Ridge bobs his head up and down as he taps a few keys on the keyboard. “When you texted me earlier and told me about the spy, I did a map scan and none showed up. So, either the neighbor’s not there for her, or they haven’t bugged her place yet.”
“I doubt he’s there for Zhara Baker,” Xavier says. “It has to be just a weird coincidence.”
I nod, but I’m not so sure. The truth is that while I was digging up some background information on Zhara, I stumbled across some strange stuff. Stuff that makes me wonder if there’s more to her family than she’s letting on. Or maybe she doesn’t know about any of it.
Either way, her life could be in more danger than she realizes. But I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure she stays safe. All of us will.
Discovering Zhara: Going Undercover
(Bad Boy Rebels, #3)
By Jessica Sorensen
Discovering Zhara: Going Undercover
Jessica Sorensen
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Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Sorensen
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Dreaming?
I’ve got to be dreaming. This isn’t happening. I must be stuck in dreamland. Perhaps my insomnia took over my mind and now I’ve become delusional.
That mantra repeatedly runs through my mind as I sit in the passenger seat of Benton’s Chevelle, letting Jackson drive me to some place they referred to as the training pit. Wilder’s in the backseat, tapping his fingers to the rock song flowing through the stereo. The windows are down and the warm evening air gusts into the cab, making my untamed brown curls even more untamable. Between my crazy hair, heat flushed skin, and the fact that the backs of my legs are sticking to the leather, I’m sure I look—and even smell—like a hot mess.
Wait! Did I even put on deodorant this morning?
Usually, I wouldn’t question my personal hygiene, but I’d been so distracted this morning with Alexis and Loki fighting, the creepy neighbor showing up, followed by Benton’s appearance, that I wouldn’t be surprised if I missed a few steps from my morning routine.
How did my life change so fast? How did I go from boring Zhara to this girl sitting in the car with two hot guys, driving to some secret detective training place?
I internally sigh, knowing the answer. I’m here because I made a choice all on my own. Whatever happens, I can’t blame anyone but myself. I just hope I don’t regret it.
“You know, you do that a lot.” Wilder scoots forward in the seat and rests his arms on the console. His blonde and blue hair that’s shaved on the sides and long on top is wild from the wind, but—unlike my hair—in a sexy way.
“Do what?” I ask him, brushing my fingers through my hair in an attempt to get some of the strands out of my eyes.
He crosses his arms on the console. “Sigh.”
I frown, more at myself. “Oh… I thought I was doing that in my head.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “Do you talk to yourself in your head a lot?”
“No.” I Lie. I probably do it way more than is considered healthy. “Just every once in a while.”
“It’s okay if you do. I do it too.” He taps his finger against his temple. “It’s part of the artist’s curse. I have all this creative shit going on in my mind all the time. It’s kind of maddening sometimes and shit just sort of spills out of my mouth uncontrollably.”
“At least you have an excuse,” I tell him. “I’m not an artist. I just worry too much.”
He eyes me over curiously. “About what?”
I shrug. “Stuff. Life. School. My brothers and sisters.”
“That sucks,” he says, appearing genuine. “That you have to worry about all that stuff, I mean.”
“You should probably try to worry about it less,” Jackson chimes in as he steers the car down the highway, which is lined by rolling hills and a glistening river. He throws me a charming, half-grin as he reaches over and playfully pinches my thigh. “Life is way more fun when you don’t overthink things.”
My heart pounds in my chest from his touch, and if I wasn’t sweaty already, I sure as heck would be now.
Jackson chuckles, amused by my discomfort. Wilder seems less pleased, narrowing his eyes at Jackson. I wonder if he’s upset because Jackson pinched my leg. I don’t know why he would be. But I don’t know that much about guys either.
“Sometimes people have to overthink things,” Wilder mumbles to Jackson. “It’s part of life.”
“Don’t feed me that I need to be more responsible shit—I’m responsible when I need to be. But in between then I like to have fun.” Jackson winks at me. “Just remember that, Zhara. If you want fun, I’m your guy.”
Wilder rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch, threatening to turn upward. “Don’t listen to him, Zhara. Every time he has,” he m
akes air quotes, “ ‘fun,’ someone either ends up getting hurt or getting arrested.”
I don’t know what kind of face I pull, but Jackson adds, “The only person I’ve ever gotten arrested is myself. And as for the hurt part, he doesn’t mean physically. Well, except for that one bar fight I got into. But that wasn’t entirely my fault.”
Bar fights? Getting arrested? Okay, I don’t want to judge a book by the cover, but with Jackson’s pretty boy, blonde hair, blue-eyed, button-down shirt and tie look, he would’ve been the last guy I’d guess to be the troublemaker of the group. That assumption already went to Xavier, who seems to hate me.
“What do you mean, he doesn’t hurt people physically?” I ask. “What other way is there to hurt someone?”
“Aw, little sweet Zhara.” Jackson pats my head, making me feel like a clueless puppy. “You’re too cute for your own good.”
My lip spasms in annoyance at the word cute.
Wilder observes me, curiosity glittering in his eyes. “You know what? I think she might not like that word, Jackson.”
Jackson watches me equally as close, which is slightly unnerving since he’s driving. Yet, somehow he maintains an even speed and steers perfectly down the road.
What is this dude, a driving wizard or something?
“It’s not like I hate the word,” I explain. “I’ve just been called it a lot.”
“Cute?” Jackson asks with an impish grin.
I have a feeling admitting this is going to come back and bite me in the butt, but oh well, I already cracked open the door to Pandora’s Box.
I nod. “Yes, cute. It’s practically my nickname, and I’m not a fan of it.”