“Right?”
He sets the pad back down on the bed.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says.
Now that he’s closer, I can see the fatigue in his eyes. Something about the club business he dealt with clearly weighs on him.
“Okay,” I say softly.
He nods once, then heads toward the bathroom.
I watch him go. When the bathroom door closes, I sit for a moment staring at it. Something about Bush’s demeanor calls tome. Before I can overthink it, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head. My nerves buzz as I strip out of my clothes and purposely march to the door. Opening it, I step inside.
CHAPTER 27: BUSH
I step into the shower and twist the handle, letting the hot water pour down. Steam fills the small space almost instantly. I brace one hand on the tile and drop my head under the spray.
The heat pounds against my skull, rolling down my neck and shoulders. Some of the tension eases out of my muscles, loosening the tight knot that’s been sitting between my shoulder blades all damn day.
But the memories don’t wash away with the sweat and grime. They cling harder than the dirt.
Images flicker through my mind—the feel of the whip as I flick my wrist and leave a lash mark on Crystal’s once-perfect skin. The scream she releases as the pain hits her pierces the air. She’s begging me to stop while also throwing out curses. Rather than take responsibility for her actions, she blames Zara, me, and the club. I flick my wrist again, adding another lash.
Her stubbornness flees at the fifth lash. She’s begging for release. I ask her the questions that we need answered before I can end her pain.
“What are the Bushrangers planning?” I demand. “You warned them that we were coming for them. What else did you share with them? We know they’re coming for us. How do they expect to get the jump on us?”
“I don’t know,” she weeps. “They promised they would take me with them if I kept them informed of when you were moving on them. I was supposed to distract anyone watching them.”
“If you don’t tell me everything…” I warn, cracking the whip against the ground, causing her to jump.
“They plan to attack the clubhouse when everyone is guarding that bitch at her fashion show. They figure you’ll have everyone there to guard her, leaving only a few people behind. They want you and the bitch. They think the club will hand you both over if they take over the clubhouse.”
I frown at her statement. It’s a stupid plan. While I never considered Vandal to be one of life’s great thinkers, I can’t imagine that he believes he can take over the clubhouse with just six men.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I tell her. “They only have six men. What part were you going to play?”
“I was supposed to get the prospect to open the gate. That’s it. That’s all I know. Please, let me go. I’ll leave and never come back. I promise.”
“No. You won’t,” I tell her, picking up the gun and pulling the trigger. I jerk as the shower door opens behind me, sounding eerily like the sound of a gunshot. Before I can turn around, soft hands slide over my stomach and up my chest. Zara presses her body against my back.
I scrub a hand down my face and breathe out slowly before turning to face Zara.
“You look troubled,” she says, grabbing the soap and lathering it in her hands. After she puts the soap down, she runs her hands over my chest and along my shoulders.
“Just had to deal with some club business,” I tell her as she washes my arms. Too late, I realize I might have some flecks of blood on my skin, but she says nothing as she continues to wash me.
“You don’t have to tell me, but you have to let me take care of you,” she says, smiling when I smirk at her.
“I have to, huh?”
She bobs her head. “Yes.”
“Okay, then, take care of me,” I say, my voice husky.
She does.
After she’s covered me from head to toe in shampoo and soap, I back under the spray. This time, the hot water washes away my thoughts, too.
