I shrug. “I think it’s a stupid plan. The Vandal I know played it safe. This plan seems too out there.”
“Prison changes people,” he muses.
“It does, but I can’t see him convincing Menace to go this route. I think they fed that plan to Crystal in case we figured out what she was doing and questioned her. They can’t be stupid enough to think six men can take the clubhouse and hold it.”
“Possibly. What if they had a bigger army?”
“You talked to Third,” I surmise. “I talked with Marcus last night. He told me what the Bushrangers met with them about.”
“I did meet with him. He told me the Bushrangers were looking for guns and mercenaries. The Third made it clear thathe wouldn’t give them either and that any move against us would be a move against the mob.”
“That should be enough to stop Vandal. He’s seen how many men we have. They’re already vastly outnumbered.”
“The mob isn’t the only gang they spoke with. They met with some of the inner-city gangs. I’ve got a few feelers out to see if they made any deals.”
“That means we need to split our forces between the clubhouse and the event today. Good thing we have Chill and the others. Speaking of the event, I want to grab some breakfast for Zara and surprise her with breakfast in bed.”
Chrome snorts. “Ever think you’d be that man?”
CHAPTER 28: ZARA
I wake slowly, warm and comfortable, tangled in sheets that smell faintly like leather, soap, and Bush. For a few seconds, I just lie there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. The room is quiet. No voices from downstairs. No rumble of motorcycles. Just the soft hum of the air conditioner and the steady rhythm of my own breathing.
Then it hits me. My eyes fly open, and I bolt upright in the bed, clutching the sheet to my chest. Today is the fashion show!
My heart immediately starts racing. Months of work—sketching designs, sewing samples, late nights fretting over fabrics and details—all of it comes down to today. If it goes well, my designs could finally be noticed by buyers. This is it—my future.
A nervous flutter dances in my stomach.
I rake my fingers through my hair and glance around the room again, Bush’s room. A slow smile tugs at my lips despite the nerves buzzing through me, speaking of my future. We committed to each other last night, so where is he?
The other side of the bed is cold now, the pillow empty. I run my hand over the sheets where Bush slept last night,remembering the way he held me, the warmth of his body curled protectively around mine.
For a brief second, doubt creeps in. Did he wake up this morning and realize he made a mistake by suggesting we build something together? Is that why he left? I’m considering my options when the door swings open and he strides in carrying a breakfast tray.
I blink at him.
The tray is loaded—scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, fruit, and two steaming mugs of coffee. The smell hits me instantly, and my stomach growls loud enough to betray me.
Bush’s mouth curves into a slow, amused grin.
“Morning, beautiful.”
I stare at him for a second longer, completely thrown.
“You brought me breakfast?”
He shuts the door with his foot and walks toward the bed like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Figured you’d need fuel today,” he says, setting the tray down carefully. “It’s your big day.”
The nerves twisting inside me ease just a little.
I lean back against the headboard as I accept the plate of food and mug of coffee. “Thank you for this,” I say, giving him a brilliant smile. “How long have you been up?”
“About an hour. I needed to meet with Chrome.”
“Is everything okay?”
