Rebel (Renegades #2)(4)
Author: Skye Jordan

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.