Chapter 3 Secrets at the Bar
Valentina’s POV
I stride toward Giuliana, a wide grin spreading across my face as I pull her into a tight hug, arms wrapped around her like I never want to let go.
“God, I miss you, Sniper. Two weeks without seeing you feels like forever,” I say, breathless as she squeezes the life out of me.
She hugs me harder. “Miss you too, Vandal. We both bailed on breakfast with Dad last week. He’s still sulking.”
The old nicknames make us laugh. It’s just us, slipping back into the rhythm of sisterhood. We pull apart and bump wrists, flashing our matching tattoos-Beautiful Disaster scripted across the top, her wrist inked with Sniper and mine marked Vandal on the underside.
She gives me a long look, eyes traveling over my dress, the drama, the armor. She just shakes her head in amusement, and I shrug before sliding onto a barstool. Giuliana turns back to slicing limes with a blade that glints in the neon light, hands steady, movements practiced.
“So, are you going to tell me what that loser did this time?” she asks, knife flashing.
I raise an eyebrow. “Who are you calling a loser?”
“You know I never liked him. How many times have we argued about his control issues? He wanted you to take classes like Creative Writing or Photography just because he thinks ‘pretty girls’ shouldn’t do anything serious. He treats you like you’re all looks and no brains. And don’t get me started on his boring bedroom routine-always missionary, never lets you take charge.”
I can’t help but smirk. “You want to hear the kicker? Tonight, he tells me he wants an open relationship. Or, if not that, a threesome-with another woman.”
Giuliana slams a shot of tequila in front of me. I knock it back, feeling the burn. “There’s a world of difference between wanting to spice things up and suggesting you open your relationship. That’s not adventurous-that’s just him trying to fuck around with your permission.”
I nod, letting the second shot she pours slide down my throat. “Honestly, I’d consider a threesome if it was with another man, but the second I suggest that, he shuts it down. Suddenly he’s full of shit about how sleeping with others will be ‘good for us,’ help us ‘grow as a couple.”
Giuliana rolls her eyes, refilling my glass. “He just wants to cheat with a hall pass. You’re right to walk away.”
I accept a wedge of lime, skipping the salt-never cared for it, anyway. “That’s what I said. So, here I am. Now, tell me, which of these leather-clad heathens is going to give me the ride of my life tonight?” Giuliana laughs, glancing over her shoulder at the men scattered through the room. “Honestly, take your pick. But steer clear of the Viking at the pool table. I’ve had my eye on him for two years, but he’s clueless. Never once caught a signal.”
I follow her gaze, catching the giant blond at the far table-Slate, built like a Norse god, eyes flicking over to the bar. “He’s cute. Try winking. He keeps looking over, and he’s definitely not staring at me.”
The moment she does, Slate’s cheeks flush red. I burst out laughing. “No fucking way-a blushing
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biker. That’s priceless.”
Giuliana laughs so hard she nearly drops the lime.
“So, why’ve you been working here, Giuliana? Especially for two years. Does Dad know?”
She grins, shaking her head. “You see any bodies lying around? No? Then Dad doesn’t know. I took the job because I wanted a little thrill. These guys are wild-fights, racing, public sex, the works. Sometimes it’s fun to just watch.”
I lean in, lowering my voice. “They didn’t run a background check?”
She raises an eyebrow. “What do you think they’d find, Vandal?”
I know the answer. If they dig into our past, they’ll find nothing but a string of half-truths. Daughter of a pig farmer, thirty, college dropout, with a little sister at Dravara. Our records are clean, scrubbed by the Feds. What they’ll never see: daughters of a Mafia assassin, dumped in witness protection after our mother’s murder. Raised by a killer, trained to be just as dangerous. Living a lie, day after day, for survival.
I smirk. “Good. For their sake. Dad would have a meltdown if he saw these guys sniffing around. When Sterling first started showing interest, I had to hide him until I turned eighteen.”
She snorts, remembering how she ran interference for me.
“So, be honest,” I say, voice teasing. “Have you ever hooked up with one of these maniacs?”
Giuliana shakes her head, eyes on the Viking. “Not yet. But I want to. Especially Slate.”
I grin. “What kind of name is Slate?”
She slides me a beer, grateful relief after the tequila. “It’s his road name. He earned it-bulldozes through anything in a fight. Just barrels in, takes out everyone in his way.”
I watch the room, letting the beer settle the fire in my chest. “I wonder if he could handle one of us.”
Giuliana gives me a look, part warning, part challenge. “Don’t get any ideas.”
I raise my hands in mock innocence. “Relax, I’m not starting a fight. I might be crazy, but I’m not suicidal. I could take three of these guys, but there’s at least thirty here tonight.”
She shakes her head, exasperated and amused all at once. “Sometimes, Vale, I really can’t tell when you’re joking.”
I tip my bottle toward her, a glint of mischief in my eyes. “I’m not joking about this-I came here for some fun. Tonight, I want to get dicklerious.”
Giuliana lets out a sharp snort, laughter sparkling in her eyes. “Vale, your vocabulary kills me. Honestly, if you want to get laid in this place, all you have to do is announce it. Every guy in here would line up for the chance.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You think they’re clean?”
She nods, utterly serious. “I know they are. It’s club policy-mandatory testing every six weeks. Anyone with an STI gets quarantined. If it’s something serious, they’re banned from the clubhouse for good. Still part of the club, but no business, no social life. The rules here are iron.”
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I study the room, lips quirking. “And what about these women? Am I about to make enemies if I pick the wrong guy?”
Giuliana’s tone drops to a whisper, but her smirk remains. “One: these women are the club sluts, Vale. The guys don’t take them seriously-they’re just here for the fun. Two: some of these guys cheat, but a few are faithful to their Old Ladies or girlfriends-and they’ll tell you if they’re taken. Three: the ones who are claimed? Their women will fight you for their man. Not that they’d win, but they’d try. And if
you
hurt an Old Lady, you’re done for. That’s a bullet-to-the-head offense around here.”
I take it in, nodding. “So how do I tell the difference between a club girl and someone’s girlfriend or Old Lady?”
She leans closer, conspiratorial. “The girlfriends dress a little less like they’re on display-guys don’t like to share. The Old Ladies? They wear leather vests stamped ‘Property of The Steel Furies’ and, more specifically, ‘Property of’ their man’s name. It’s the law of the patch.”
I blink, surprised. “Seriously? They’re literally claimed like that?”
She grins, shrugging. “It keeps the drama down, especially during club functions or on the road. Bikers don’t cross those lines.”
“Noted,” I say, pressing my lips together. “Well, pour me three shots, Sniper. If I’m putting myself out there, I need the courage.’
She raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you need liquid courage?”
I sigh, watching her line up the glasses. “Since I’m not enough for my so-called boyfriend.”
Giuliana’s face softens. “Vale, come on. You know it’s not you.’
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I stare at the row of shots, one after another burning down my throat, and suck on a lime. “Isn’t it? Why else would he be looking for something else? Why am I not enough for him?”
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Before Giuliana can answer, a deep, rough voice sweeps over me like whiskey, all warmth and dangerous promise. “Whoa-did I just walk up at the wrong time?”
The sound sends a shiver down my spine. I turn-and my mouth goes dry. The man before me is every fantasy wrapped in leather and muscle. Auburn hair, cropped short at the sides but longer on top and slicked back; reddish scruff outlining a chiseled jaw, lush lips begging to be bitten. His nose is crooked, clearly broken once, a flaw that saves him from perfection. Those whiskey-colored eyes roam over me, hot with appreciation, drinking in every detail. He’s tall-easily six-three-with a body built for sin, muscles straining the sleeves of his black henley. His arms, hands, even his knuckles are marked with ink, and the veins on his forearms flex with every subtle movement.
He’s wearing a leather vest over that shirt-his “cut.” It’s heavy with patches: Killian, Enforcer, I Am My Brother’s Keeper, and five tiny skull-and-bones pins. On the opposite side, an ace of spades patch, Ride Forever Forever Free, FLLF, and, beneath it all, a massive NYC patch. I raise my hand, gesturing for him to turn.
He complies, a ghost of a smile at the edge of his mouth. The back of his cut is a showstopper: a skull and bones, the eyes marked with red diamond tears and a 1% stitched inside. Above, THE STEEL, and below, FURIES, with the MC patch on the side. It’s all brutal beauty.
He faces me again. I extend my hand in greeting. Instead of a shake, he catches my fingers and presses a slow kiss to my knuckles, his gaze never leaving mine.
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A mischievous spark ignites inside me. In flawless Italian, I tease, “Pensa di essere un tipo tranquillo, vero?” (he thinks he’s a smooth one, doesn’t he?)
Giuliana bursts out laughing. “Sì, ma tutte le ragazze dicono che sa leccare la fica come un dio.” (Yes, but all the girls say he can eat pussy like a god.)
I grin, eyes flickering to Killian. “Pensi che dovrei scoprirlo?” (Think I should find out?)
Giuliana gives a sly nod. “Sì, fallo.” (Yes, do it.)
I turn back to him, my smile bold and inviting. “No, you didn’t walk up at the wrong time. Actually, I’d say your timing is perfect.”
