Fierce want gripped his entire body—the same desire he’d suffered last night—and he groaned.
As if she’d heard him, Rubi glanced up from her notepad. With her sunglasses still on the top of her head, those light eyes were piercing. Her gaze remained directly on him even as Troy continued to talk, and he felt the sexual tension as if they were connected by a wire of electricity.
Frustration spiked, and he revved the bike. “Come on, dude,” he said to Jax through the headset feed. “Wait too much longer and we’re going to have to realign the shot to kill shadows.”
“Hold your dick on.” Jax’s voice pierced Wes’s ear. “I’m putting three more cameras on this take. It’s not like we can run it a dozen more times.”
He rolled the bike back and forth in a restless sway as he watched the key grip—a guy who handled camera placement—run between cameramen. The best boy, a kid who taped down all the electrical wires, worked frantically in the key grip’s wake.
Waiting was one of his least favorite pastimes. Plus, today, every moment of downtime allowed his mind to drift toward his brother, which Wes had been trying to avoid by staying busy, dammit. And, just like every other time his mind had lolled toward Wyatt, his stomach balled into a fist. He’d be out of surgery by now. At least that was Wes’s hope. He hadn’t had a chance to call his mother for a few hours now.
“Okay.” Jax’s voice sounded in Wes’s ear. “We’re set to go.”
“Finally.”
The familiar flutter of anxiety that came with every stunt—stronger for some than others—stung his breastbone. Down the stretch of concrete, all but two members of the crew cleared the area. The remaining members tossed lighter fluid on the crashed vehicles, and the fumes flooded his nose even this far away. He didn’t like Rubi so close to that shit.
“Jax,” he said. “Can’t Rubi watch from inside? The fumes are choking me all the way down here.”
“Copy.” Jax turned from one of the cameras and spoke to Rubi. She shook her head, and Jax returned with, “She says she’s fine. You good?”
He should have known she’d do whatever she damn well wanted. But he reminded himself he didn’t have to like her stubbornness to admire it. “Yeah, good.”
Extinguishers filled with foam fire retardant passed through the staff clustered off to the side. They would run out and smother the flames poststunt. If this didn’t take on the first round, it would be a royal bitch and a time suck to set up again.
He glanced toward Jax, but his gaze halted on Rubi. He got that delicious pinch low in his gut again, and instead of envisioning the death-defying act he was about to perform, Wes’s mind filled with the little burst of warmth in Rubi’s eyes when she’d laughed at his helmet head. The glimmer of her perfect teeth when she’d reached up and tried to straighten it out. The feel of her touching him. Yeah, she wanted him. Now, he just had to convince her of that.
He wiped sweat from his eyes one more time before dropping the Plexiglas on his helmet. God, he wanted out of this getup.
A scorching whoosh sounded as the cars went up in flames, dragging Wes’s mind back. His body responded with a sympathetic burst of heat as fire licked the air. That was exactly what he felt like every time Rubi got within ten feet.
A different member of the crew ran into the center of the concrete near the inferno, a slate in his hands to mark the scene and take.
“Ready,” Jax said in Wes’s ear, “Set…” At Jax’s pause, Wes revved the bike. “Action.”
The snap of the slate ricocheted off the concrete surroundings. Wes focused on the stunt, the placement, the timing, and lifted his foot as he shot forward.
“Angle a little east,” Jax said, watching how things looked from one of the cameras. “Yeah, good. Three. Two. One. Hit it.”
Wes shut down all outside thought. His frustration with Rubi, his concern over Wyatt dissipated like vapor, and a familiar, consuming cohesiveness with the universe filled him—brain and body. One making him intensely aware of the road, the air, his body, the laws of physics. The connection made him feel so alive, he vibrated with excitement.
He gunned the bike and shifted his weight backward. The front tire popped into a wheelie, and he kept just enough of his weight off the back end to allow the rear tire to spin against the slippery concrete. Vibrations rocketed through his body. Adrenaline flooded his veins. Acrid smoke spilled off the tire and enveloped him, filling his head with the scent of burning rubber—an instant high. Even after decades of racing and thousands of rides, this shit electrified him every damn time.
With another shift of his weight and a jolt of fuel, Wes accelerated. He lowered his upper body until his chest rested on the fuel tank, until his view of the wreckage was framed in the handlebars, then kicked the bike into high gear. The engine screamed, echoing off the concrete and rattling Wes’s brain. Every cell in his body exploded with life.
“Three… Two… One…” Jax said again, far too soon for Wes. He needed a good long ride—in a couple of different ways. But this was business. “Now.”
Wes slammed the front brakes and threw his weight forward. The bike’s rear tire bucked into the air. With nothing but balance, brake pressure, and physical strength, Wes managed to keep his face off the concrete.
He controlled the bike’s endo for two hundred feet, then clamped down on the brakes and threw his weight again. Bullying the bike to mesh with the laws of physics, Wes spun the opposite direction. He dropped his ass to the seat and the bike’s back end to the ground. Then gunned the machine directly toward the metal inferno.
Hot damn. He’d nailed those moves. This take would scream on screen.
“Start your slide,” Jax said.
Wes leaned the bike toward the ground, guiding the Ducati into a sideways suicide.
“Three… Two… One…”
Jax paused a beat and the pressure of the concrete burned across Wes’s hip, then his thigh…
“Drop it.”
He gunned the gas and jerked his lower leg from between the concrete and the bike.
But his boot caught.
Ah f**k.
A flash of fear seared his spine. He gritted his teeth and yanked at his foot.
His leg popped loose. He released the handles. The bike speared toward the flames.
But the unexpected pull of his foot had altered the trajectory. Instantaneous thoughts pinged through his mind.
The bike would hit dead center. The crash would be bigger. The spread of debris wider.
Wes hit the concrete, and all thought vanished.
He bounced. Tucked. Rolled.
Two
One of Rubi’s hands fused around her phone, the other around her notebook. She watched, frozen, helpless, as Wes tumbled end over end, his body bouncing with each hit against the concrete.
Over. And over. And f**king over.
Beside her, Jax swore and grew two inches as his easy stance tightened.
Rubi’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Jax?”
“Not good.” One of the cameramen moved out from behind his equipment and took one giant step forward.
Jax smacked a hand against his chest. “Wait.”
The word was barely out of Jax’s mouth when the Ducati slammed into the fiery pile of cars. Debris exploded into the air. A shocked scream popped out of Rubi’s throat. She stepped backward—more out of surprise than force. Fear zinged through her blood like CO2. Her muscles jerked as fiery pieces of metal rained down around Wes.
Panic streaked through her, chest to belly, in electric jolts. “Oh God.” Rubi dropped her notebook and started forward. “Wes.”
Jax caught her arm. “He’s okay.”
He and three other men stood ready to run—their gazes watching the sky as the fiery debris continued to pummel Wes. The thick scent of smoke and chemicals snaked into Rubi’s throat, filled her head.
She burned from the inside out. “Do something, Jax.”
On the floor of the viaduct, Wes curled into a ball and shielded his already-helmet-covered head. After the last piece of flaming metal hit the concrete, Jax released Rubi’s arm and sprinted toward Wes. All the staff followed, abandoning equipment and pulling out telephones. Others did the same—all from different directions, converging on Wes where he lay on his side.
Jax reached him first. Dropping to his knees, he leaned over Wes, his mouth moving as he spoke. A second later, they were both hidden behind a mass of people, and Rubi couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Oh, f**k.
Her whole body swam with terror. Her mind juggled fears.
He’s okay. He’s fine.
She swore she repeated the mantra in her head for excruciating minutes before the cluster of observers parted and Wes sat up. But it had to have been seconds, not minutes, because Rubi still hadn’t breathed…and she hadn’t passed out. Now, the air hissed out of her lungs through a tight throat, and the hammering of her heart seemed so much harder. So much faster. So much louder.
Jax helped Wes pull off his helmet, and all that blond hair caught the sun. But only when Wes turned to Jax with a gleaming grin did Rubi’s stomach finally untwist.
He said something that made everyone hovering howl with laughter.
Rubi didn’t find this amusing. But relief uncoiled in her chest, creating a painful ache. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to the discomfort. “Oh my God.”
She crouched to pick up her notebook but stayed there a moment when her head went light. Residual fear choked her while her senses came back online—the smell of chemicals and smoke, the sound of machinery and voices. That had been too close. Too damned close.
Pushing slowly to her feet so she didn’t topple, Rubi turned, and walked toward the trailer, shaken. She’d watched dozens of stunts over the last month while visiting the set to gather information for these apps. All their stunts were insane. All dangerous. But that…
She’d been fine until the bike tilted sideways. Until Wes had been sliding along the concrete at God only knew what speed. Looked like two hundred f**king miles an hour to her. She might even have continued to be okay if he hadn’t simply thrown himself to the ground. Now, she felt unhinged. Confused over the distress. Terrorized over the fear of something happening to him.
She jogged the trailer’s steps and entered the old piece of shit the guys dragged around with them from jobsite to jobsite. Thanks to Lexi, the trailer was now a remodeled piece of shit. The new secretary, Rachel, a darling little brunette, glanced over the top of her cute tortoiseshell rims with a breezy, “Hey, Rubi.”
Rubi’s best friend, Lexi LaCroix, her long, blonde hair loose, hanging shiny and straight to the middle of her back, turned from the window with a worried frown wrinkling her perfectly smooth forehead. “Everything okay?”
“He made everyone laugh, as usual.” Rubi shrugged, trying to pretend her heart had not just tried to jump into her throat, but the irritation in her voice didn’t fit the facade. “I guess that means he’s not dead.”
She needed a few minutes and turned for the small bathroom at the rear of the trailer.
Rubi closed the bathroom’s thin door, but Rachel’s voice filtered in. “They’re fine. They do this all day, every day. If you fuss, they get all pissy. Pffft. Men.”
She ran the water, dipped her hands under the cool stream, and pressed them to her cheeks. Gripping the sink to hold herself up, Rubi looked in the mirror. Her eyes were dark with residual distress, her face drawn with tension.
She didn’t like this at all. This worry. This fear. She wasn’t made to weather this kind of emotional stress, which was why she lived the way she lived—with very few attachments. But Rachel was right. This was nothing. They did it every day. Had done it every day for years. These guys knew what they were doing. Which was why they were the best in the business.
These feelings were so hypocritical considering her own love of speed. Her own maniacal driving tendencies. Wes was trained. Wes had won championship after championship in international motorcycle races the likes of MotoGP and Isle of Man before entering the world of stunts. Wes was a professional. Rubi was just a rebel—breaking speed limits for the hell of it.
Alarm bells rang in her head. This stunt mishap shouldn’t have disturbed her so deeply. If Troy or Keaton or Duke had been the Renegade bouncing along the viaduct, she’d have been worried. Maybe a touched panicked, but she wouldn’t be unraveling at the seams like this, and that told her Wes wasn’t the only one with emotions pushing the boundaries of their friendship.
The floor shook with footsteps, and the trailer filled with muffled male voices—laughing and chatting, bullshitting over the stunt.
“No, no, no.” Rubi pushed off the sink and shook back her hair, shoving all the erratic feelings aside, then scolded herself in the mirror. “You’re not falling for him, dumb shit. He is way out of your league. He doesn’t do temporary, and you don’t do permanent. Don’t f**k up a good thing.”
The lecture left a strange, painful hollow at the center of her belly, and she exited the bathroom, glad she and Lexi were having lunch together today. They hadn’t gotten any girl time since Jax entered the picture, which, she realized, might be why these feelings, why this…deeper-than-normal friendship had developed between her and Wes.
Yes, a few hours with Lexi would set Rubi straight. That thought helped her pull it together. But only until she walked into the trailer’s common area.
All the Renegades were back, shrinking the trailer to the size of a microchip. Rubi could have choked on the testosterone thickening the air. But she was distracted.