp and wrong.
If Xavier were awake, he’d kill me for this.
If Xavier were awake, he’d see right through it.
If Xavier were awake, he’d break Johnson’s jaw for even breathing this close to treason.
But the king is sleeping. And someone has to keep the wolves from gnawing at the door.
Johnson takes another drink and nudges me with his elbow. “You know,” he says lightly, “you stepping up wouldn’t be the worst thing for the club. You’ve got charisma. The men like you. And if Valentina’s already hanging on your arm?—”
“She’s not hanging on my arm,” I interrupt, though I have to force steadiness into the words.
Johnson gives me a slow, knowing grin. “Whatever you say.”
I’m about to respond—about to plant another seed, about to push him further down the path he’s already walking—when I hear her laugh.
It cuts across the room like a line drawn through smoke. Soft. Bright. Effortless.
Valentina.
She’s walking toward us, weaving through a cluster of men who instinctively move aside for her, like she’s heat and they’re smart enough not to burn. Her outfit—the leather skirt, the slouched Raiders shirt, the boots—looks even more sinful under the warm lights of the hallway. Her hair brushes her bare shoulder in a soft wave that makes my pulse trip. She carries herself like she’s just discovered what she’s capable of and isn’t afraid to see who else realizes it.
When her eyes land on me, something in her expression shifts—teasing, charged, intimate in a way that makes my body tighten without permission.
She stops in front of us, her gaze flicking briefly toward Johnson before sliding back to me with a slow smile that goes straight to my spine.
“There you are,” she says, voice light, warm, threaded with flirtation she’s not even pretending to hide. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Johnson raises both eyebrows, poorly hiding his satisfaction. “Looks like the queen needs her favorite.”
Valentina ignores him completely. She steps closer to me—close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body through the leather and cotton—close enough that her perfume, soft andwarm and edged with something sweeter, slides along my senses like smoke.
“You disappeared,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. “I thought I told you not to wander.”