Rebel Rider Read online

  Rebel Rider

  Ilsa Ames

  Contents

  Newsletter

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Newsletter

  Also by Ilsa Ames

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by Ilsa Ames

  Cover by Coverlüv

  Photography by David Wagner

  Model: Matyas Nag

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The names and locations in this book are made up. Any similarity to places or persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

  This book is intended for adults 18+ only.

  Created with Vellum

  Newsletter

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  Prologue

  Hailey

  This is wrong.

  Or at least, I know if anyone walks in, they’re going to say it’s wrong. But it sure doesn’t feel wrong. Not at all. Not on the inside, where my heart is pounding like a drum, or where my stomach is knotting up as the butterflies dance like they are at an all-night rave.

  Not on the outside either. No, it definitely doesn’t feel wrong on the outside, where the nearness of him, and the heat of his skin so close to mine sends goosebumps up my bare arms. Not on the outside, where those gorgeous, dangerous, heartbreaker-blue eyes of his pierce sharply into mine. Not when his lips are so freaking close to mine that I can almost taste them.

  “Hailey,” he murmurs my name, his eyes never leaving mine as the words breathe across my lips. And God, I want to live in that moment right there where Aiden Rush says my name like that. Like it’s a prayer and the dirtiest curse all at the same time.

  Even I know it’s wrong. Even if I’m not really sure this is actually happening, and not a fevered dream. But then, there’s that heat from his skin so close to mine, and the flicker of fire in those baby-blues of his. And I know this is real. I know that I’m actually sitting here, inches away from the one boy I’ve always wanted, and the one boy I can’t ever have.

  He’s five years older than me. He’s grown up rough, and damaged—a sharp contrast to the relative softness of my own life. And he’s my brother’s best friend.

  Aiden Rush.

  Heartthrob. Fantasy. My forbidden crush for as long as I can remember what it felt like to feel that way about a boy. I’m not alone, either. Heck, every girl we went to school with had a crush on Aiden. Every girl who watches him on TV, or on the internet as he roars his bike around tight corners, defying gravity and physics and death has a crush on him. Or if not, when he wins, as he always does, and takes that helmet off for the cameras?

  Oh, they’ve all got crushes on him then. They’re all in love with Aiden Rush, and here I am, alone with him, inches away from kissing him. Inches which might as well be miles.

  His arm is draped across the back of the couch that we’re both perched on, facing each other, unblinking. The glow from the DVD menu screen of Easy Rider—his favorite movie that he’s been bugging me to watch—washes over us in the otherwise dark of the basement of my parents’ house.

  “Hailey, Hailey, Hailey,” he murmurs softly, that rough deepness of his voice rumbling through the air between us. “What are you doing, Hailey?”

  I have no freaking idea.

  Not really. I’ve been kissed before, but this is different. This is Aiden.

  “I dunno,” I whisper, swallowing the lump in my throat as I wet my lips with my tongue.

  “Yes, you do.”

  That heat teases over me again, and I shiver, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering faster as my pulse quickens even more.

  “I—”

  “Hailey,” he growls, his baby-blues flickering fire and heat, and I swear he moves an inch closer to me.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve been in my parent’s basement with Aiden. There was a time when he lived down here, actually, after his parents died. But it’s never been like this. It’s never been just him and I, alone, in the dark, watching a movie. Never with us both being adults. Never without my brother or someone else down here too.

  And trust me when I say I’m fully aware of that.

  “We can’t do this.”

  “Why.”

  The boldness of my retort throws even me off, but I see the surprise spread over his face as he grins that lopsided, heart-melting-amongst-other-things smile.

  “You’re too young.”

  “I’m eighteen.” My voice a mix of breathlessness and frustration.

  “Three days ago,” he growls, his jawline clenching as he tightens it.

  “So?”

  “So, there’s Luke.”

  “I don’t see what my brother has to do with this.”

  Aiden growls lowly, his jaw tightening. “I know you don’t. But I do.”

  My flash of boldness in the silence following the movie is faltering. The superhuman strength I’ve worked up inside in order to turn to him in the glow from the TV and to not shy away when he turned to me is fading as the moment stretches on.

  And suddenly, I don’t even know what I’m doing. What did I think? That somehow, suddenly, the god-like Aiden Rush who probably has a constant stream of gorgeous, sexy, confident, and experienced women all over him when he’s out on tour with his bike would fall under the charm of my feminine wiles?

  …Did I think I had feminine wiles?

  I look at Aiden, and suddenly, all my scheming and planning seems ridiculous. I knew Aiden was back in Bernwood off tour for a week for Christmas. I knew he’d be over to see Luke, who was also home. I knew Luke’s old girlfriend from back in school was also home for the holidays, and I knew calling her to come over to say hi, while Luke was here, was a guaranteed disappearance act for both of them to Luke’s old bedroom.

  And with my parents out for the night, that’d leave me and Aiden. Alone.

  But like I said, the preparation I’ve put into this night seems ridiculous now. It seems juvenile. The hair I twisted up into a pile on top of my head in my best imitation of something I saw in a celebrity gossip magazine. The makeup I never wear, and all the snickering laughter from my dad that went along with it. The jeans I spent about four times more than I ought to have on, along with the strappy top that’s in no way appropriate for winter in Michigan.

  The black, lacy, sexy lingerie I picked out at the Victoria’s Secret in the mall earlier today, currently being worn under said new jeans and top.

  And all of it seems completely foolish and utterly ridiculous now. Now that I’m face to face with the boy I’ve wanted since I knew what it meant to want a boy like that.

  Because Aiden Rush isn’t a boy. He hasn’t been since the night he lost his parents, really. But in the years since then, especially since he and his b
ike went on the road with the racing circuit, he’s grown into more of a man than I even know what to do with.

  Even if I know what I want to do with him.

  “Hailey,” he murmurs again. There’s that tightness in his voice and the hardness in his jaw. And of course, the fire in those blue eyes.

  “No one has to know,” I say quietly, my face burning hot with the heat I hope he can’t see in the near-darkness.

  And then, I make my move. I make the boldest, most insane leap of faith I have ever made in my entire life. I reach down, I grasp the hem of my strappy new top in my fingers, and I deftly pull it up over my head.

  Aiden groans.

  “Hailey, fuck…” he hisses quietly, a flash of something fierce and wild blazing in those eyes. “Hailey, we can’t—”

  His jaw clenches shut, and even if he’s trying to say the words, I can see the willpower behind them breaking. It’s a small victory, and I feel my pulse thundering quicker as I push on. It’s like I’ve got him on the ropes, and if I can hang on to the last shred of my confidence, I may just pull this off.

  I may just get Aiden Rush.

  I move closer, and he groans—not moving away, but stiffening as I move into him. I move right against his chest, and when I feel those muscles under his t-shirt flex as my breasts in their new bra press into his body, I tremble.

  “Stop it, Hailey,” Aiden growls, a fierceness in his voice as it rumbles from his chest. His hands come up, grabbing my shoulders, the ink of his tattoos rippling along his forearms as his strong fingers tighten on my skin.

  “We can’t—”

  “Do you want me?”

  It’s supposed to come out sexy and seductive. Instead, it comes out squeaking and faltering, and I blush furiously, dropping my eyes as I start to cringe.

  “Yes.”

  My head snaps up, my eyes widening as they get lost in his blues. My heart jumps into my mouth.

  “What?”

  “Yes,” he growls, that jaw of his rippling, those eyes flashing pure fire as they blaze into mine. “Fuck yes.”

  It’s all in slow motion as I lean forward, and he does the same. It’s like we’re moving underwater as his hands tighten on my bare arms, and as my breasts press into his hard, muscled chest, and as his lips inch closer, and closer, and oh so close to mine…

  Until suddenly, the door at the top of the basement stairs bangs open with a crash.

  “Dude! You still here?”

  I gasp, jumping away from Aiden as if we’ve been electrocuted at the sound of my brother’s voice.

  “Yeah,” Aiden growls, his eyes full of heat as they stay locked on mine. His face is flushed, and his chest rises and falls with his breath under his tight white t-shirt. “Yeah I’m still here.”

  I’m yanking my top back on, shaking, mortified, as my brother comes thundering down the stairs like an elephant.

  “Dude, your phone is off or something.”

  Aiden swallows, tearing his eyes away from me to look at Luke. I don’t turn around, not trusting myself not to look guilty as hell.

  “The reception down here is shit, you know that.”

  “Well, he called the house phone when you didn’t pick up. So get up here, now. You’ll want to hear this yourself.”

  Aiden’s brow furrows, and I turn, frowning, the blush forgotten as I see the wild, excited look on Luke’s face.

  “What’s going on?” I croak out.

  Luke beams. “Dude, it’s your agent!”

  Aiden’s on his feet in seconds.

  “Don’t fuck with me,” he growls quietly, his eyes wide as he stares at my brother.

  Luke hoots out a laugh. “I’m not, man! He said the NMC got in touch. They saw the videos of your last tour, and they want you on the national team!”

  The NMC—The National Motocross Circuit. Of course, I know who they are, with having followed Aiden and his racing my whole life.

  Aiden swears, whirling, shoving his fingers through his dark hair as he looks wildly around the room.

  “This is it, man!” Luke crows excitedly. “Dude, you are out of here. You’re gonna be so fucking famous that you’ll never come back to shitty little Bernwood!”

  He slaps his best friend on the back. Shock hits me like a cold wave. I’m staring at the floor, watching Aiden’s boots as he paces the floor in front of the couch, when suddenly, he stops. I look up, and I feel a sliver of that heat from before when I realize he’s looking right at me, his face hardened.

  “Hailey…”

  “Dude! Get your ass upstairs and talk to your agent! He says he needs an answer right now or it’s off the table. Fucking go, you stupid asshole!”

  And just like that, Aiden Rush is gone.

  He turns, slowly tearing his eyes from me before he rushes past Luke and bounds up the stairs as my brother whoops out another laugh.

  “Fuck, man!” he chuckles, moving towards the couch and flopping down next to me. “Can you even believe it?”

  No.

  “Aiden. Our friend Aiden. He’s going to be a superstar.”

  I nod slowly, my heart slowly breaking.

  I came so close. Whether by chance, or luck, or blindly punching so far above my weight class. I came so close to what I’ve wanted for longer than I should have wanted it.

  And now, it’s gone forever, and I know it.

  Luke turns and nods his chin at the screen.

  “Oh, shit. Easy Rider. Awesome movie.”

  “Yeah, awesome.” The words feel like they’re outside my body as I parrot his words back in a daze.

  Luke grabs the remote and the mostly gone bowl of popcorn off the table in front of us and hits the play button, starting the movie all over again as he shoved a handful into his mouth.

  He turns, holding the bowl out to me before his lips pull back in a grin and he laughs.

  “Dude, are you wearing makeup?”

  1

  Aiden

  I quickly flick my head to my right, checking back over my shoulder. There’s two of them on my tail, and they’re fucking close. One’s pretty much on my shoulder as I take the corner, leaning hard to the left to catch the apex. I barely touch the brakes, my knee pad skimming half an inch above the tarmac as we all go thundering around the curve.

  The sun half blinds me even through my tinted visor as I accelerate out of the corner, and my bike roars loudly, jumping like it wants to launch into orbit as I speed down the track. The cheering crowd streaks past me in a blur as I approach the final section of the ten-lap race.

  I can’t help but feel the adrenaline course through me at the thrill of the race, even after all these years of doing this. I feel alive despite the ever-present danger associated with high-power bike racing, but it’s my life. I live for it, for the speed, for the danger. For the glory of winning.

  Which I do, consistently. Cockiness aside, I’m a damn good racer. One of the best, in fact.

  For the past few years I’ve raced on National Motocross Circuit as part of their national team, and I’ve won almost every single race I’ve been in. And those non-wins have been either crashes or second place by an inch.

  Without thinking, I lean the bike slightly to the right, lining it up perfectly to take the next corner ahead. I know the track intimately, like a woman. Every curve, every feature, every spot on the tarmac as it flies under my front tire.

  Racing was life before I joined the national team. Since then, it’s basically been my whole world. Sure, I party just as hard as the next racer—I mean, living on the edge tends to do that to you. But every free second, I’ve been honing my skill. Training, memorizing the tracks, knowing every single nut, wire, gear, and bolt on my bike like the back of my hand.

  I know this next corner is gentle, and I accelerate into it as I feel the adrenaline thunder through my muscles. Almost there.

  There’s a flash of green and black in my peripheral vision, and when I dart a quick glance over my shoulder, I spot him.

  Ja
ckson Kline. My competition, my rival, and a grade-A douchebag.

  Jackson’s really the only guy who’s ever come close to matching me on the league leaderboards, always a close second behind me. There is no doubt he’s a good racer, possibly one of the best on the tour. But he lacks a natural talent—there’s no killer instinct there. Just anger when he’s not first, which is frequently.

  To put it bluntly, he thinks too much. He was trained well, that’s for damn sure, and he has the best bike on the track by a long shot. But you can’t compensate for a lack of innate talent, and that’s where I’ve got the edge on him.

  I see the flash of green again, and I grit my teeth. The fucker is seriously trying to overtake me on the inside of a fucking turn. I can see the decals from his billionaire father’s company who—surprise—sponsors him, emblazoned across his bike and his helmet as he gets even closer in my side mirror.

  Way too close. Illegally close, as the rules go, actually.

  But there’s no time to think about Jackson being the arrogant douche that he is right now. Instead, I turn my attention back to the road ahead. It’s the final straight, and the only time he has an advantage over me. The sheer power of his bike is well renowned and has won him way more races than he has any right to actually win over the years.

  But I’ve got a good head start, and I know I can make it.

  “Come on, baby,” I hiss out loud at my bike, not even giving a shit about the rest of the team who I know will be listening on the radio. “You got this. Show daddy some power. Move that ass and show me what you can do.”

  I drop a gear just out of the corner and go full throttle, and the bike thunders like a bat out of hell down the track. I lean forward to avoid flipping over, using my not inconsiderable weight to counteract the power of the rear wheel.

  The tires scream beneath me, and the bike’s engine roars with power as it explodes forward. A laugh of pure exhilaration tears out of my throat as the bike blasts towards the finish line, and I know I’ve won the race.