Wilder

Paxton’s door opened, and my heart stuttered, even though I logically knew he was already at the expo site. Little John came out shaking his head until he saw me. “Oh thank God, Leah. Are you headed to the site?”

“Yeah, I promised Penna I’d stop by.”

“Good. Paxton is a wreck out there, all jumpy about damn near everything. Rebel’s bike broke, and it’s a hot mess. You’ll calm him down.”

Don’t count on it. “You going back?”

He nodded. “Yep, as soon as I can find Rebel’s pink bandana. She says it’s lucky or something, and I didn’t see it in her room.”

“Where did she say it was?” I asked. I hadn’t seen it at our place, either.

“In the purple backpack?” He looked at me for the answer.

Luckily I had it. “That backpack is Brooke’s. I bet it’s in her room, not Penna’s. Do you have her key, too?”

He nodded, and in a few seconds had her door open. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” I answered, hurrying in. Her suite was smaller than ours but gorgeous. I checked the closet, the bedroom, and the living room, finally heading back into the bedroom and looking under the bed.

“Bingo,” I said, pulling it out. It caught on the bed frame, and I yanked it clear, but as I did something fell from the frame. Shit, I hoped I hadn’t broken the bed.

It was a piece of folded paper, and I tossed it onto the made bed before standing up with the backpack. I plopped the bag onto the bedspread and opened it, digging through until I found the pink bandana Penna loved. As I zipped the pack up, feeling pretty darn victorious, the seal on the top of the paper next to me caught my attention.

It was an official-looking document to be kept in a bed frame, but it was none of my business. After I stored the backpack, my morals wavered…then fell. I snatched the paper off the bed and opened it.

What the fuck?

It was the photography permit from Madagascar.

Brooke. No way. It wasn’t possible.

Chills raced up my limbs, pooling at the base of my neck. She was the one helping to admin the site when the videos were being hacked. She had access to Paxton’s gear, to his fire box. She’d been the one to push me on the ramp that day, and Morocco…

Damn it. I’d heard her voice, but only Little John had been standing on the shore when I’d been pushed. In the confusion, she could have called out from anywhere, and I wouldn’t have noticed.

But why would she do it all when her own sister was a Renegade?

I looked up over the paper and Brooke’s nightstand came into view, a framed picture of a handsome blond guy with one arm wrapped around her and the other braced on a motocross bike. Nick.

I didn’t have all the pieces, but I had enough.

My feet flew as I ran from the room, clutching the bandana and the permit. “Where is Brooke?” I asked Little John as I almost fell into the hallway.

“At the expo with Penna. Why?”

“We have to get there, now!” I shouted, already running for the elevator. “How fast can you drive?”

“I’m a Renegade,” he answered, as if that was enough. It was. “But Wilder gave us explicit orders that we’re supposed to go slowly if you’re in the car.”

Of course he did.

I stabbed the elevator button. “Forget what Paxton said. We have to get there as fast as possible.”

“What’s going on, Leah?”

“I know who’s sabotaging the stunts.”

…

I closed my eyes and held on to the door handle while we skidded around another corner. “Just make sure we don’t get arrested. Our group doesn’t have the best track record with foreign authorities.”

Little John nodded but kept his full attention on the road, weaving us in and out of cars with the ease of a professional stunt driver…because he was. That didn’t help the nausea crippling me, or the heart-stopping fear.

“It’s kind of like being in your own action movie,” he explained as we flew through a red light.

“Overrated,” I answered in a high pitch.

“Yet effective.”

We skidded to a halt in front of the expo site—a huge arena—and we both abandoned the car while the engine still ran. Little John threw open the doors, and we sprinted inside.

“Damn, this place is huge.”

“Get Paxton,” I ordered. “Page him on the intercom, or whatever. I’m going to find Brooke.”

He nodded, and we split directions. I ran past the concession stands to the entrance of the arena. The floor had been covered in yards of dirt, Paxton’s huge ramp center stage with others flanking it and a stunt track bordering it all. I made out the bright blue stripes on Paxton’s bike on the smaller ramps. At least Little John would be able to find him.

Each section was in use, and the noise was deafening as motocross bikes revved their engines, then drove full throttle. I scanned the stands, looking for any of the Originals.

Security had done a good job, and the stands were nearly empty, but there was no sign of Brooke.

A flash of white caught my attention, and I looked up to the Jumbotron that hung in the middle of the arena. “Shit,” I whispered, seeing Brooke on the catwalk, her hands on the wires that held the huge monitor. Whatever she was doing—it wasn’t good.

“Brooke!” I yelled, but there was too much noise.

Paxton couldn’t hear me, but Little John would be there soon. I just had to keep her distracted. I traced the path of the catwalk and ran to where it intersected with the wall, then climbed two flights of stairs as quickly as I could until I reached that level, sprinting to the ladder.