Bad Boy Rebels Page 9

  When Ridge lets go of my hand, he nervously tugs his fingers through his messy brown hair before quietly returning to the sofa.

  Once he sits down, Benton snaps his fingers at Jett. “You’re up, man. And please don’t scare her away with any philosophical stoner talk.”

  Jett shoves up the sleeves to his plaid shirt, salutes Benton, jumps to his feet, and then trips over Wilder’s legs as he moves around the coffee table. He nearly face plants it on the carpet, but catches his balance by grabbing onto the back of the sofa.

  He lets out a giggle. “Man, that was close.” Collecting himself, he brushes his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes and turns to me with a lopsided, dopey, but adorable smile on his face. “Zhara, it’s nice to meet you again, especially while we’re not surrounded by the stench of a roadkill, spoiled egg mutant offspring.” He sticks out his knuckles for a fist bump.

  A soft laugh slips from my lips as I tap my knuckles against his. “It’s nice to meet you again too.”

  A smile lights up Jett’s face. “You have a nice smile. That’s going to come in handy.” He points a finger at me, then spins around and practically skips back to the sofa, nearly tripping over Wilder’s legs in the process. Again.

  While he seems nice enough, I have to wonder how someone like him can be working undercover. He seems clumsy and not very careful and… Well, stoned.

  “Don’t worry, he only gets high on his days off,” Benton assures me, as if somehow reading my mind. Again.

  Seriously. Does he have telepathy?

  “I’m not worried.” A lie. I’m totally worried, but mostly because I’m still unsure what exactly I’m getting myself into.

  “When you’re working with him, he won’t act like that,” Benton adds, misreading my apprehension. He reaches out and grazes his knuckles across my cheekbone, causing my heart to fly away to la, la, la, dreamland. “We’ll make sure you’re safe at all times.” He stares into my eyes with a crease at his brow until Jackson clears his throat. Then he pulls away, blinking, and motions to Wilder. “You’re up.”

  Wilder, who’s texting, puts the phone away and gets to his feet. “Boss is on his way,” he tells Benton. “Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

  “Boss?” I ask, glancing from Wilder to Benton.

  Reluctance masks Benton’s expression as his gaze dances back and forth between Wilder and me. “She’s not ready to meet him yet,” he tells Wilder.

  “I know.” Wilder gives Benton a pressing look, which Benton returns. Then he turns to me. “Zhara, it’s nice to officially meet you.” Like the rest of them, he offers me his hand to shake.

  I try not to stare too long at the heavy, detailed ink covering his arm, but it’s like trying not to look at a beautiful piece of art. Honestly, Wilder is a piece of art, the tips of his chin-length blonde hair dyed blue and his eyelashes are so long he looks like he’s wearing eyeliner. He has gauges ornamenting his ears, and he’s always wearing outfits that stand out. Today, he’s rocking a vest with chains on it and a pair of black pants that are covered in buckles. The look is topped off with leather bands on his wrists and clunky boots.

  “It’s nice to meet you too,” I say, my heart doing this weird spastic thing when he sucks his lip ring into his mouth.

  A trace of an amused smile rises on his face and he sucks on his lip ring one last time before turning around and plopping down on the couch.

  Silence stretches across the air then, the six of them suddenly seem uneasy.

  Benton grumbles something incoherent under his breath before clearing his throat. “All right, Xavier, you’re up.”

  Xavier reclines back in the sofa with his arms crossed and his cold, hard stare fixed on me. “I think I’m good.”

  “Xavier,” Benton warns. “We need this to work.”

  Xavier rolls his eyes. “There’s other ways.”

  Benton glares at him. “Not anymore and you know that. Either we make this work or we risk looking like liars and completely compromise the job.” He inches forward. “So get your head out of your ass and play nice.”

  Xavier glowers at Benton before his gaze locks on me. “Tell me, Zhara, why are you doing this?” His tone is all condescending. “Is this some sort of good girl rebellious phase? Hang out with the bad boys of the town to try to piss mommy and daddy off?”

  “Xavier,” Benton warns. “Back off.”

  “Why?” Xavier questions. “If she’s going to do this, she’s going to have to put up with a lot worse.”

  Benton grows quiet, as if realizing this is true, and his gaze strays to me. I know what he wants—for me to say something. The problem is Xavier is scary and even before now, I thought that. He got into a lot of fights, caused trouble, and nearly got into an accident every time he drove into the school parking lot because he was driving so fast. He looks rough too, constantly wearing a worn leather jacket, biker boots, and his light brown hair cut short enough to reveal a scar on the side of his head and the tattoos on the back of his neck. But his eyes are what are truly terrifying and scream don’t eff with me or I’ll beat you up.

  But the mention of my parents has got my blood boiling just the right amount to speak up.

  “It’s not a good girl rebellious phase.” Which might be a lie. I’m not really sure, since it’s part of the reason why I came here today. But there’s more to it than that. Way, way more. “And my parents passed away so there’s no one to piss off.” I remain calmer this time when I speak of my parents, so I don’t come off entirely psychotic.

  Xavier stares at me for a very long minute, his expression unreadable.

  “Fine, whatever,” he finally grumbles then slumps back in the chair and grows silent.

  “Okay, then.” Benton turns to me with his brows raised and exhaustion in his eyes. But he erases the look with an easy smile. “So that’s it. This is your team.” He gestures at the guys.

  “My team?” I gape at him.

  Jackson puts an arm around my shoulder, nearly towering over me, which is saying a lot because I’m above average height. “Yes, your team.” He gives me a side hug then chuckles as he looks at Benton. “So darn cute.”

  Benton shoots him a look before redirecting his attention to me. “Yes, your team. These are the people you’ll be working with. And they’re the only people you can trust from now on.”

  “But what about my family?” I wonder. “I can trust them.”

  “Actually, you can’t,” Jackson says solemnly. “And if you don’t believe me, just talk to Wilder.”

  My gaze drifts to Wilder just in time to see him swallow hard. The poor guy looks haunted by something and I wonder what happened to him. Did someone from his family betray him? Still, that doesn’t mean I doubt my family’s trustworthiness. No matter what happens, I know I can trust them.

  “All right, we should probably get Zhara out of here before the boss shows up,” Benton announces. “Jackson and Wilder take her to the training pit for a while.”

  Jackson nods and Wilder gets to his feet while Jett pouts.

  “Why don’t I get to go with her?” he whines, jutting out his lip. “That’s so not fair.”

  “You don’t get to go with her because you’re banned from the pit,” Benton reminds him. “And besides, you’re with Ridge on surveillance.”

  Again, my head swims with confusion. But before I can even attempt to process what they’re talking about, Jackson steers me toward the door. Wilder walks on my other side, making me feel super small, yet strangely protected.

  When we reach the door, Wilder opens it up. “Ladies first.

  I start to step forward, but Jackson holds me back by the shoulders.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he teases me with an impish grin. “Because once you step over the threshold, there’s no going back, cute girl.”

  I swallow hard. He may be kidding, but his words carry some truth. Once I leave with them, I’m choosing to do this, to go all in. And I’m not even one-hundred
percent sure what all in means. Still, I find myself nodding and walking out the door.

  What that says about me, I’m unsure. But I have a feeling that in the future, I might find out.

  Benton

  “So, are you going to tell the boss about her neighbor?” Ridge asks me after Jackson and Wilder leave the apartment with Zhara.

  I chose the two of them mainly because I knew they’d keep her distracted. But hopefully not too distracted. If I’d send Xavier, he’d act like a dick. Ridge would barely talk and Jett’s too stoned.

  “I haven’t even told him about Zhara yet.” I flop down on the sofa and kick my feet up on the table, feeling exhausted. “I think I should probably do that first, before I tell him her neighbor might be a spy from another organization.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that,” Jett says while rolling a joint. “It’s kind of a crazy coincidence that she gets a spy for a neighbor the same day she decides to work undercover with us.”

  “Are you sure he is one, though?” Xavier asks me as he punches in a text on his phone. “Maybe the dude’s just a weirdo. She lives in the burbs, right? Don’t weirdos migrate there or something?”

  “I don’t think he’s one just because he was acting sketchy,” I clarify. “He had the mark of an organization tattooed on the back of his neck.”

  Xavier’s brow raises. “Really? Which one?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” I crack my knuckles. “But if I can get permission to see the book, I might be able to figure it out.”

  “You’ll need to tell the boss what’s going on if you want that to happen. He’ll never give you permission otherwise.” Ridge opens his laptop. “Why haven’t you told him already, though?”

  “I was waiting for Zhara to agree first.” That’s not completely true. The truth is I’m worried about the boss trying to take over the situation and control Zhara, because that’s what he does. And while she does have a feisty streak in her, she can also be submissive, something the boss may take advantage of. “I’ll talk to him when he gets here.”

  “You sure about that?” Xavier questions suspiciously. “Because you sound a little unsure.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I mutter. “Now, can someone give me an update on Zhara’s house? We’re one hundred percent sure there are no bugs in the area, right? I want to make sure no one heard what I told her in her bedroom or finds out that she’s working for us now.”

  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

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form, or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  For information: jessicasorensen.com

  Cover design by Mae I Design

  Created with Vellum

  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.”

  Jackson slows down the car for a sharp turn in the road. “Why’s it a bad thing?”

  I scrape at the chipped nail polish on my thumbnail. “I guess it’s not really bad. It’s just not necessarily a compliment.”