Rebel (Renegades #2)(61)
Author: Skye Jordan

Rubi turned to Wes, the night lit by moonlight and the distant glow from her porch. “No, Wes. Thank you for asking, but no. And let me make this very clear—that rig is 100 percent yours. I don’t own any part of it. I don’t want to own any part of it. What you do with it is your choice. I did you a favor, just like I’ve done favors for Lexi and Jax and a couple of dozen other people. It’s good karma. Are we clear?”

“Sure, whatever.”

She squeezed his forearm. “Good night.”

“Baby…” He took her arm and stepped close again, discomfort ratcheting up in his chest. “I don’t want to leave like this. I don’t want to be a four-hour flight away with us at odds.”

She searched his eyes, all those beautiful features softer in the moonlight. Her eyes narrowed. “Why? Worried I might end up at Stilettos?”

There was a challenging edge in her voice. One he recognized as the old Rubi. One he realized she hadn’t used with him for over a week.

Until that moment, no, he hadn’t considered Stilettos. Now it terrified him. “Rubi—”

She jogged toward her slider. Rodie glanced between them, his ears pulled back in distress.

“Go on,” Wes said to the dog.

Rodie followed Rubi and stepped inside.

“I’ll pick you up for your flight at the set,” Rubi said. “Ten o’clock.” And she shut the door.

Eighteen

Rubi pulled into the designated parking area just as she had early that week—only so much had changed between then and now. Rubi had hoped for things she’d never believed she would. Her relationship with Wes had undergone a transformation she’d never believed possible. She’d finally cut the dysfunctional cord with her father. And her dream of buying the house she loved had been shot into the fiery pits of hell.

She shut down the car and picked up the note she’d found on her car that morning in Wes’s neat, all-cap, architect-type scrawl.

I MISS YOU ALREADY.

To say she was a little off-balance would be an understatement. Her inner landscape had turned into the aftermath of a hurricane.

She tucked the note into the ashtray with all the others and stood from the car, watching Wes half a mile away. He wore the neoprene, shucked off his shoulders and hanging at his hips again. A big part of her was deeply disappointed she’d refused to sleep with him last night. He might have believed they’d really sleep, but if she’d been in proximity to that body, sleeping would have been the last thing on her mind. And they were already treading tumultuous waters without adding more sex into the picture.

He was pacing between two muscle cars and one Ducati, arms crossed over his broad, tanned chest. His head was down as Jax talked to Wes, Keaton, and Troy.

Rubi climbed the stairs of the trailer, entered, and found Rachel at her desk. She had that gorgeous hair of hers up in a tight bun again, her tortoiseshell glasses perched on her tiny nose. “Hey, Rubi.”

“I see you didn’t take my advice about the hair.”

“If I leave it down, it’s always in the way.” She pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can diffuse the mood around this place. These guys can get so intense. And when they’re stressed, I’m stressed.”

Rubi wandered to a window and opened the blinds so she could look out on the scene. “Speaking of intense, what’s going on out there?”

“Not exactly sure, but something that pissed Wes off-not exactly easy to do. Something about explosives and blowing up a bridge and… Hell, I never know what these guys are going to do from one day to the next. I’ve got to make this phone call before they come back in.”

While Rubi watched the men pacing and gesturing as they spoke, Rachel put the phone on speaker and punched in a number. Rubi turned away from the window just as someone picked up on the other end of the line.

“What?”

The abrupt, challenging male voice made Rachel’s gaze dart to Rubi’s, her lips parted in alarmed surprise. A moment of silence hung before Rachel said, “I’m looking for a Mr. Ryker-”

“I don’t do mister anything. Just Ryker.”

His voice was deep, rough and…it had a vaguely, but intensely, sensual glide. Rubi lifted her brows at Rachel, who shrugged back at Rubi.

“All right just Ryker,” Rachel said in that sassy tone that made Rubi grin, “I’m calling from Renegades Stunt Company in Los Angeles-”

“I don’t want whatever you’re selling.”

Rachel dropped her hands to her desk with an audible slap and glared at the phone. “Are you always this rude or did I just catch you on a bad day?”

Rubi curved her lips inward, holding back laughter.

A moment of tense silence followed when Rubi would have sworn the two were having a stare-down if they hadn’t been speaking over a phone line.

“Okay,” Ryker finally said. “I like spunk. You’ve got two minutes.”

Rachel gave Rubi a the-fuck-with-this look and flipped off the phone. A snort of laughter escaped Rubi.

“Actually,” Rachel said, “I was calling to make you an offer, but you’ve kinda dinged my mood.”

“Offer?” His tone turned lighter, more interested. “I hope it’s an offer of phone sex. You’ve got a hot voice, and I could use some decent incentive to give myself another hand job. God, those get so old.”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open, her expression part outrage, part humor, part shock. “What in the-?”

“Joke. Thought you might have a sense of humor, but I guess not. Though your voice is hot. What did you say your name was? Rachel? That’s way too cute for the hot voice. What are you wearing, Rachel with the hot voice?”

She dropped her forehead into her hand. “I should have expected this from a friend of Troy’s.”

Laughing softly, Rubi stepped up to the desk and pulled that damn clip from Rachel’s hair. When the other woman gasped and looked up, Rubi pointed to the phone, then fanned her chest with a luscious eye roll.

Rachel lifted her mouth in a half-grin.

“Troy’s been talking shit about me again?” Ryker asked. “What’s that f**ker up to now?”

“You’ve got his mouth too.”

“Oh, no.” His voice lowered with suggestion. “Baby, my mouth is way better than Troy’s, all the women say so.”

Rubi clasped her hand over her mouth and bent at the waist in an effort to hold back her laughter.