Rapture Renegades Book 7 Read online

  Rapture

  Skye Jordan

  Copyright © 2018 by Skye Jordan

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Also by Skye Jordan

  About the Author

  1

  If doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result was the definition of insanity, Zahara Parrish would be considered certifiable.

  At least by Hollywood outsiders.

  But here, surrounded by cast, crew, and fellow stuntmen on a cliff overlooking the Pacific in Los Angeles, Zahara was in crazy company.

  She tugged and jerked on every ring, every hook, every connection of her safety harness, then turned to the cameraman who would follow her down and repeated the thorough check.

  “Stop stallin’.” Keaton, Renegades’ best fighter and a top-level black belt in more martial arts disciplines than Zahara could name, bounced on his toes and shadow-boxed the air. “You act like you’ve never taunted the reaper before.”

  “Easy for you to say, Kung Fu.” Zahara gave the cameraman a you’re-done slap on the back. “You’re not the one going over the side.”

  Chase laughed, and Zahara turned his direction.

  As the film’s lead, Chase Layton had claimed his right to perform the final stunt with Zahara instead of letting his stunt double—Keaton—take this fall. While she had no doubt Chase would handle the stunt like a pro, distractions in her line of work could be lethal.

  And this man was most definitely distracting.

  She ushered him forward with a come-hither finger, and Chase responded with one of those lightning-hot grins, making her insides pop and sizzle.

  With his arms out to the side, Chase approached, his swagger confident and sexy. The Los Angeles sun added a lick of gold to his wheat-and-honey hair and a sparkle to his sky-blue eyes. “Play with me as much as you like.”

  That brought a few laughs from the crew. Zahara would have laughed too, if this had been their first week together on the set and not their eighth. If they were still happy-go-lucky acquaintances and not good friends with enough chemistry to turn this movie into a literal blockbuster.

  The intense way Chase’s gaze never left hers screamed let’s do this—a message that went deeper than the stunt.

  And, oh, the things she’d love to do with this man.

  Unfortunately, those would never happen. Something she’d been telling herself for two long months.

  She gave the strap across his chest a hard pull.

  “Little lower.” His murmur trickled down her neck like a touch.

  She tested the connections at his hips.

  “You’re getting warmer.”

  “I’m trying to keep you alive here.” Zahara straightened, unable to hold back her smile. “Turn around.”

  “That’s a little kinky, but I’m game.” And he turned.

  “What you are is an insatiable flirt.” She tugged on the harness stretching across his back, waist, and hips.

  Damn. The man had one fine ass.

  “All your excuses are going to evaporate in about…” He twisted his wrist and pretended to look at an invisible watch. “Oh, maybe twenty more minutes.”

  That wasn’t something she was ready to address. She smacked the middle of his back. “You’re good to go.”

  “Not exactly the attention I was hoping for.” When he faced her, she caught the glint of hard-core determination in his gaze. “But we can save the good stuff for later.”

  She searched his expression for the real emotions beneath his teasing. For any nerves or hesitation he might be covering.

  And, as always, he seemed to read her thoughts as if they were written on her forehead. His fun-loving flirtation faded into warmth and sincerity. “Hey.” He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’m ready.”

  “Come on, you two.” Keaton popped their intimate bubble. “Let’s see some action.”

  “A man after my own heart.” Chase brushed hair off her cheek. “Have I mentioned how much I hate this wig?”

  “Only every day for two months.” She started toward Keaton, who stood several yards away. “Come here, badass. Let me check your life line. Your wife would kill me if I let you do something as stupid as fall off a cliff.”

  “Says the woman who’s going to jump.” Keaton swung out with a roundhouse kick that missed her nose by an inch.

  Zahara didn’t flinch. “Would you stop? I have to make sure you go home to that adorable baby of yours tonight.”

  Keaton got that stupid grin on his face, the one that lit him up every time anyone mentioned his son. “He’s growing so fast, he looks like a mini sumo wrestler.”

  “Okay. You’re good.” She stabbed his chest with a rigid finger and drilled him with a serious “But stay away from the edge.”

  “Take your places,” the director called before syncing with the cameramen filming from every angle.

  Zahara jogged a hundred yards away to the spot where the last scene had ended, then turned to face the ocean and the cliff edge again. From the sidelines, a crew member tossed her a blood packet, and she tucked it between her cheek and her teeth.

  Production assistants and support staff gathered and quieted. Closer to the edge, Chase stood off to the side with Keaton. But now Chase was the one bouncing on his toes, purging pent-up nerves.

  Zahara met his gaze again, and a hint of a smile narrowed his eyes. He gave her an I’m-ready, no-worries, we’ve-got-this nod, and she breathed a little easier.

  She’d never communicated with a man this way. Never felt this close to a man in her life either. It often seemed like they were physically linked. As if cables like the ones hooked to their harnesses now also connected them, heart to heart.

  She found the director. “Ready.”

  Zahara shook out her arms and visualized every step of the stunt in her head. Adrenaline kicked through her system, creating a buzz in her gut. She and Chase had practiced the sequence several times, but those trials had all taken place inside buildings with pads to soften the blows. Zahara knew she could take the rough stuff, but she wasn’t one hundred percent sure how Chase would handle the cliff when it came time to fly over the side.

  There was only one way to find out.

  She ground her soles into the scratchy dirt and cleared her mind of everything but her next move. The filming staff blurred in her peripheral vision. The chatter dimmed until she heard nothing but the wind whipping at the strands of her wig.

  One deep breath in. One deep breath out. Focus.

  A crewmember stepped in front of the cameras with a clapboard and called the scene.

  “Ready,” the director bellowed, “…and…action.”

  Zahara pushed i
nto a sprint and slipped into character—a terrified woman chased by her lover-turned-abuser. She stumbled a little, cut frightened glances over her shoulder.

  Nearing the edge, she skidded on the hard-packed dirt, came to an awkward stop, and looked down at the ocean below.

  Chase came up behind her, his menacing voice as rough as the ground beneath their feet. “I’ll never let you go.”

  Zahara swung toward him just as Chase stepped closer. She threw a punch, and Chase caught her fist in his without ever taking his eyes off hers. His expression was fierce, etched with anger. He stepped back and threw a punch of his own.

  She snapped her head right, spun, and dropped to her hands and knees. She bit into the blood packet, and sickly sweet Karo syrup coated her tongue. Struggling to her feet, she spit fake blood and ran at Chase again. He jammed his foot against her stomach and kicked her backward.

  Zahara reeled and fell on her ass. She immediately popped to her feet and pushed into the final sprint. Chase set his stance, giving her the perfect platform to plant one boot on his thigh for the leverage she needed. She launched herself, flailing fists beating his head, neck, shoulders.

  Chase held her by the waist and stumbled backward. When he took them to the ground, he braced her for the hit and smoothly rolled her beneath him. Zahara wedged her foot between their bodies and kicked him back.

  It was all so damn effortless. Their moves, their timing. They were perfectly in sync. As if Chase read her mind and her body. Even stunts she performed with guys who did this for a living weren’t always this smooth. She and Chase had clicked from the start—in so many ways.

  Now, with her back toward the cliff, they headed into the final sequence. Chase came at her again. They grappled, shoving and hitting, shifting precariously close to the ledge.

  “On three,” Zahara said at his ear. “One, two, three.”

  Chase gave her a shove with the just enough oomph to put her heels on the edge of the cliff. Then, without so much as a millisecond of pause, he hit her with the full force of his muscular body.

  They didn’t just fall off the cliff, they sailed.

  The instant their feet left the ground, Zahara knew they’d nailed it. This stunt would sear the screen.

  The next few seconds slowed to quarter time. The air whistled past her ears. Chase wrapped his big body around her, cradling her head against his shoulder as they dropped. Zahara’s breath whooshed from her lungs, her head went light, and her stomach pitched with fear. The inevitable fear that came with every stunt. Fear the cables would snap. Fear the braking system would choke.

  Usually, those fears ebbed a millisecond after she’d left the ground. But this time, she wasn’t alone. This time, the risk included someone other than a fellow Renegade. Someone she cared about.

  The whine of machinery overhead sounded just before the cables’ brakes kicked on, slowing them until their descent ended with a soft jerk.

  For a long second, neither of them moved. They swayed gently midair, still fifty feet from the ground. His arms were doubled around her, his breathing quick and choppy, his body strung wire tight.

  Zahara felt cocooned in his arms, oddly comfortable and safe. Strangely content. Maybe even a little euphoric. She would have pushed anyone else away by now. But she took the moment, closed her eyes, and breathed him in. He smelled so male, so virile, so…alive.

  “Holy. Fuck.” Chase’s voice was low and filled with awe, his head still resting against hers. “What a rush.”

  Zahara could say the same, though she’d be talking about the feel of his body against hers, not the stunt. Chest to chest, belly to belly, thighs tangled, she got an up-close-and-personal experience of a body she’d only admired from a distance until now. And her own body swam with dizzying desire.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, forced her mind to work. “Don’t get any wild ideas.” She sounded breathless. “This job is mine.”

  Chase lifted his head and looked into her eyes, his gaze a mix of amazement and affection. He wrapped one thick thigh around her legs, unwound his arms from her body and cradled her face in both hands. “Baby, I’ve got all kinds of wild ideas. But they don’t involve your job.”

  Her heart thundered, knocking directly against his. The thrill of the stunt still burned a path through Zahara’s soul. She felt free and invincible and, in Chase’s arms like this, maybe even a little wild. But her fierce need for security had been ingrained too early and too often for her to throw vigilance to the wind now.

  Chase’s sparkling blue gaze lowered to her lips.

  Zahara’s heart tripped. “Don’t even think about letting those wild ideas loose, Layton. We’ve still got at least a dozen pairs of eyes on us.”

  “Mmm.” His lazy, lusty gaze slid back to hers with a smile to match. “Sounds like we’re on the same page.”

  “Not only are we not on the same page,” Zahara told him, “we’re not even in the same book. Hell, we’re not even in the same library.”

  He laughed, a low rumble that trembled through Zahara’s body like a quake. She squirmed out of the hold and gave him a shove, sending him into a swing on his own. Cool air hit all the places he’d been warming. Zahara’s lungs unlocked, and she dragged in a breath of relief. Disaster averted.

  “Hey, now.” Arms out, he let himself swing freely. “Was that nice?”

  She wrapped her fingers around her cable and glanced up at the cameraman, who was already watching the playback on the screen.

  Chase pushed off the cliff wall with one foot, swinging closer to Zahara. He made a swipe for her, but she dodged him, laughing. When he reached the cliff wall again, he gave himself another push. This time, he managed to hook a finger into her harness and dragged her along as they swayed back to center. There, he wrapped his legs around hers again.

  She put a hand against his chest and gave him a too-many-eyes “Chase.”

  He ignored her, sliding his hand down her arm before threading their fingers. But he was looking up at the cameraman. “Is it good, Donny?”

  “Freaking amazing.”

  “I knew it would be,” Chase said, turning his pleased grin on Zahara and lowering his voice. “We’ve been freaking amazing from the beginning.”

  “Donny,” one of the crew yelled over the side. “You’re coming up first.”

  He gave Zahara and Chase a salute. “See you at the top.”

  The cameraman was reeled in, and any crew looking over the edge above disappeared from view.

  Now, she was alone with Chase. Trapped. No way out. Not until it was their turn to be reeled in.

  Part of her didn’t want a way out. But another part knew she needed one. And fast. Before she did something stupid, like giving in to this nuclear chemistry. One she’d been able to keep under control while they’d been filming together.

  But now, as they hung there, face-to-face, limbs tangled, she realized that while she might have kept the physical intimacy at bay, their emotional intimacy had soared. They’d become friends. Good friends. Great friends. The kind of friends who confided in each other. The kind who rooted for each other. The kind who could talk without speaking.

  If she were honest, the thought of wrapping this film and not seeing him tomorrow or the next day or the next broke her heart.

  “Uh-uh.” Chase cupped her jaw. His other hand tightened on hers. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Scheming to get rid of me.”

  “I don’t have to. The movie’s over.”

  “I’m so glad you pointed that out,” he said. “Because now we can—”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that—”

  “Good to hear,” he said.

  “And I really don’t think—” she started.

  “Bad to hear.”

  He wrapped an arm low on her waist. Zahara leaned away and put a hand against his chest. His hard, hot, damp chest. She glanced up, praying the team reeled them in before she had to address this attraction between t
hem.

  “Don’t look up there.” Chase released her hand and tilted her head, pulling her gaze back to his. “I’m right here.”

  He snuck a hairpin from her wig, and she covered his hand. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting rid of this thing.” He continued plucking hairpins.

  “Stop.” She batted at his hands, but he managed to sweep the wig off her head, then flung it toward the ocean.

  Zahara gasped, watching the wig flutter and float toward the water. She hit him with a glare. “Layton, if they want to charge me for that thing, you’re buying it.”

  “Deal.” His hands returned to her hair, pulling out more pins.

  “Would you stop?” She looked up and yelled, “What’s taking you guys so long?”

  Chase reached for another pin. “I might have slipped Matt a hundred bucks to take his time.”

  “You what?”

  He pulled the last pin from her hair, and it tumbled past her shoulders. “I just wanted a few private minutes with you.”

  “Chase.”

  He combed all ten fingers into her hair with a sigh. “I’ve been dreaming about doing this for months. God damn, you are beautiful.”

  “I’m dirty and sweaty.”

  “And that so works for me.” He slid his thumbs over her cheekbones. “Kiss me, Z.”

  Her stomach jumped. She pulled her head back and laughed an are-you-crazy “No.”

  A hot little grin turned his lips. “You know you wanna.”

  Oh she did. She really did.

  “I wanna lot of things. Getting my picture on the front page of the tabloids kissing you isn’t one of them.”

  His brows lifted. “You think I’m front-page worthy?”

  She smirked.

  “The tabloids aren’t here,” he told her. “No one’s here. It’s just you and me.”