Chapter 38 The Contest
Valentina’s POV
Daytona, Florida pulses with the roar of engines and the chaos of a thousand bikers converging for the rally. Every MC from up and down the coast floods the streets, the air thick with exhaust, sweat, and anticipation.
I park and step out, pulling my property vest close and straightening it with a practiced hand. In a sea of colors and cuts, I refuse to walk these streets without my claim stitched clear for all to see. The crowds are alive-a river of bodies, laughter, the click and jangle of chains. Vendors line the sidewalks, tables stacked with everything from leather goods to custom pipes and glittering jewelry.
I linger at a stall, my eye caught by a hand-knit chunky blanket, its texture soft and comforting. I buy it without a second thought, along with a jade bracelet and necklace for Giuliana. For Slate, a brand-new tattoo gun gleams under glass-needles, ink, and everything a man like him could need to make his mark. Then, in the sun’s glare, I spot a ring. Silver, heavy, a skull with ruby eyes that glint like blood. I turn it in my hand and know it’s for Killian.
Passing a shop filled with bright bikinis and fringe, I catch my own reflection-caught between biker and beach queen. I grab a white leather halter with fringe and slip into it right there, peeling my shirt off as wolf whistles rise around me. I laugh, loving the sudden attention, slide my vest back on, and admire my new look in a dusty mirror. With my short black jean shorts and boots, I feel dangerous and
electric.
Bags loaded, I hunt down our c
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their jaws drop.
“What the…? How?!” Raptor splutters before yanking me into a bear hug.
Riff grins, “Looking good, Luna Fiera.”
I laugh, wriggling free. “Where’s Killian? And Giuliana?”
Riff’s eyes flick to Raptor, uncertain. “Gia is at The Wrangler bar with Slate, grabbing food.”
“And Killian?” My tone sharpens.
Raptor shifts, eyes skittish. “Uh. He’s at a club-Rare Wonders.”
A weight settles in my gut. I hand my bags off and make my way down the street, heart thudding.
The club is impossible to miss. Lights pulse, bass rattles the windows. Fog spills out from somewhere unseen, mingling with the smoke and sweat. Inside, a bikini-clad bartender greets me, her eyes blank behind thick lashes.
“Thirty bucks unless you’re in the contest. You get in free for amateur night. Ten minutes ’til it starts.”
I blink. “What kind of contest?”
She snorts. “Strip club, honey. You dance, you win money.”
Of course. My lips tighten. My man wants to watch some other bitch get naked? He doesn’t want my touch, but he’s here?
Fine.
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<Chapter 38 The Contest
“I’ll enter,” I say flatly.
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She points me toward the dressing room, pink door, gold star. As I push through the crowd, I scan for Killian. It doesn’t take long. The main stage is packed, Blaise looming near the front, arms folded, eyes locked on a dancer giving him her all.
But Killian’s not with him. My stomach drops. I scan left-and there he is.
He lounges on a padded couch, head tipped back, eyes closed. A blonde, all fake tits and spray tan, straddles his lap, grinding like her life depends on it. Her hands roam his shoulders, her ass bare for all to see. He’s not touching her, but she moves as if she owns him. Jealousy and heartbreak crack through me like lightning.
He wouldn’t touch me after what happened, but this? Fury and pain collide. I rip my vest off and fling it at Medic, who stares in shock as it lands in his hands. Without pausing, I storm past the pink door and
lock it behind me.
Inside, three girls size me up as a wiry man with a clipboard counts us off.
“I’m Vandal. Is this it for amateur night?”
He nods. “You want in? Hurry up. The song’s ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me.’ Outfits?”
A girl with red-and-black braids steps forward. “I got something for you. Baby doll set, pale pink, never worn. Shoes too-clear heels.”
I shoot her a grateful smile, strip down in seconds, and tug on the borrowed lingerie.
Time to take back control-of myself, of this night, of the man I refuse to let slip away. As the bass thrums through the floor, I prepare to make damn sure Killian remembers exactly who I am.
“Oh, hell, girls. We’re about to get schooled by this sinfully gorgeous woman,” the braided girl announces, voice dripping with a mix of awe and playful resignation.
I catch her gaze and blush, their attention a heady compliment. Each of the three women radiates beauty, but in their own striking ways. The redhead’s hair spills down her back like silk, her skin flawless and glowing. Her small, pert breasts peek from a jade bikini, clinging to her curves and accentuating a perfectly round bubble butt.
Beside her, a blonde stuns with eyes the color of the summer sky, her body bronzed and sculpted by the sun. She wears a skin-tight pink leotard and white heels, every inch a vision of daring confidence. The girl with the braids, light-skinned and brimming with bold energy, flaunts a leopard print bikini. Her generous, bouncing breasts and statuesque frame make her impossible to ignore, the black open-toe heels only adding to her allure. I slip into my borrowed heels just as the first beats of music pulse t hrough the room.
“Damn, girl. If my man’s cool with it, you wanna play tonight? I’ll have you screaming with my tongue,” she teases, flashing a wicked grin. “Name’s Lira.”
“Valentina,” I reply, then add with a smirk, “but tonight, call me Vandal. Because once I hit that stage, all bets are off. I’ll let you know. Your man here?”
She nods, chin tilting toward the shadows. “Yeah. Big black guy at the end of the stage-bald, biker cut. He’s VP with The Fallen Saints.”
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<Chapter 38 The Contest
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I arch a brow. “Mind if I touch?”
She laughs, eyes glinting. “Go ahead. It’ll get him to give me the green light for you.”
“Well then, let’s give them a show.”
A petite black man strides up, voice commanding but warm. “Alright, ladies. Get on up there and show them what you’ve got. Tips on the stage, you split. Hand-to-hand, it’s all yours. Now move!”
I inhale deeply, chest tight with anticipation and something sharper-anger, maybe, or pain. Tonight, I’m ready to burn it all down. I follow the girls, each of us claiming a corner of the long, rectangular stage. My gaze finds the massive biker at the edge-Rocco, his patch reads. I wonder about the story behind the name.
Lira blows him a kiss, winking. I smile, then glance toward the crowd. Killian stands among his brothers-Medic, Blaise, and two others I can’t quite place. My vest dangles from Killian’s grip, his eyes wide as he recognizes me.
“You want all these other bitches on your dick, but not me? Fuck you!” I shout, voice slicing through the music. With a flourish, I yank off the baby doll dress, stride to Rocco, and pull his face into my breasts. The crowd erupts, roaring approval as Rocco pumps his fists overhead, triumphant. I let him motorboat me, his laughter rumbling against my skin.
A crash splits the Furies. Over Killian’s shoulder, I watch him fight to break free, bodies and tables tumbling as his brothers restrain him. I shove Rocco back, shoot him a wink, and pivot, hips swaying as I bend low, offering the men a shameless view of my ass. Whistles and cheers wash over me.
Lira joins me, heat radiating between us as we dance-her hands on my hips, mine pressing into hers. We grind together, breasts grazing, every movement choreographed rebellion. I twist her, positioning us so I can lock eyes with Killian, then lean in and crush my lips to hers. The room goes feral-shouts, applause, the pounding bass of desire.
“Yeah, baby, give her that tongue!” someone hollers from the crowd.
Lira breaks the kiss, grinning wolfishly before dropping to her knees. She buries her face into my pussy, her tongue tracing fire over the thin barrier of my panties. The pressure is electric-my head falls back with a moan, raw and unfiltered. Killian freezes, chest heaving as he watches, helpless.
A tear slips down my cheek-loss and defiance mingling in the strobe lights. I gently lift Lira, brush her lips with mine in a soft farewell, then turn to the audience. Both middle fingers rise, a final, glorious fuck you, before I strut offstage and vanish into the dressing room as the song bleeds out.
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