Chapter 20 Truths in Transit
Valentina’s POV
I hurry back to my room, snapping on a bra beneath my tank and snatching up my wallet before jogging back out. Giuliana is already waiting, car keys spinning on her finger, her grin sharp and eager. There’s anticipation in the air-a thrill that’s half mischief, half adrenaline. For a second, I feel like we’re teenagers again, plotting trouble, before all the blood and betrayals and things that made us grow up
too soon.
“You drive,” I say, tossing her the keys. “Let’s go hunt down the skankiest outfits in town. I’ve got a look in mind that’ll make every Ravager drool-and might even give Killian a heart attack.”
her
She laughs, a low, conspiratorial sound, and we pile into her Firebird, the battered seats familiar, the air heavy with the scent of leather and a trace of gasoline. The engine shudders to life as she guns it toward the club’s gate.
Swagger’s already there, posture stiff and awkward as he approaches her window. Giuliana rolls it down, offering him a deadpan stare.
“You girls going somewhere?” he tries, like he’s got some kind of say in what we do.
“Duh,” Giuliana shoots back, and I can’t stifle my
“We’re going to the mall,” I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder, “Girl’s day, Swagger. Unless you’re volunteering to come bra shopping with us?”
He blanches, clearing his throat. “Just… text Slate or Killian, alright? We can’t catch heat for letting you two walk out.”
I raise an eyebrow, more amused than annoyed. “We’re not prisoners, you know.”
He nods, sheepish, eyes darting away. “Yeah, I know. Just protocol. I’m riding along for protection.”
Giuliana rolls her eyes, but I lean closer and whisper, “He’s just a prospect. Only patched-in members know what we’re really capable of.”
She gives a subtle nod. “Right. Forgot.”
“Fine, Swagger, suit yourself,” I say, not unkindly. “I’ll text Killian.”
Swagger retreats to his bike and Giuliana shoots me a look-equal parts exasperation and sympathy. I shoot Killian a quick text: Out with Giuliana, don’t worry. Back soon. No reply, but I’m not surprised.
We pull out onto the road, sun bright on the cracked dash, Swagger trailing behind on his bike like an anxious shadow. For a while, we ride in silence, the city sliding past the windows in a blur of late summer heat and neon signs. I catch myself gazing at nothing, thoughts swirling, heart doing a funny little skip.
Where is Killian? I wonder if he’s even checked his phone. It’s strange, how deeply I feel his absence, how fast the weeks have gone. Has it really only been six weeks since everything changed? Every moment with him feels inevitable, like a memory I’m only just remembering.
Giuliana glances over, reading the tension in my shoulders. “What’s got you sighing so hard?”
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I grin, not bothering to hide it. “It’s Killian. I feel like I’ve known him forever, but it’s only been a month and a half.”
She gives a knowing laugh. “Welcome to the club. Happens fast with the right man. But have you really gotten to know him, or just his dick?”
I snort. “Hey, I told him about our past in the hospital. He knows about the knives, the family, the whole mess. And yeah, we fuck-a lot.”
She grins, then presses. “Yeah, but do you know his dreams, or what he wants out of all this? You ever ask him where he sees himself, or you two, in a year?”
I shrug. “What about you and Slate? You two share your feelings?”
Giuliana’s eyes soften. “Actually, yeah. I know his favorite color, that he’ll kill for my cookies, and that he’s a pool shark. Did I ever tell you he’s a trust fund baby?”
My jaw drops. “You’re full of shit.”
She laughs, the sound rich. “No, really. Old Southern money. His granddad was a Georgia senator. They wanted him to be president one day. But then he met Blaise at a bar, hustled him at pool, and Blaise was so impressed he told Slate to prospect. He dropped out, pissed off the family, but his grandma left him everything. He’s loaded, but he’s never used it to get respect here.”
I shake my head in disbelief, staring at her. “You really talked to him. Did you tell him about us?”
Her gaze flickers. “Not at first. I was angry, jealous, and then we were just fucking all the time. But after you told him a bit when you got your tattoo, he came to me. He was hurt I kept things from him. When I finally explained… he got all soft on me, like some giant teddy bear.”
“That’s because he loves you,” I say, nudging Giuliana’s side. “You ever notice how he blushes when you’re around? It’s ridiculously cute.”
She grins, light dancing in her eyes. “I know, right? Makes me all giddy, like I’m sixteen again.”
Minutes later, we pull into the mall parking lot, laughter spilling from the Firebird. We barely glance at Swagger as we hop out; he trails behind, invisible baggage as far as we’re concerned. Inside, it’s a blur of stores, racks of clothes, sequined tops and micro-mini skirts, thigh-high boots and barely-there heels-everything we need for this plan. Bags multiply in our hands: new shoes, stacks of accessories, barely legal dresses. We are ready to set the world on fire.
“These guys are going to lose their shit when they see us in these outfits,” Giuliana laughs, holding up a dress so short it might be illegal.
I glance at her, a wicked thought in my smile. “When’s their next bike run? Isn’t it soon?”
She nods, eyes bright with conspiracy. “Three weeks. Slate said they’ll be gone for a week straight.”
A plan clicks into place. “Perfect. We hit the Ravagers while they’re gone-no risk of Killian or Slate stepping in and playing hero.”
Giuliana smirks. “Only catch is, we still have to get close to those women.”
I scan the crowd-and there, by the food court, a cluster of women lingers, two in Property Cuts. “Isn’t that them?” I murmur, jerking my chin their way.
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She follows my gaze, surprise flickering. “Well, look at that. Feels like the universe is on our side for once.”
“Divine intervention,” I agree, grinning. “But Swagger can’t see us talking to them. We need to lose
him.”
Turning, I call out, “Swagger, can you run these bags to Giuliana’s car and hang out there? We’re just heading to Victoria’s Secret, and we don’t need you awkwardly hovering.”
He goes beet red, but manages a nod. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”
As soon as he’s out of sight, I lower my voice. “Let me handle this, I know exactly how I want to play it.”
Giuliana nods, melting into my shadow as I slip behind the cluster of women, who are all window shopping and gossiping. They don’t notice us at first-until I raise my voice, calculated just for their
ears.
M
“I swear, Sally, Daddy acts like I don’t exist,” I say, feigning a pout. “He just hands me his credit card and disappears. You’re the only friend I’ve got to spoil.”
We stop by a display window, pretending fascination with a red sequined mini-dress on a mannequin. The ploy works-the group glances over, and I catch the eye of a tall, bottle-blonde woman with a pock-marked face beneath expertly caked makeup. Her Property Cut gleams under the lights.
“That dress would look killer on you,” I tell her, voice warm and friendly.
She tilts her head, uncertain but intrigued. “You think so? I’m usually more of a blue girl.”
“It’d look even better on you than on the mannequin,” I insist, flashing my brightest smile. “Try it! I’m Fiona, by the way.”
The blonde relaxes a little, turning to introduce herself. “I’m Linsey, this is Bonnie,” she says, motioning
to another woman in a vest. “The rest are hanger-ons.”
“Hanger-ons?” I ask, all innocent curiosity.
Linsey grins. “Yeah, we’re with the Ravagers MC. Bonnie and I are Old Ladies. The hanger-ons are girls who want in but don’t want to be straight-up club sluts. They’re waiting for one of the brothers to claim.
them.”
“Old Ladies?” Giuliana echoes, slipping easily into her role. “I’m Sally.” She waves at the group.
Bonnie chimes in, “Old Lady is like a biker wife. It’s a big deal.”
I widen my eyes, feigning naivete. “Any single guys? I could use a good dicking,” I say, deadpan.
They burst out laughing, all guards dropped. “Honey, you two are gorgeous-you’ll have the boys crawling after you.”
We drift into the store together, the girls eager to include us. As the crowd mills through racks of lingerie and dresses, I catch Giuliana’s eye and text her under cover of a push-up bra:
Guess we don’t need to be strippers. We’re going in as hanger-ons.
Her reply comes a heartbeat later:
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Perfect.
We are in.
