Chapter 22 Zara
“So, how was it?” Tony asks as soon as we’re seated in the SUV. Hunter is driving with Chill in the passenger seat. Rattler, Bianca, and Viper are in the middle section. Izzy is in the back seat with Tony and me. “Was he everything you imagined?” I chuckle as Tony’s eyebrows hike up suggestively.
“You are such a gossip,” I complain. “I’m not giving you details.”
“Why not?” he whines before shifting in his seat to face me.
“How can I live vicariously through you without details? Tell me he looks good without his shirt on. Does he have a six-pack? Is he hung like a horse, or is he packing a gherkin? Is he good with his tongue, or is he a wet noodle? How many orgasms did he give you? Did he give you an orgasm? Tell me he didn’t finish first and leave you hanging?
Is that what he did? He had his fun and left you bereft? ”
I’m laughing by the time he finishes shooting questions at me. “You’re impossible. He looks amazing naked. He has abs; you’ll have to imagine them. He’s not packing a gherkin. His tongue was wonderful. I had several orgasms. Are you happy?”
Tony flops back into his seat and stares at the ceiling with a wistful expression. “Yep, that will hold me for a few hours.”
I shake my head and stare out the window. “Why aren’t you happier?” Tony asks, which draws everyone's attention. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. “I would think a night with your crush would make you happy.”
I shrug. “It was amazing, but I’m afraid it meant more to me than it did to him.”
“Did you spend the night in his bed?” Izzy asks me.
Her blunt question has me turning from the window to stare at her. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Because guys like Bush don’t sleep with women unless that woman means something to them,” Izzy persists. I see the others in the car nodding their heads in agreement.
I snort. “You’re telling me that you think Bush and the others don’t have sex? I find that hard to believe.”
Izzy shakes her head. “These guys have sex. Lots of sex. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about actually sleeping with women. Falling asleep with a woman in their arms and waking up with her the next morning. These guys don’t do that unless the woman is special to them.”
“She’s right,” Rattler chimes in. “Bikers tend to kick the women out of bed after sex. They don’t let them stay.”
“Is that what you did before you met Randy and me?” Bianca asks Rattler.
He chuckles. “I met you when I was still a prospect. I was a prospect for a long time before I got the patch. So, my experience comes from watching them. Puma, Wildcard, and Dice never let the Kutte Bunnies sleep in their beds. Doing so can create problems.”
“What problems?” Tony asks.
“Attachment,” Chill responds. “Rattler is right. Bikers get a lot of sex. They can easily get one or more women into their bed for a night of sexcapades, but they learn early on to kick them out as soon as the fun ends. If they don’t, the woman gets ideas that she’s about to become the biker’s Old Lady.
Bikers don’t like it when a woman stakes her claim. ”
“Depends on the woman,” Rattler says with a smile at Bianca.
Chill chuckles. “Yes, men like to stake their claim when they find the right woman or man.”
“And men like it when the right woman stakes a claim on them,” Hunter chimes in, grinning at Chill.
She rolls her eyes, but I can see the hint of a smile playing around her lips.
“Yes, well, the point is, Bush is a biker. Keeping you in his bed all night is not something to take lightly. I’ve known Bush for years.
I’ve stayed here often, and he’s come to Vegas several times.
He’s never been one for casual sleepovers.
But you don’t have to take our word for it.
Talk to him. Ask him what’s in his head. It’s better than wondering.”
I consider her suggestion for the remainder of the trip, but Tony’s next question catches me off guard.
“You’re worried about what Bush wants, but what do you want?” he asks. “Are you considering staying here and being with Bush if it turns out he wants more than a few nights of fun?”
I open my mouth to answer, but close it again. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about leaving home and moving to the States. It’s too soon to think about, isn’t it?”
“Fashion Week lasts for only a week,” he reminds me. “We have only a few days before we’re supposed to head back home.”
I’m considering my options as we arrive at the event venue hosting our fashion show. I can’t worry about the future; I need to focus on the present. Exiting the SUV, I shove my worries about Bush and a possible future aside. Fashion Week needs to be my primary concern.
My heart pounds as Tony and I step inside with the others.
The freight elevator carried us to the fourth floor.
Its slow and steady movements are a reminder that it wasn’t built for speed or comfort.
That's a good thing, given the size of our group.
Viper and Bianca both stand tall and regal at the front of the car, with Hunter and Rattler standing guard in the back.
Izzy, Chill, Tony, and I fill up the remaining space.
The ride up allows me to study Viper’s transformation.
She no longer looks like a kick-ass biker bitch.
She looks like a supermodel. Her silky, blonde hair cascades down her back and over the fitted jacket that accentuates her slim figure.
She towers over the rest of us in her spiked heels.
Combined with her tight jeans, they make her legs look unrealistically long.
The loss of her kutte doesn’t diminish her strength.
She still looks like she could take on five men without breaking a nail.
After we all pile out of the elevator, I search for Darlene. Tony finds her first and calls her over. Darlene’s eyes widen when she gets her first look at Bianca and Viper. She rushes over to us.
“Who are you?” she asks them, her eyes travelling from their head to their toes.
“You mentioned we needed more models,” Tony chimes in, taking over the conversation. “Viper and Bianca are friends of mine, and they offered to help.”
“Yes, perfect! You’re both so gorgeous. You’re going to elevate the show!”
“They will. Zara and I have chosen which designs we want them to wear, but if the other designers need additional bodies…”
“We do! I was hoping to acquire two more models, but I wasn’t having any luck. Now, if I could just find another stylist, we’ll be all set.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky, because we have one,” Tony says, placing his arm around Izzy and pulling her forward. “Izzy is amazing. I think you’ll love her work.”
“I think I love you all,” Darlene says with relief. “You’ve done my job for me. Now let’s get to work!”
The loft explodes into motion.
Voices fill the space as Darlene and the designers shout out orders.
Models move from designer to designer, getting instructions on what they’re wearing and the timing of each change.
Hunter and Rattler position themselves casually near the exits, eyes scanning the room with predator calm.
They look out of place among the silks and the flash—but their presence makes me feel safer.
I guide Bianca to my rack.
Front and center hangs my favorite piece: a bright pink dress in silk charmeuse, structured at the bodice with architectural seams that contour the waist before spilling into a dramatic asymmetrical hem. It’s daring in color but elegant in cut.
Bianca runs her fingers over it. “This is stunning.”
“It needs someone who owns the room,” I tell her honestly. “That’s you.”
She squeezes my hand before slipping behind the changing screen.
Nearby, Tony helps Viper out of her jacket, revealing the sculpted lines of her torso beneath a fitted tee.
Tony’s design hangs ready—a risqué ensemble that blurs subtle sexiness with overt power.
The red number combines silk with black leather, a sleeveless harness-style top that barely contains her breasts in the red silk while not hesitating to reveal her sculpted arms and toned abdomen.
A sliver of red cascades down her waist to encircle her hips, once again leaving black leather strips circling trim thighs.
It’s very provocative and intensely powerful.
I worry that Viper will balk at how much of her it exposes, but she studies the finished piece and nods.
Chill sees me watching Viper and slides up next to me.
“She used to be a showgirl, remember?” Chill reminds me. “Viper could walk across that runway stark naked, and she wouldn’t bat an eye.”
I chuckle just as Bianca steps out from behind the screen.
My breath catches.
The pink is electric against her ebony skin, the structured bodice enhancing every curve while the fluid skirt moves like liquid around her legs. I shake myself before swooping in to adjust the hem and pin the back.
“You look amazing,” I whisper.
Bianca beams. “It’s your design.”
We move into fittings with the rest of the models, adjusting straps, tightening seams, and swapping shoes. I kneel to fix a hem, fingers flying as I re-stitch a loose thread. Tony debates accessories with Bianca, finally settling on minimalism so the structure can speak.
Marlene calls out, “Runway rehearsal!”
The models line up.
Music pulses through hidden speakers—deep, rhythmic, commanding.
Bianca goes third. When she steps onto the runway, she transforms. Her walk is fluid but strong, shoulders back, chin lifted.
The pink dress catches the light, glowing as the asymmetrical hem flutters with each step.
She pauses at the end, pivots sharply, and for a split second, I can already see cameras flashing and applause rippling through the audience.
Then Viper’s turn.
She strides out like she owns the building.
The leather-and-silk piece is a perfect fit for Viper’s personality and presence.
Her long legs eat up the runway as she strides to the end.
She pauses just before turning to give the audience the full impact, then strides away.
She’s as powerful leaving as she was coming.
Tony grabs my hand, squeezing hard. “We’re going to kill this.”
I look around the loft—the chaos, the beauty, the danger hidden beneath the surface with our men standing guard. For the first time since we arrived in Chicago, my nerves settle into something steadier. With Chill and the others on guard, I can relax and focus on the show.
Then Chill’s phone buzzes. She frowns when she sees the display.
“What happened?” she asks when she connects the call. Her eyes snap to me. “Okay, we’ll be ready.”