Rebel (The Renegades)

by Rebecca Yarros

  Whoa. I melted with those words and the raging desire I saw in those brown eyes. He made me feel sexy, like some kind of powerful siren. My lips caressed his lightly, pulling back to keep the smallest space possible between us. “Cruz,” I whispered.

  A low sound rumbled from his chest as he took my mouth, claiming it with his tongue the same way I wanted him to take my body, with sure, powerful strokes that drew out every ounce of pleasure he could.

  My hips rocked again, seeking some kind of pressure to appease the need that spiraled tight within me. He flicked open the button of my jeans, and then rested his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling as he paused.

  “Yes,” I told him, knowing he wanted the word. “Touch me.”

  His hand slid into my open jeans, his fingers rubbing over the blue lace thong I wore. I’d never been so thankful to have a pretty underwear fetish.

  Then all thoughts ceased as he swept the fabric to the side and ran his fingers along my seam. His mouth settled over mine, kissing me breathless as his thumb delved, brushing over my clit.

  I broke the kiss with a gasp as pleasure radiated through me in a burst.

  “Penelope.” He said my name like a revelation, in wonder, in reverence, stripping away every defense, every layer I’d carefully constructed. In that moment, I wasn’t Penna. I wasn’t Rebel. I was Cruz’s Penelope, and that was…everything. Our gazes locked, and I’d never felt such an intense connection to another human being in my life.

  My hands slid to his shoulders, my nails biting into his skin as he stroked me, bringing out a feverish, all-consuming need to—

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  There was a pounding at the door of the suite.

  We both froze. “Expecting someone?” he asked, his breath controlled, but his eyes wild.

  I shook my head. “No, but it could be Little John making sure I’m okay. Give me a second.”

  I cursed the overprotective nature of my friends as Cruz rolled off me. Funny, we were no longer physically touching, but I still felt that same connection as if we were.

  He watched me hungrily as I buttoned my jeans and zipped them closed. Little John would freak if he saw that I’d brought a stranger back to my room. Then again, right now Cruz felt like anything but a stranger.

  I leaned over, kissing him deeply and savoring his taste, the stroke of his tongue, the caress of his lips.

  The banging started at the door again. “Damn it,” I cursed. “Just a second,” I promised Cruz and walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me and hoping my hair wasn’t a giveaway to what I’d been doing.

  “I’m coming,” I called out as the banging came again. Someone had better be dead for this interruption, or they were about to be.

  I yanked open my door to see the concierge standing there, a look of panic on his pinched features. “Miss Carstairs, I’m so sorry, but these gentlemen—”

  Two police officers pushed past him, their blue uniforms sobering me instantly. “Penelope Carstairs?” they asked.

  “Yes?” My stomach tightened in knots of nausea.

  “We’re going to need you to come with us to answer some questions,” the shorter of the two said, spinning me quickly and yanking my arms behind my back.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  “Ow!” I said quietly, hoping that Cruz wouldn’t hear—that he wouldn’t come looking. If they knew I was the one who’d BASE jumped from the High Roller, they’d be after him, too. “What is this pertaining to?”

  The cuffs were cold against my wrists as the short one pulled me through the door. “Where can we find your jumping partner?” he asked, ignoring my question and answering it all in the same breath.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know which room he’s staying in. I only met him in the bar.”

  He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and I smiled at him. I’d learned early the best way to lie was to tell the truth as much as possible.

  “So you admit to criminal trespass?”

  I kept my smile sweet. “I admit that I’d like to call my lawyer.”

  So much for stepping out on my own. Pax and Landon were going to kill me for this one. Then again, there really wasn’t such a thing as bad publicity when it came to stunts.

  The cop shook his head at me, disgust evident in the set of his mouth, and walked me out of the room, heading toward the elevator. His radio went off with a few calls as we descended to the ground floor, but I tuned them all out, my mind racing, praying they didn’t find Cruz.

  Which lawyer did I want to call? Not Daddy’s. He had his hands full with all things Brooke-related.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the ding of the elevator doors. We walked out onto the crowded casino floor, and I was thankful that in Vegas a girl being led away by the cops wasn’t too uncommon an occurrence.

  I ducked my head just in case I was recognized, and the cop led me through the very door where Little John had dropped me off, less than an hour ago. They’d found me unbelievably fast.

  Another cop waited next to one of two patrol cars, and he opened the door as I approached, a wry grin in place. “Well, Miss Carstairs,” he said as he gently guided my head so I didn’t hit it as I was put into the backseat. “The next time you want to pull an illegal trick like that, you might want to make sure your location wasn’t tweeted out by an overzealous fan.”

  The kid in the lobby. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  He slammed the door, and I was alone in the patrol car briefly before they both took the front seats. Well, this was going to be a long night, and one I was never going to live down once Pax and Landon found out.

  I wasn’t worried too much about the legality. I’d no doubt pay a fine, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t afford it. But shit, I was going to have to call Brandon—Wilder’s pain-in-the-ass, overly suited brother who got us out of crap like this when we screwed up.

  Or maybe not. Maybe I could handle it on my own.

  We pulled away from the Bellagio, but my head snapped back as another officer came through the door. My neck strained, trying to keep them in sight as we turned, but it was impossible.

  No, oh no. Now I wasn’t worried, I was terrified.

  I was going to have to call Brandon.

  They had Cruz in handcuffs, too.

  Chapter Four

  Cruz

  Las Vegas

  My knee bounced under the cold, metallic table of the interrogation room while my hands, still cuffed, rested on the smooth surface. The lack of a clock in the small room made it impossible to gauge how long I’d been in here, but considering the fact that I was hungry, I had to guess it had been hours.

  Hours since I’d pulled my shirt on and gone into the hallway to see what was taking Penelope so long. Hours since I’d been shoved against a wall like I was some kind of threat and had my hands cuffed behind my back. Hours since they had dragged me down to this station, put me into this room, and promptly forgotten about me.

  No phone call.

  No bathroom in sight.

  No information about where Penelope was.

  Penelope. I tried to keep my mind from wandering to her—it would only drive me crazy when there was nothing I could do to help her from here, but she was on my brain every other minute.

  Hopefully she was okay. Hopefully she wasn’t scared. The woman had a backbone of steel—I’d known that in the first moment I set eyes on her—but there was also something fragile about her, like all that armor she wore was held together by only a fraying string.

  What the hell had I been thinking? For fuck’s sake, I was due to fly out of Vegas in what had been less than twenty-four hours. Had the last couple of hours cost me what I’d been working my entire adult life for?

  I’d been so damned stupid to jump off that thing with her.

  But she’d needed someone, and I could admit that I’d wanted to be that someone.

  Besides, holding her? Touching her? Feeling every soft curve of her flawless body against mine? Worth it. I’d neve
r felt that kind of chemistry with someone before, and with Penelope I’d been a moth drawn to the flame she was—wild, beautiful, and hypnotically irresistible.

  My gaze drifted to the mirrored wall. I’d watched enough Law & Order to know there was a good chance cops were on the other side of that glass, watching me. For the first time since meeting her, I was glad I didn’t know Penelope’s last name. I couldn’t give them any more information to use against her than what they already had. How the hell had they found us?

  The doorknob turned and immediately had my full attention. First an officer came in and wordlessly unlocked my cuffs, removing the metal from my wrists. As he left, two men walked in, both dressed in tailored suits. The older, short, heavyset one held a file while the taller one behind him obviously held the power. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, watching me in a way that I recognized all too well from my years in the military—he was analyzing every one of my details. That smirk he wore told me he wasn’t too impressed. He looked equal to me in the age department, but he was definitely winning in the asshole category.

  The chair in front of me squeaked as the older one scraped the legs on the linoleum floor before sitting in it. He swallowed nervously, adjusted his glasses, and slid a paper and pen toward me.

  “Mr. Delgado,” he said, “if you’ll sign that, I will officially be your attorney, and anything we discuss will be privileged.”

  I blinked. “I haven’t had a phone call.”

  “You won’t need one. They’re not booking you or pressing charges,” the younger one answered. “But that deal sticks only on two conditions. The first is you sign that paper to secure Mr. Schur here as your attorney.”

  Who the hell were these people? I read the simple document that was exactly as he said, but hesitated at signing it. “Are you a public defender?”

  Mr. Schur scoffed. “Hardly.”

  Given the threads he wore, I believed him. “Then why represent me?”

  “Because it’s what Penelope wants,” the younger one answered, his tone low.

  “Is she okay? Where is she?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She’s fine, and she’s outside, waiting for us to finish up here so she can catch her flight.”

  “No charges against her, either?” There was zero chance in hell I was taking any kind of deal to walk away if she was going to be punished.

  The corners of his mouth tugged upward, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “No charges for her, either,” he assured me in a softer tone.

  I swallowed, weighing my options, and decided to trust Penelope, scrawling my name across the line that read: client.

  That was twice tonight that I’d put my life in her hands.

  Mr. Schur visibly relaxed across the table from me. “Okay, now that’s taken care of, if you’ll simply sign this nondisclosure agreement, you can be on your way. No charges. No mug shot. No record of this ever having happened.”

  “Nondisclosure?” I asked, reading over the document. “Why?”

  “Because while Penelope wants you clear of any implication of wrongdoing, this is what she needs,” the younger one answered, still leaning against the wall.

  “And who exactly are you?” I asked.

  “The one who ends up fixing everything they inevitably fuck up.” He let loose a rough sigh.

  “They?”

  “Sign the paper, Mr. Delgado.”

  My eyes narrowed at him. “How do you know my name? I never told Penelope.”

  “You told the officers when they brought you here, and the moment Penna demanded your freedom, you became my business. So let me fix this shitstorm. Sign the paper, and you get to leave.”

  “Penelope is outside?”

  “Only until we’re done here. Don’t expect to ever see her again.”

  Who the hell was this guy to her? A brother? A friend? A…lover? I swallowed the flash of rage that came with that thought. There was no use going primal over a woman I was never going to get to see again.

  So why did I have a quick fantasy of bashing his pretty little face into the wall?

  “Look, Mr. Delgado. You can sign that paper and show up at UCLA on Monday like you’re supposed to, or you can get booked on trespassing charges, which I’m sure the university wouldn’t be too happy about. What is it going to be?” He arched a superior eyebrow at me.

  He might have more money than I did—scratch that, of course he did—but he was in no way superior. I had two college degrees and a chest full of medals at home to prove it.

  As much as I hated it, he was right. I needed to sign the paper. It promised that any of the events that transpired tonight would never be made public.

  “Her name isn’t on here,” I said.

  “No, it isn’t,” Mr. Schur said.

  “I don’t even get to know her last name?” I asked as I signed the damn thing.

  The guy reached over Mr. Schur and snatched the paper from the table. “Thank you.” He turned, striding out of the room with Mr. Schur hot on his heels.

  I pushed away from the table and headed after them, half expecting the cops to grab me and tell me there had been a mistake. They were already through the door that led to where the cops had brought me in, and I broke into a run to catch them. I needed to see Penelope, to know she was okay. To at least have a way to check on her…to have the slightest chance to see her again.

  “Hey!” I called out once I saw him in the waiting room, realizing I still had no idea what the hell the guy’s name was.

  He turned, his hand on the door that led outside. “Yes?”

  “What’s her last name?” I asked, needing to know.

  He held the door, and Mr. Schur walked out.

  My chest tightened with a desperation I hadn’t felt since I’d last been deployed. “Please,” I said softly, hating that I had to ask him for anything.

  The guy shook his head. “Sorry. No glass slipper, either.” He shot me a cocky smirk that I wanted to immediately rip off his face, and then left.

  I ran to the door, but by the time I swung it open, I caught only the taillights of a stretch limo that Penelope was in. I knew it in my bones.

  That one glimpse told me what I’d already known.

  That girl had been way out of my league.

  Chapter Five

  Penna

  Las Vegas

  “Miss Carstairs.” Mr. Schur nodded politely at me as he slid into the limo, scooting down the long side seat toward the driver.

  “Mr. Schur,” I acknowledged, well aware that I was definitely not his favorite person on the planet. “Is he okay?” I asked Brandon as he stepped into the limo, taking the empty seat next to me.

  “We’re ready to go,” Mr. Schur said to the limo driver.

  “He signed,” Brandon said, as if that ended the conversation.

  “But is he okay?” I repeated as the limo pulled out of the LVPD station. “It’s been hours since we were brought in.”

  He shot me a withering glance, which I gave right back. I’d known Brandon for my entire life; I wasn’t taking his shit.

  “I was airborne from L.A. within an hour of you calling, legal counsel in tow. I’m really not sure what else I could have done to get you out of there faster.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” I said, properly chastised. “Thank you for coming so quickly—for coming at all.”

  “Of course I came. You’re the closest thing I have to a little sister. That doesn’t mean I’m not extremely pissed off at you right now.”

  “I know.” I counted three breaths before I couldn’t wait another second. “But seriously, is he okay? Cruz?”

  Brandon’s sigh could have propelled the U.S. sailing team. “Yes, the guy you illegally BASE jumped with is fine. You know, the one you took to bed before you even knew his last name? That one? He’s great.”

  “You don’t get to give me shit over that, Brandon. Not when your list of one-night stands is half the population of L.A.”
<
br />   My stomach sickened as we turned in the direction of the airport instead of back to the hotel. “My things—”

  “Are already aboard the plane. If we take off in the next hour, we can get you back to L.A. and on the flight to Tokyo with the other Renegades. Or did you forget that you’re due back in class in less than twenty-four hours?”

  “You already got my stuff?” I asked, pushing away the knowledge that in less than a day, I’d be back aboard the Athena, traveling the world, taking classes, filming a documentary that I wasn’t sure I should be a part of anymore.

  “Yes, between making a generous contract offer to the owner of the property you violated, assuring there would be no charges, and making a donation into the account of the very savvy reporter who managed to get ahold of the cops’ one camera shot that got a decent angle of you getting on the High Roller, I sent someone to your hotel room to pack you up and check you out.” He took out his cell phone and started returning texts.

  “Efficient,” I said slowly. I was grateful, but he’d also just taken my last chance to see Cruz. An ache I didn’t know how to process bloomed in my chest, and I rubbed just over my sternum, as if that would soothe it. You knew him for a couple hours; stop acting like a sap.

  “Paxton says we have more than enough time to get you to LAX for their flight in a few hours.”

  Paxton. Landon. Damn it. I’d have to explain, and I didn’t have the words they would want. “You know, I have to swing by my place in L.A. to grab my bag, so maybe—”

  “You were in the States for all of seven days; how much luggage did you bring?” He arched an eyebrow at me.

  “Enough that I don’t want to leave it at home,” I shot back, feeling every bit the petulant toddler he’d known me as at one point.

  “They can hold the flight. Benefit of them taking the Wilder Enterprises jet,” he said as he flipped another screen on his phone.

  “Brandon,” I said quietly, and his eyes jerked to mine. “Please. I can’t see them yet. Just tell them I’m taking a later commercial flight. I’ll be back in time for class.”