Rapture (Renegades 7)

He widened his stance and crossed his buffed arms. “It’s muscle.”

“Says you.”

He clapped his hands and rested them on the vertical pipes of the sled, which were already laden with weights. “Break’s over. Let’s go. Ten more feet.”

She gripped the vertical bars and hung her head, watching the sweat droplets collect on the floor while she caught her breath. To conjure up the will to make this oversized lead brick move across the finish line and complete her workout, she dragged up all her residual anger toward Chase. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the Siege junket over two weeks ago, even though he kept leaving her messages. Messages that only reminded her of his betrayal. And her stupidity.

“Dig in,” Wes told her. “You’ve got strength to spare in your core, but you’re not using it.”

She pressed her hands against the pipes, ground her training shoes against the cement floor, and tightened her core. Then pushed. A growl rolled in her throat. The sled inched forward, and Zahara put power behind the momentum, driving the sled forward.

“That’s it,” Wes encouraged. “You got another foot.”

Zahara was sick of this damn thing. Sick of the whole workout. Better to just get it over with. She put all she had into the last nine feet. When she shoved it past the finish line with a yell of exhaustion, anger, and triumph, Zahara collapsed to her ass and flopped back.

They’d turned the warehouse on the set of the first Burned movie into a gym, and Wes wandered across the space and returned to Zahara with two jump ropes. He tossed one across her limp body and used the other to start jumping.

“Get moving, Z. Don’t want to stiffen up.”

She rolled her head and watched him. The cable blurred until it disappeared to the naked eye, and Wes barely moved as he whipped the cable beneath his feet and over his head. He was ridiculously fast and did all those stupid-cool tricks—crossing his legs as he jumped, crossing the rope and swinging it alongside him, crossing his arms and the rope.

“Show-off.” She rolled to her stomach, pulled her knees in, and pushed to her feet. She used her tank to wipe sweat off her face, then fell into rhythm with Wes. “Are we going to be able to shoot anything today?”

“Doubt it. They’ll want to keep their investment low until they fill Vista’s shoes.”

“If they fill them. Fucking idiot.”

“Right? In today’s climate? You don’t fuck around with coworkers.”

Jaime Vista, the A-list actor staring opposite Despina in the Burned movies, had joined the wrong end of the #MeToo movement. Zahara wasn’t the least bit disappointed Vista had been canned. Surprised, yes. The bastard had been getting away with bullying and sexual harassment for years. Zahara had dodged his crosshairs. Mostly. But she’d also been in this business too long to get miffed by a copped feel, innuendos, or even blatant come-ons. As long as it didn’t affect her job, her safety, or the film, she handled interpersonal problems herself. Once she’d set that precedent, most men were too damned scared to mess with her.

Though it hadn’t stopped Chase.

The fucker.

She was still so pissed over it. He and Lila were all over the tabloids. Even if she avoided the rags in the grocery store checkout lines, the damn things were always lying around the set. She hated the way the stress ate at her energy and her mood.

“When Keaton gets back, we can work on the two-on-one fight scenes,” Wes told her. “Then we can take the bikes out.”

A day of fighting and motorcycle skills? Zahara should be jumping for joy. She loved this shit. Lived for it. Nothing jacked her spirits like a good day of stunts. But lately, her days seemed longer and longer. She hadn’t been feeling right since she’d seen Chase kissing Lila.

“It’s time for a baby fix.” Despina’s European-infused voice pulled Zahara’s gaze toward the open bay door. “Look who I found wandering around the set.”

The actress walked in with Brooke, Keaton’s wife, and she was carrying Connor, their baby boy.

Zahara’s energy spiked. She dropped the jump rope and moved toward them with her arms out. “Oh my God. He’s getting so big.”

Despina handed the adorable, dark-haired little cherub to Zahara.

“Hello, handsome.” She kissed his cheek, then blew a raspberry against his neck. The kid chortled on cue. Before Connor, Zahara had never held a baby. She still didn’t know what to do with him most of the time. She just imitated Brooke and Keaton. “Jesus, Brooke, what are you feeding him?”

Before Brooke answered, Keaton’s voice joined the group. “And look who I found wandering around the set.”

Zahara looked up and found Chase swaggering at Keaton’s side. Her heart skipped, then hammered against her ribs. A reality check, for sure. Sometimes, on a decent day, she could tell herself she was over it. Over him. But the jump in her gut, the tightness in her throat, the longing in her chest, made a liar out of her.

Seeing Chase on the job was inevitable. She’d known that. She’d just expected to have more time to find her footing before having to face him.

She handed Connor back to Despina and collected her jump rope from the floor without acknowledging him. Then took her time wandering to the other side of the warehouse to hang it on the wall while Chase chatted with the others.