Page 53 of Crusher's Illusion

“Relax,” he says, hands raised. “I’m just saying, if you get distracted, I won’t be responsible for what happens when Steel asks for your input.”

Steel doesn’t even look up. His hands are folded in front of him like a prayer. City clicks the space bar on a laptop, and a grainy satellite image pops up. “Warehouse on the south side is the Syndicate staging area. They’ve got runners coming in from three directions, loading up vans.”

Rampage taps the map. “If we cut them off here, we can pin ’em in the yard. Force them into the open.”

“They’ve got more firepower than last time,” Rock warns, gravelly and calm. “But fewer brains. We use that.”

I flex my hands, remembering Nevaeh’s warmth. I force my attention to the plan, pressing my hands to the table, but Cityleans close again, whispering loud enough for me to hear, “You better focus, Crusher… wouldn’t want your girl seeing you mess this up.”

I glance at him, deadpan. “Keep it up, City. And I swear…”

“Swear what?” He grins, unrepentant. “That you’ll kiss her again when this is over? Go ahead, man, set the table for the rest of us.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the smirk that’s threatening to break. He’s relentless, but beneath the teasing is the rhythm of brotherhood, the constant jab to keep everyone on edge. Even with Nevaeh on my mind, I sink into the maps, the photos, the glowing satellite images. The Syndicate’s staging area, the vans, the runners. It’s all real. Dangerous.

And as much as I want to punch City for every word about her, a part of me can’t help but appreciate it. The tension, the teasing, the planning, they all exist in the same space. And in the middle of it, I steel myself.

No distractions. Not even City.

We moved the planning to the Kitchen, so the guys who haven’t eaten yet can. The meeting hums around me, maps and satellite images spread across the table, laptops glowing under the harsh overhead lights. I’m tracing the routes with my finger when Nevaeh steps fully into the room, notebook in hand, moving quietly but with that confidence that makes her impossible to ignore.

City perks up instantly. “Well, well, the lady herself. Here to make sure our VP doesn’t completely lose his mind over all these vans and runners?”

I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut, but Nevaeh just smiles faintly at me. “I thought I might have something to add,” she says, voice soft but carrying across the table.

“Add?” Rampage raises an eyebrow, leaning over the map.

“Yeah,” she continues, flipping her notebook open. “They took my sister. I’m going to help any way I can. If they’re coming from three directions, they’re going to converge at the north corner of the yard first. If we block that access point, they’ll funnel right into the open, just like you planned here, but they won’t have room to maneuver.”

I freeze, staring at her, and I feel my chest swell with pride, protectiveness, disbelief that she’s sitting here, thinking like one of us. She’s good. Really good.

City, of course, can’t let it go. He grins, leaning close enough that I want to push him off the table. “Ohhhh, she’s giving tactical advice now. I swear, Crusher, if you weren’t already wrapped around her finger, I’d start worrying about your job security.”

“City,” I growl, voice low and dangerous, “shut the hell up.” I grit my teeth, trying not to react, but I feel my shoulders tighten, and my jaw locks.

Nevaeh notices. Her pen pauses mid-note. She tilts her head just slightly, eyes flicking to mine. For a second, everything else, the maps, the laptops, the looming tension of the Syndicate, blurs. She sees me. Really sees me. That flash of heat in my chest, the tension in my hands.

I swallow, forcing my eyes back to the maps. Nevaeh keeps going. “Also, if they have more firepower but less brains, their drivers will panic first. If we time it right, we can separate the vans before they even reach the main lot.”

I nod slowly, impressed, and reach over, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear without thinking. My hand lingers a second too long, and I feel that familiar mix of pride and something else tighter in my chest.

City whistles. “Ohhh, look at that. Crusher’s trying to protect her AND act serious at the same time. Dangerous combo. You’re actually glowing, man.”

I spin on him, hard, but Steel’s eyes are already on the table, waiting for input. I bite back a curse, returning my attention to the map, but Nevaeh’s gaze catches mine, a little spark in her eyes, and I know she gets it. The subtle teasing, the push and pull between me and City, and the fact that in this room, she’s both safe and in danger, depending on how this goes.

Steel’s got the map spread out on the table, coffee going cold beside it. “Primary targets Dominic Vassaro.” He taps a section of the yard with two fingers. “He’s running the southside staging. Half the guns coming into the city pass through him first.”

That name hits the room like a gunshot. Rock’s jaw flexes. Rampage mutters a curse.

“He’s the one who greenlit Jordan’s hit,” Rock says.

The memory flashes of Jordan bleeding out in my arms, whispering for help. My knuckles creak against the table. I’ve known it for months, but hearing it out loud still grinds against bone.

“Which means,” Steel goes on, “this isn’t just a disruption run. We take him off the board, it’s a message the Syndicate won’t mistake.”

Nevaeh’s eyes flick to me. She doesn’t ask, but she sees how my shoulders go rigid, how my breathing shifts. Vassaro’s been a ghost on every run, always a step ahead. But not tonight. Tonight, he’s cornered.

I swallow, forcing my eyes back to the map. “If we cut them off here and here…” I trace the streets with my finger, trying to act calm, act professional, but the way she watches me, that little spark in her gaze, makes it impossible to ignore City’s jab entirely.