Rapture (Renegades 7)

In moments like this, an old, long-standing neglect crawled out of the shadows and gnawed a hole in her heart. One she sometimes never thought she’d be able to fill. In many ways, she felt like she’d been alone her whole life. Memories haunted her. Thoughts of all the times her mother had ignored her, abandoned her, chosen booze or drugs over her, let her husband—all freaking five of them—rule the house and push Zahara aside.

“Obviously more important than me.” The words scraped her pride. She wasn’t self-indulgent. She didn’t do self-pity. But she couldn’t deny the facts either.

“That’s not true.”

She cut a look at him. “If I was that important, I would have been in the back of your mind when you made that decision. You would have realized how it would affect me. How it would hurt me.”

His eyes flashed with frustration and guilt. The silence stretched until Zahara’s mind drifted back toward sleep. Sweet, blessed sleep where she could forget this mess and bury her pain.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, his words thoughtful and carefully chosen. His expression exposed just how lost he felt. “You were on my mind, and I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Hardly consolation, but what the hell was she supposed to say? “What’s done is done.”

He dropped his head against the seat. “Zahara—”

“You’re not seeing the big picture here, Chase. Controversy swirling around you is entertainment. Controversy swirling around me is a death sentence for my career. Aside from that, I represent the Renegades. We all conduct ourselves as if the company depends on it, because it does. I have a responsibility to my guys. My screw-up could cost them jobs too.”

“So I’m a screw-up.”

Her last nerve snapped, and she pounded a fist against the armrest between them. Her mother might not have fought for her, but she was more than capable of doing it for herself now.

“This isn’t about you.” She clenched her teeth to keep her voice down. “This is about how what you did will reflect on me and my team. And now this whole fucking franchise.”

He exhaled hard and sank deeper in his seat. Facing front, he ran a hand down his face. “Or maybe it’s just an excuse.” He shot an accusatory look her way. “Maybe this is a convenient way to push me away because I got too close. Because what we had scared you.”

“You sonofabitch.” Angry tears stung her eyes, and she stabbed a finger toward the front of the plane. “Get back where you belong. I’ll take Thomas’s silence to your bullshit any day.”

He pushed to his feet and stepped into the aisle. Hands on hips, head hung, he turned in a slow circle, working something through in his mind. She’d seen him do it dozens of times.

When he lifted his head and looked at her with argument flashing in his eyes, Zahara cut him off with a stern “Don’t.”

Chase dropped his arms, swore, and started toward the front, frustration coiled in every step. Tears burned Zahara’s eyes, and a hole opened up inside her. She curled toward the window and closed her eyes so Thomas wouldn’t notice.

Then she kissed any possibility of sleep goodbye.

7

Chase scanned the city streets of Vancouver, British Columbia before he slid back into the driver’s seat of the muscle car they’d be using throughout the film.

He could easily see why so many studios filmed here. With a few creative camera angles and a little editing magic, Vancouver could morph into any modern city in the US from San Francisco to Washington, DC. It was also much cheaper to film in Canada. So much so that Hollywood had created a whole new niche market for locals servicing the movie industry.

Some actors had permanent homes in the area, and most production companies kept a suite of leased homes to house more famous actors. Despina was staying in one. They’d offered Chase a loft in the city, but he’d turned it down in favor of staying at the same hotel as Zahara. At least for the time she’d be here. He’d even bribed the front desk clerk to put him just a few doors away, though that hadn’t melted the ice between them since their argument on the plane three days before. One that still made him feel like a selfish idiot.

Wes slid into the passenger’s seat through the open window and grinned at Chase as he buckled his harness. “You’ve gotta learn to do that before the film’s over. It’s the hallmark of every professional stuntman.”

“I’ll work on it.” Chase started the engine. Maybe it was a guy thing, but there was something awesome about the rumbling purr of mega horsepower. And something thrilling about attempting to tame and train that power into submission.

Again, Zahara jumped to mind. One thought of the way she’d submitted to him in bed, and his own internal engine revved. He’d expected her to be more of a cool, controlling, just-sex-please kind of lover. He’d expected to have to work much harder to get her to melt. But just as she’d surprised him on the set, she’d gone and blown his mind in bed. Now, he couldn’t get her warm, passionate, loving side out of his he

ad—despite her just-business-please attitude since their argument.

“Let’s do this,” Wes said. “Last practice run. Give her some juice.”

Chase steered onto the city street lined with cars they’d imported from a local salvage yard. When the film rolled, they’d let the extras loose on the streets.

He narrowed his focus to the road and the maneuvers he’d have to make in the next few minutes. When he was ready, Chase blew out a slow, deep breath and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. Every one of the nine-hundred-fifty horses under the Shelby 1000’s hood bolted out of the gate. Chase hammered through the gears, and the car bounded forward.

“Downshift…” Wes coached over the growl of the engine, gripping his harness as Chase eased into the curve.