Rebel (Renegades #2)(97)
Author: Skye Jordan

Rubi forced a chuckle at the secret sign Jax had developed for letting Lexi know it was time to leave one of the many dinners, cocktail parties, brunches, and business meetings they attended. “Ah well. You two have fun with that. I’ll catch you tomorrow maybe.”

She disconnected and set the old-fashioned phone in its cradle. Picked it up. Put it down. Picked it up.

“Fuck.” And slammed it down.

When she turned back to the boxes, anxiety gushed through her system. Overwhelmed. She was simply overwhelmed. Her mind overtaxed with stress and confusion. Her body overtaxed with pain and loneliness. All her own fault. Which only led her to her recent discovery that she hated who she was. Hated who she’d let herself become.

She needed a release valve before she exploded.

Rubi poured another glass of wine but slammed the bottle on the nightstand. She didn’t want any more wine. She wanted out. Out of her body. Out of her head. Out of her heart.

Rubi finished dressing and applying makeup by avoiding direct eye contact with herself in the mirror in the bathroom. Made it through the drive to the club by hammering the latest club mixes through the Aston’s incredible speakers. Even managed to get from her car to Stilettos’ front doors by responding to the friendly, even excited welcome from acquaintances outside the club.

But once she’d slipped in the door, she was swallowed by the darkness, buffers and support gone. Rubi stepped aside and surveyed the space. Everything was the same. Exactly the same. The people, the dress, the music, the furniture, the bars. All the same. Yet the zing of adrenaline she’d always experienced simply stepping in the door was absent. Her desire to mingle and chat, nonexistent. She searched for familiar faces, someone comfortable to ease her back into the scene, and spotted Roméo working the bar.

Okay, that could work.

So why couldn’t she move toward him? Why wouldn’t her feet move from this spot? And why did she feel like she wanted to puke?

Rubi leaned her shoulder against a wall and crossed her arms. Katy Perry’s “Roar” pounded through the club, but Rubi experienced no desire to move to the beat. No rush of anticipation for the night ahead. Friends waved her over from their seats at the bar, and Roméo flashed her a grin and lifted the liquor bottle from which he’d been pouring, toward her in greeting.

Still, she didn’t move forward.

This wasn’t where she wanted to be. Or who she wanted to be with.

This was all wrong.

Thirty-One

When Wes came out of the Renegades’ bathroom after a quick shower, Courtney Marshall was already waiting for him. He’d never seen her, only spoken with her on the phone, and she wasn’t what he’d expected. She was far younger than he’d guessed from her voice, maybe early twenties. Blonde and pretty, and dressed down in jeans and a light sweater, both of which hugged well-proportioned curves.

She turned from all the attention the other Renegades were showering on her and smiled. “You must be Wes.”

“Uh, yeah.” He ran one hand through his hair and reached to take her extended hand with the other. “Sorry, just cleaning up.”

“Great. Ready to go?”

“Let’s talk outside a second.”

“Hey,” Troy said. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Courtney, the guys,” he said, glaring at Troy. “Guys, Courtney. Let’s go.”

“We know her name, dorkweed,” Keaton threw in. “How about a relation? Friend? Date?” He paused. “Girlfriend?”

Thank God she hadn’t told them why she was here. “None of your business.”

She said her good-byes to the crew, and Wes held the door open for her but didn’t miss the scowl Rachel leveled on him on the way out. He followed Courtney down the steps, calling himself all kinds of stupid for the nerves making him awkward.

With his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans, he glanced around, making sure no one was nearby. “So, I’m not real good at this. What’s the plan?”

She grinned and flipped her sleek cut off her forehead. “I take you to lunch, and we talk.” She slipped her arm through his and tugged him toward the parking lot. “We’ll go from there.”

He glanced down at his jeans, frayed threadbare in too many places to be decent. “I didn’t expect you to call this morning, so I’m not exactly prepared for—”

“I was thinking casual,” she said, perky, relaxed. “How does Casey’s sound?”

Rubi parked along the street in front of the Renegades set location for the day—a steel scrapyard in an industrial area of the city. She spotted the Renegades trailer alongside a warehouse where film crews, cameras, and lights had been set up. She also spotted Wes’s truck parked several cars up from hers.

Rubi pulled off her sunglasses and pressed a hand to the tight ache in her chest. She could do this. If he rejected her, he rejected her. She’d know it wasn’t meant to be. But she had to try.

She picked up the present in the passenger’s seat and stood from her car, smoothing her skirt—one of Wes’s favorites. On a deep breath, she started up the sidewalk. A few wolf whistles sounded from the industrial buildings near the site still in use, but she ignored them. She glanced at Wes’s truck as she passed, not sure what she was looking for, but found no real changes. No panties hanging from the rearview. A good sign, right?

Crossing her arms, Rubi continued toward the action and scoured the site, but found no sign of Wes. She heard laughter from the Renegades trailer before she was within a hundred feet. The sound hit her with a bittersweet sensation. She’d missed the guys. Missed the flurry of energy and activity that hovered in and around the trailer like a beehive. But most of all, she missed Wes. Missed his laugh. Missed his humor. Missed his love.

“I can do this.”

She took the stairs and opened the door. Before she’d stepped in, everyone went silent. Their shocked gazes held on her for an extra second, then darted to each other with concern.

“Gee, good to see you too, guys.”

Troy pushed out of the sofa and took one giant step, crossing the trailer. He pulled her off her feet in a bear hug. “Where the f**k you been, Russo? Just ’cause Lawson’s a prick doesn’t mean you can’t come see the rest of us.”

“Troy,” she said, voice strained, “you’re cutting off my air.”

“Wuss,” he said, setting her down.