No one actually agrees.
"We're not burning the place down," East says. "That's restraint."
"And taste," James adds.
"They're already encouraged," I say. "That ship sailed."
East peels a strip of lace off the chair beside him, holds it up to the light, and lets it drop. "We're getting slaughtered."
Nobody argues with that either.
"We hit them with the live, laugh, love signs and thought we were clever," East continues. "They came back with pastels, lace, and a vision board with tabs. In the war room. This is an escalation, and we’re losing."
James nods. "Badly."
"We got comfortable," Nash says. "Which is worse."
Malachi leans back in his chair, the lace bow pressing between his shoulder blades. His jaw works once. "So what are we doing about it?"
East pushes off the wall. The look on his face is the one he gets before something expensive breaks. "We stop being polite. They went after this room because it's the heart of the club. So we go after theirs."
"Meaning?" James asks.
"Meaning we hit every single one of them. Same day. All at once. No warning. Shock and awe."
He starts pacing. This is East at his most dangerous. When he gets creative.
"Ruby first. She's got that playlist she runs at the bar. The one she guards with her whole personality. We get into her phone and replace every song with the same track. 'What's New Pussycat' by Tom Jones. All forty-seven songs. Every single one is 'What's New Pussycat.'"
Nash blinks. "She'll burn the building down."
East smirks. "She'll have to listen to it for at least three songs before she figures out it's not shuffling. That's seven minutes of Tom Jones at full volume."
James rubs his jaw. "That's cruel."
"That's Tuesday."
I lean forward. "Candace?"
East's grin sharpens. "Candace runs a tight ship. Clean locker. Labeled gear. Everything in its place. So we add things. One new item a day. Day one, a small rubber duck in her gym bag. Day two, another rubber duck in her locker. Day three, one on her water bottle. Day four, her car. Day five, she opens the war room and three hundred rubber ducks fall out."
"Where are we getting three hundred rubber ducks?" Nash asks.
"Internet. Next-day delivery. I already looked."
"You already looked," Malachi repeats.
East shrugs. "I've been sitting on this. Waiting for the right moment."
Malachi stares at him. "You've been stockpiling rubber duck intel."
"A good soldier is always prepared."
Malachi's mouth twitches. It's the first sign of life since the Boss Babe mug. "Frankie?"
East hesitates. "Frankie's harder. She's got the shop, but she'll hex us."
"She doesn't hex people," James says. Everyone looks at him. "Probably," he adds.
