Rebel (The Renegades)

by Rebecca Yarros

  The pod rose above most of the casinos around us. “It’s gorgeous,” she said reverently. Her gaze swept the skyline, her lips parted as she braced her hands lightly against the glass.

  “Yeah. Beautiful view.” I never once took my eyes from her.

  She noticed, glancing my way and blushing.

  “It’s about time.” She pointed to the television monitor that showed we were only a minute from the zenith of the rotation.

  She headed for the opposite side of the pod, opening the door with a lot less effort than I’d imagined it would take. I quickly wiped her fingerprints off the glass with my sleeve.

  The breeze swept in, the January air clearing my head as I stepped to the open doorway next to Penelope to look down over the nearly empty parking lot.

  “You have to clear that tree,” she said, pointing.

  “You need to watch that lamppost.”

  “God, I love this feeling,” she whispered, as if she hadn’t meant to say the thought aloud.

  “The rush?” I guessed.

  “The anticipation. The war that silently rages in my body between what I want it to do and what it knows isn’t safe. The way my stomach tightens and my heart starts to race. The moment the decision is still mine.”

  I knew the exact moment she was describing because I’d lived it—I was in it now. It was the moment you stood on the edge of epic and decided to topple over.

  She looked up, snapping her static line hook to the steel rod above the doorframe. I did the same and then stood back, checking the monitor for our location. “It’s time.”

  She moved her toes to the very edge of the pod, her black Vans standing out against the metal plate. Then she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, pure joy washing over her features.

  Enchanting. That girl she was seeking was closer to her surface than she realized.

  “See you at the bottom,” she said over her shoulder with a thousand-megawatt smile and jumped.

  She was fucking fearless, and even if I hadn’t been wearing a parachute, I might have jumped just to stay close to her—she was that magnetic.

  “Go to Vegas, they said. It will be fun, they said,” I muttered.

  I counted two full seconds, watching her chute deploy, then stepped out into nothing.

  Chapter Three

  Penna

  Las Vegas

  Holy shit. You did it.

  Adrenaline pumped through my veins, heightening the rush of euphoria that flooded all of my senses. I did it. I was still me.

  Maybe I was damaged, a little broken, but I was still me. As long as I had this, everything else made sense. Even if I couldn’t pull it off in front of the cameras, or hit the ramps with the other Renegades, I had this moment.

  The ground rushed toward me, the parachute slowing my descent, but not enough to make it an easy landing. I cleared the lamppost, passed the tree, and lined up with the parking lot where Little John waited. Then I bent my knees and met the asphalt at a run as the Earth welcomed me home.

  I spun, immediately checking for Cruz, and nearly sagged in relief as he landed about twenty feet to my right. Our eyes locked in the dim lighting, something tangible but indescribable passing between us.

  Then the moment was over, and I was scurrying to gather up the chute before security got here. There was no way we’d gone unnoticed.

  “Ditch the chute!” Cruz yelled as he ran toward me, already having cut his loose.

  Little John whipped the car around, squealing to a halt right in front of us.

  “I can get it!” I said, gathering the fabric in my arms.

  Cruz turned me in his arms and unclicked the harness from the chute. “We have to go. Ditch. The. Chute.”

  He didn’t raise his voice, but he didn’t leave room for argument, either. “Okay,” I said, like he hadn’t already made the decision for me. He was right; the chutes didn’t matter. They had no identifying marks and couldn’t be traced back to us.

  He took my hand and pulled me toward the car, yanking open the door. I dove into the backseat, scooting behind Little John as Cruz slid in next to me.

  “Go!” I yelled as the door slammed shut.

  Little John took off, tearing through the parking lot in the opposite direction of our hotel. Cruz’s jaw was locked, the muscles flexing as he turned to look behind us. “You’re in the clear so far,” he told Little John.

  “Good, good,” Little John muttered.

  We rode in silence, coming down from the adrenaline high as we kept a lookout. About five minutes later, Little John drove into a residential neighborhood and pulled over. “One minute,” he said, hopping out.

  “Wow,” I said, unable to think of another word to sum up what that had been.

  “Pretty much,” Cruz said, unclipping his helmet and running his hand over his hair.

  Little John climbed back in. “Okay, license plate is back on, and we’re heading to the hotel. How do you feel?”

  My lips curved. “Rebellious.”

  “Thank God,” Little John said, smacking the steering wheel. “If that brought you back, then it was all worth it.”

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. Did it bring me back? I felt like me—the rush was the same, the feeling that I’d just beaten not only the odds but my own expectations. But was I ready to be back in the real game? Riding my bike? Filming?

  “Bobby is going to shit bricks that you didn’t film that.”

  “It was for me, not the documentary. The world already saw me self-destruct once this year, and I let him use it. This was mine.”

  “And your contract?” he asked as we pulled into the entrance of the Bellagio.

  “My contract says that I’ll let him film every extreme sport I take part in that’s sponsored by the Renegades. Which…this wasn’t.”

  “Either way, I’m looking forward to a phone call.”

  I leaned forward, hugging him against the seat. “Thank you. I know this was not what you wanted for me, and I’m seriously grateful.”

  He patted my hand, then squeezed. “I’d move mountains for you, Penna.”

  “Does that include letting me sleep in tomorrow?”

  He laughed. “Hell no. Flight is at noon. I’ll be at your room by eight, and you’d better be ready to go.”

  “Fine.” I kissed his cheek as he pulled up to the door and put the car in park. “See you in the morning!”

  Cruz held the door open for me, and I slid out. He was tense, his eyes focused anywhere but on me. His hand rested on my lower back as we walked through the doors, and I didn’t shake him off. Instead, I savored the touch, wishing I could lean into him.

  How ironic; I’d finally found a guy I felt inexplicably drawn to, and I had only another thirty seconds with him.

  We made it to the elevators in silence, ignoring the hustle of the casino, and the doors shut, leaving us inside in a tension-filled silence. What do you say to a stranger who just pulled off a highly illegal BASE jump with you? What was I supposed to say about the hum in my blood, the way his scent made me want to snuggle closer?

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  “So…” My voice faded out, trying to think of something to say as we tapped the buttons for our floors.

  “You’re insane,” Cruz said, finally turning to me, those delicious, melty eyes swallowing me whole. “You know that, right? Crazy hot—no, exquisitely beautiful—smart, strong, and incredibly magnetic, but a little fucking nuts.”

  “Yes,” I whispered as the elevator rose.

  He blinked a few times as his smile came and went, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe I’d admitted to it. How could I not? I wasn’t sure anyone could do what Renegades did and not lose a piece of their sanity.

  I’d been questioning mine more and more lately.

  “I’ve never met anyone quite like you,” he said softly as we approached his floor. I had maybe another five seconds with him before he was gone.

  “That’s because there’s
no one like me,” I said honestly. “I can say with 100 percent certainty that I’m an Original.” I cracked a smile at my own little pun that he couldn’t possibly understand.

  The elevator dinged when we arrived at his floor. Time was up.

  “That, you are.”

  My stomach tightened as he stepped toward the elevator doors as they opened, revealing a long hallway.

  I would never see him again.

  What if I never felt this kind of connection with anyone else? What if he was the one guy I was capable of feeling something with? What if I was about to miss out on something that was truly once-in-a-lifetime because I was ironically scared to jump?

  What if was unacceptable.

  His hand reached for the door, holding it open, and he looked over his shoulder at me. “Thank you for tonight. I’ll never forget it.”

  Neither would I…and I wasn’t ready for it to be over.

  “Have you ever stayed in a penthouse suite here?” I asked before my brain could stop my mouth.

  “I can’t say that I have,” he replied, his eyes darkening as his gaze moved to my lips.

  Oh my God, I’m going to do it. My stomach knotted worse than before the last X Games.

  “Want to? I mean, I do owe you champagne.” Hopefully my shaky voice came out breathless and seductive.

  The lines of his back tensed.

  “I promise it’s mine. All legal, and I won’t even make you jump out of it.”

  He turned slowly to face me, his hand still blocking the elevator doors from closing. The longer he stared at me, the faster my blood rushed, quickening my belly, turning my thighs almost liquid. How could a simple look turn me on so fast, so completely?

  “Penelope…” He said my name like a half plea, half prayer.

  “I know what I’m asking,” I assured him. All I’d have is this one night with him, and tomorrow he’d be a memory, but it was better than wondering what if.

  “Are you sure about that?” He stalked forward, the elevator doors closing behind his broad shoulders. My pulse leaped as he filled my vision, my thoughts centering on what his skin would feel like under my fingertips.

  I nodded, and he shook his head.

  “I need the word.” His breath was sweet as he leaned down, his lips merely inches from mine as the elevator rose again.

  God, I could barely think with him this close. He watched me expectantly, with more than a hint of hunger in his eyes. Usually I’d shut a guy down at this point, but this was nothing I’d ever experienced before. Cruz’s blatant desire made me feel powerful, intrigued, and turned on—humming with sweet electricity.

  He didn’t just want me as a trophy—he didn’t even know who I was.

  He just wanted me.

  “Yes,” I finally said, the word giving my consent not just to him but to myself. I was free to let go for once in my life—damn the consequences.

  His mouth brushed over mine, sweetly, as though he was physically asking for the permission I’d already verbally given him. Our lips met in a soft caress that had me on my toes, leaning up for more. It was a kiss that sent awareness rushing down my limbs, waking each of my nerve endings. It was the first chapter of a romance novel, a bewitching introduction that had me hungry to turn the next page, already hooked on his taste.

  He pulled back with a smile, his gaze skimming over my face in a way that made me feel like a work of art. Before he could say anything, the elevator dinged, announcing that we’d reached my floor.

  I took his hand and led him down the immaculately decorated hallway a short distance to my door. My hand shook slightly as I took the key from my back pocket, and I missed the lock, just skimming the side. So much for being a badass in charge of my sexuality.

  Cruz’s hand covered mine, strong and warm, as he leaned against me slightly, his lips caressing the shell of my ear. “You are under no obligation to open that door or to invite me inside, Penelope.”

  God, I loved the way he said my name. I barely suppressed a shiver from the chills that swept down my spine. With a quick, sure motion, I unlocked the door.

  As soon as the light flashed green, I turned the handle and stepped inside the suite, looking back over my shoulder at the beautiful man who stood at the threshold. “Do you need an invitation?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, bracing his hands on the doorframe like he had to hold himself back.

  This was it. Was I really going to invite a stranger into my suite? Into my…bed? You never know someone until you jump with them. How many times had I said that to new Renegades?

  Cruz waited there, radiating raw sexual energy, watching me decide, his eyes an intense combination of desire and patience. Something told me he’d be the same in bed—unhurried, thorough, and utterly consuming.

  For the first time in my life, I wanted to be devoured.

  “Come in,” I said softly.

  He pushed off the doorframe, and in three strides, I was in his arms. One of his hands gripped my waist as the other cradled my face. The door shut behind him at the same moment his mouth met mine.

  This kiss wasn’t the light caress our first had been. His tongue ran across my lower lip, and with the gentle pressure of his thumb under that lip, I opened for him. His tongue slid inside, hot and insistent, rubbing mine with an expertise that had me gripping his shirt within the first few seconds.

  He backed me up until my ass hit the table behind the sofa, a vase falling to the floor with an anticlimactic thud. I felt his smile against my mouth, and mine echoed it for about a millisecond before he reclaimed my mouth, his hand sliding to tunnel through my hair. He changed the angle, kissing me deeper, until my entire world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on mine, the electric current coursing through me, and my mindless need to get closer to him.

  He kissed me and kissed me some more, never pushing, but taking everything I offered. His taste was maddening, as dark and rich as his scent. My fingers drifted over the hard muscles of his pecs until I looped my arms around his neck, my breasts pushing against his chest as he pulled me closer.

  I wanted more—needed more of this sweet burn that had ignited in my belly, this clawing desperation to feel his skin against mine. My nipples tightened, making me hyperaware of every brush of fabric against them. “Bedroom,” I whispered.

  “Where?” he asked, gently taking my earlobe between his teeth.

  Holy. Shit. That felt amazing.

  “Down that hall.” I motioned with my head, unwilling to let go of him.

  He lifted me by my ass, the motion effortless and all the sexier for it. My legs wrapped around his waist as his mouth returned to mine, and he carried me down the hallway toward the bedroom. The curtains were open, the lights from the strip softening the angles of his face as he laid me on the soft bedspread. Cruz was gorgeous, elementally, perfectly hot—primal, even—but seeing him above me took him to another level.

  His mouth slid down my jawline, my breath hitching with every kiss he put to my throat. I gasped as he sucked lightly on a sensitive bit of skin, my fingers raking through his dark, thick hair to hold him to me.

  I felt drunk, intoxicated by his mouth, his scent, his weight, as he settled between my thighs. In that instant, I understood the hype of sex, the drive for this intense pleasure that was overwhelming all my senses. The few meager kisses I’d had before were nothing compared to this. Kissing Cruz made me feel borderline insane—every ounce of logic fled as he kissed my collarbone, and I became a creature of pure physical need.

  Skin. I wanted his skin against mine, wanted to run my fingers along the lines of the muscles his shirt more than hinted at. I tugged at the fabric of his shirt, and he sat up on his knees as my legs fell off his hips, my thighs open. A smile ghosted his lips as he reached behind his head and pulled the shirt off in a seamless move.

  My breath abandoned me as I took in the sheer perfection of his torso. I was used to ripped guys, but Cruz was the most perfect specimen of man I’d ever seen. I reached for
him, my fingers skimming over the deep indentations of his washboard abs, exploring the ropes of muscles that defined his torso. An Airborne tattoo stood out against the curve of his bicep, but the rest of him was unmarked—just yards of tan, velvet skin that my mouth was eager to taste.

  “You…” I shook my head when I couldn’t find the words, my tongue swiping over my kiss-swollen lips. “You’re incredible.”

  “I was thinking the same thing about you,” he said, running his hand between my breasts but never touching the rigid peaks. “Except maybe a little dirtier.”

  My fingers wrapped around the silver chain he wore around his neck, a medallion fitting neatly into my palm as I pulled him back down to me. He lowered his weight slowly, dipping to tug at my lower lip with his teeth.

  “How much dirtier?” I asked, my breath coming in near pants.

  “Filthy,” he said against my neck, moving down to my neckline.

  I was going to lose it if he didn’t touch me soon.

  As his hands skimmed my rib cage, I arched up, and as if he read my mind, he palmed one of my breasts. I whimpered as his thumb rubbed over my nipple, the sensation tightening the bud but seeming to soften me everywhere else. My hips rocked against his, and he hissed as I felt him, long and hard where our bodies met, separated by only a few layers of fabric.

  God, I wanted, and though the feeling was new to me, I welcomed it like I did every new experience—with eagerness. I was twenty-one years old, and if this was the only time I’d ever feel this kind of desire, then I was going to grasp it for as long as I could.

  “Cruz,” I moaned as he set his mouth to my breast, his teeth raking me through the fabric of my shirt and bra. The friction was exquisite, and though he hadn’t so much as touched me beneath my waist, that’s exactly where the sensation gathered, making my hands fist in his hair as a glorious restlessness took over. “Please,” I begged, arching my hips to rub against him.

  “Say it again,” he growled in a low voice that sent a wave of warmth through my thighs.

  “Please,” I repeated, knowing I needed more and that he could give it to me.

  He rose over me until our eyes locked. “My name, Penelope. Say my name. Someone as beautiful, as intoxicating as you are never has to beg, especially not when all I want is to worship every inch of you.”