Sleek fitted leather jackets with hidden interior pockets along the seams. Thin compartment for pepper spray, a kubotan, or a tactical pen. Invisible from the outside, but easy to reach.
Second—boots.
Fashion boots with reinforced interior sheaths. Slim enough that no one would notice, but perfect for a small defensive blade or spike. Lethal spiked heels. Metal tips on the toes that will deliver damage.
Third–tops.
Corset-style tops with structured boning strong enough to conceal slim tools between the layers of fabric or loose enough to hide what’s underneath.
Fourth–accessories.
A belt with magnetic closures designed to hold a compact alarm or pepper spray. Jewelry like the items Izzy and Viper carry. Bras that can hide blades or other items.
My excitement builds with every page, every design. The designs begin to evolve into full outfits—runway-ready pieces that also serve a purpose. Empowerment through fashion. Protection through design. The pencil scratches rapidly across the paper as I sketch pocket placements, seam reinforcements, and hidden loops.
My pad fills with page after page.
I barely notice how much time passes until the bedroom door opens.
I glance up as Bush steps inside. The sight of him makes my pulse jump for a completely different reason.
His broad shoulders fill the doorway, his blonde hair slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it. His kutte hangs open over a black T-shirt, and there’s a heaviness in his expression I didn’t see earlier.
“Hey,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Where’ve you been?”
He pushes the door shut behind him.
“Club business,” he says.
His voice is quieter than usual. Something about the way he says it makes my stomach tighten.
I tilt my head. “Everything okay?”
He walks farther into the room, running a hand along the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Had some stuff to deal with.”
He glances down at the sketchpad spread across the bed.
“What’s all this?”
I brighten instantly.
“Inspiration,” I say, flipping the pad toward him so he can see the pages. “After Viper and Izzy showed us their portable armory, my brain kind of exploded.”
Bush studies the sketches.
His brow lifts slightly as he flips through a couple of pages.
“Hidden weapon pockets?”
“Exactly!” I say, excitement bubbling up again. “Fashion that lets women defend themselves without anyone realizing what they’re carrying.”
He gives a low whistle.
“That’s… actually pretty badass.”
I grin.
