“Rubi—”

“I’ll be watching, taking notes, putting it all together for those apps you can’t wait to get your hands on.” She turned toward the camera where Jax bullshitted with the crew, and shot Wes one last grin over her shoulder. “Remember—no major injuries.”

Wes leaned forward, revved the Ducati, and shot toward the bridge, pushing the bike to ridiculous speeds just to burn out this new streak of frustration.

Between the sun, the suit, and running the stunt three times already, he was sweating from every pore. That all would have been manageable if Rubi hadn’t shown up looking like a goddamn Penthouse centerfold. Now his cock rubbed in all the wrong places.

He was done with this all-flirtation-no-action shit. They’d been building up to this for two months. Yeah, it had taken him a while to realize she was exactly the kind of woman he should have been dating for years. And, yeah, he’d been easing closer to her because he also knew she was skittish about dating one guy. But he either had to get her into bed or out of his head.

And both had about the same chance of happening—nil.

He’d pulled every trick, every tactic in his arsenal to tug Rubi over the friendship-only threshold she’d created between them, but she wouldn’t budge. He knew she wanted to cross over. He saw it in her eyes when she looked at him. Heard it in her voice in those rare private moments when they found themselves out of earshot of Jax and Lexi.

And he was no quitter. He wouldn’t give up on her without one hell of a battle of wills. Which meant it looked like he had a real challenge on his hands, because no one challenged him like Rubi.

Slowing the bike, he circled back to face the wreckage, pausing beneath the shadow of the condemned bridge for some heat relief. He dropped one foot to the cement and reached up to wipe sweat from his eyes through the opening in his helmet. When he glanced toward Jax and the crew, he found Rubi standing nearby. She had an ear bent toward Troy, one of Wes’s fellow Renegades, and her gaze on the pile of metal Wes planned to annihilate.

If Troy was flirting with her again, it was subtle. His hands gestured as he described the upcoming stunt so Rubi could get all the information she needed to program the apps she was developing for Jax. Her pen moved quickly over the page as she noted Troy’s information.

Wes’s mind flipped back to the way she’d laughed at something he’d said the night before. She’d been sitting next to him at dinner with Lexi and Jax, leaning forward, elbows on the table, chin in one hand, twirling her drink with a straw. But those gorgeous green eyes had been on his, twinkling with happiness. Her smile had been wide and breathtaking. Her light-cocoa cheeks blushed with color.

Fierce want gripped his entire body—the same desire he’d suffered last night—and he groaned.

As if she’d heard him, Rubi glanced up from her notepad. With her sunglasses still on the top of her head, those light eyes were piercing. Her gaze remained directly on him even as Troy continued to talk, and he felt the sexual tension as if they were connected by a wire of electricity.

Frustration spiked, and he revved the bike. “Come on, dude,” he said to Jax through the headset feed. “Wait too much longer and we’re going to have to realign the shot to kill shadows.”

“Hold your dick on.” Jax’s voice pierced Wes’s ear. “I’m putting three more cameras on this take. It’s not like we can run it a dozen more times.”

He rolled the bike back and forth in a restless sway as he watched the key grip—a guy who handled camera placement—run between cameramen. The best boy, a kid who taped down all the electrical wires, worked frantically in the key grip’s wake.

Waiting was one of his least favorite pastimes. Plus, today, every moment of downtime allowed his mind to drift toward his brother, which Wes had been trying to avoid by staying busy, dammit. And, just like every other time his mind had lolled toward Wyatt, his stomach balled into a fist. He’d be out of surgery by now. At least that was Wes’s hope. He hadn’t had a chance to call his mother for a few hours now.

“Okay.” Jax’s voice sounded in Wes’s ear. “We’re set to go.”

“Finally.”

The familiar flutter of anxiety that came with every stunt—stronger for some than others—stung his breastbone. Down the stretch of concrete, all but two members of the crew cleared the area. The remaining members tossed lighter fluid on the crashed vehicles, and the fumes flooded his nose even this far away. He didn’t like Rubi so close to that shit.

“Jax,” he said. “Can’t Rubi watch from inside? The fumes are choking me all the way down here.”

“Copy.” Jax turned from one of the cameras and spoke to Rubi. She shook her head, and Jax returned with, “She says she’s fine. You good?”

He should have known she’d do whatever she damn well wanted. But he reminded himself he didn’t have to like her stubbornness to admire it. “Yeah, good.”

Extinguishers filled with foam fire retardant passed through the staff clustered off to the side. They would run out and smother the flames poststunt. If this didn’t take on the first round, it would be a royal bitch and a time suck to set up again.

He glanced toward Jax, but his gaze halted on Rubi. He got that delicious pinch low in his gut again, and instead of envisioning the death-defying act he was about to perform, Wes’s mind filled with the little burst of warmth in Rubi’s eyes when she’d laughed at his helmet head. The glimmer of her perfect teeth when she’d reached up and tried to straighten it out. The feel of her touching him. Yeah, she wanted him. Now, he just had to convince her of that.

He wiped sweat from his eyes one more time before dropping the Plexiglas on his helmet. God, he wanted out of this getup.

A scorching whoosh sounded as the cars went up in flames, dragging Wes’s mind back. His body responded with a sympathetic burst of heat as fire licked the air. That was exactly what he felt like every time Rubi got within ten feet.

A different member of the crew ran into the center of the concrete near the inferno, a slate in his hands to mark the scene and take.

“Ready,” Jax said in Wes’s ear, “Set…” At Jax’s pause, Wes revved the bike. “Action.”

The snap of the slate ricocheted off the concrete surroundings. Wes focused on the stunt, the placement, the timing, and lifted his foot as he shot forward.

“Angle a little east,” Jax said, watching how things looked from one of the cameras. “Yeah, good. Three. Two. One. Hit it.”

Wes shut down all outside thought. His frustration with Rubi, his concern over Wyatt dissipated like vapor, and a familiar, consuming cohesiveness with the universe filled him—brain and body. One making him intensely aware of the road, the air, his body, the laws of physics. The connection made him feel so alive, he vibrated with excitement.

He gunned the bike and shifted his weight backward. The front tire popped into a wheelie, and he kept just enough of his weight off the back end to allow the rear tire to spin against the slippery concrete. Vibrations rocketed through his body. Adrenaline flooded his veins. Acrid smoke spilled off the tire and enveloped him, filling his head with the scent of burning rubber—an instant high. Even after decades of racing and thousands of rides, this shit electrified him every damn time.

With another shift of his weight and a jolt of fuel, Wes accelerated. He lowered his upper body until his chest rested on the fuel tank, until his view of the wreckage was framed in the handlebars, then kicked the bike into high gear. The engine screamed, echoing off the concrete and rattling Wes’s brain. Every cell in his body exploded with life.

“Three… Two… One…” Jax said again, far too soon for Wes. He needed a good long ride—in a couple of different ways. But this was business. “Now.”

Wes slammed the front brakes and threw his weight forward. The bike’s rear tire bucked into the air. With nothing but balance, brake pressure, and physical strength, Wes managed to keep his face off the concrete.

He controlled the bike’s endo for two hundred feet, then clamped down on the brakes and threw his weight again. Bullying the bike to mesh with the laws of physics, Wes spun the opposite direction. He dropped his ass to the seat and the bike’s back end to the ground. Then gunned the machine directly toward the metal inferno.

Hot damn. He’d nailed those moves. This take would scream on screen.

“Start your slide,” Jax said.

Wes leaned the bike toward the ground, guiding the Ducati into a sideways suicide.

“Three… Two… One…”

Jax paused a beat and the pressure of the concrete burned across Wes’s hip, then his thigh…

“Drop it.”

He gunned the gas and jerked his lower leg from between the concrete and the bike.

But his boot caught.

Ah fuck.

A flash of fear seared his spine. He gritted his teeth and yanked at his foot.

His leg popped loose. He released the handles. The bike speared toward the flames.

But the unexpected pull of his foot had altered the trajectory. Instantaneous thoughts pinged through his mind.

The bike would hit dead center. The crash would be bigger. The spread of debris wider.

Wes hit the concrete, and all thought vanished.

He bounced. Tucked. Rolled.

Two

One of Rubi’s hands fused around her phone, the other around her notebook. She watched, frozen, helpless, as Wes tumbled end over end, his body bouncing with each hit against the concrete.

Over. And over. And fucking over.

Beside her, Jax swore and grew two inches as his easy stance tightened.

Rubi’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Jax?”

“Not good.” One of the cameramen moved out from behind his equipment and took one giant step forward.

Jax smacked a hand against his chest. “Wait.”

The word was barely out of Jax’s mouth when the Ducati slammed into the fiery pile of cars. Debris exploded into the air. A shocked scream popped out of Rubi’s throat. She stepped backward—more out of surprise than force. Fear zinged through her blood like CO2. Her muscles jerked as fiery pieces of metal rained down around Wes.

Panic streaked through her, chest to belly, in electric jolts. “Oh God.” Rubi dropped her notebook and started forward. “Wes.”

Jax caught her arm. “He’s okay.”

He and three other men stood ready to run—their gazes watching the sky as the fiery debris continued to pummel Wes. The thick scent of smoke and chemicals snaked into Rubi’s throat, filled her head.

She burned from the inside out. “Do something, Jax.”

On the floor of the viaduct, Wes curled into a ball and shielded his already-helmet-covered head. After the last piece of flaming metal hit the concrete, Jax released Rubi’s arm and sprinted toward Wes. All the staff followed, abandoning equipment and pulling out telephones. Others did the same—all from different directions, converging on Wes where he lay on his side.

Jax reached him first. Dropping to his knees, he leaned over Wes, his mouth moving as he spoke. A second later, they were both hidden behind a mass of people, and Rubi couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.