Chapter 1

1

G ennie jumped from the roof. Her heart pounded against her ribs; adrenaline pumped through her veins. For a moment, she was weightless, and the world blurred around her.

Then she hit the air mattress below, the impact reverberating through her bones.

‘Cut!’

The crew whistled, and Gennie rolled off the mattress, the grin on her face so wide her cheeks ached. Her fellow stunt performer, Jake, jogged over, his hand raised in a high-five. ‘Damn girl. Nailed it.’

She slapped his palm, the sting a satisfying reminder of a job well done.

Another day at the office.

Exhilaration fizzed through her blood like soda bubbles. This was what she lived for – the heart-stopping thrill, the rush, the satisfaction of executing a stunt with precision. To feel strong and in complete control of the high.

The young actress Gennie was doubling for in this new series for a streaming service gaped at her in awe. ‘Oh my gosh, I could never… Didn’t you shit your pants?’

‘Nope. Fear leads to accidents. And in this industry, it only takes one slip, and it’s game over.’

Which was true. But these mad stunts were more than a job for Gennie. They were her way of taking the reins, of proving her worth through skill, of feeling secure. Up there, defying gravity and death… It made her the boss of her own destiny.

At twenty-five, Gennie was beginning to make a name for herself in the biz. Sure, the action genre was male-dominated. But that was changing. Her compact frame, fearless nature, and determination made her a force to be reckoned with. She’d doubled for up-and-coming performers in TV shows and indie films, throwing herself off buildings and doing car chases for commercials. The one thing she was still waiting for was her big shot.

Organised chaos swirled around her as the crew rushed to set up the next take, but Gennie navigated the mayhem with ease. This was her world, the place where she pushed herself to the limit.

Mike, the stunt coordinator, waved her over. ‘Gennie, my favourite daredevil. Think you can handle the high-fall vehicle transfer next?’

Her pulse kicked up a notch in anticipation. ‘Yeah, we’ve practised.’

As Mike took her through the choreography one last time, she listened intently and visualised each move. Her body twitched with muscle memory. God, she loved this feeling. The flutter of nerves.

He finished. ‘So, you up for it, kid?’

‘Born ready. Let’s do this.’

As Gennie headed off to get geared up, her phone pinged. She fished it out of her pocket. Her heart stuttered when she saw the email from the production team behind the film Bow – The Maiden’s Rebellion , the first film adaptation of a historical fantasy book trilogy:

We’re thrilled to offer you the stunt double position for our shoot in Scotland. Your reel blew us away. We can’t wait to see what you bring to the project. Let us know if you’re ready to join us.

Eight weeks in Scotland. Glens and lochs far, far away from L.A. Gennie’s mind wandered to the mist-shrouded landscapes and craggy Scottish mountains she’d seen in movies and travel magazines. A quiet place to escape, right across the Atlantic. Distant enough to get some perspective on her life. It couldn’t have been more perfect. And Bow was a historic fantasy film with lots of action scenes. There weren’t many of those for women. It was also a badass story of a young female rebel. What an opportunity!

And what a risk.

If anything goes wrong there, I might not get another chance like this.

‘Hey, kid!’ Mike called her over to the setup. ‘Ready when you are.’

Gennie stuffed her phone into her bag and made her way over to the stunt rig. She scaled the scaffolding. Every aspect had been meticulously planned and rehearsed. At the top, she paused and looked down at the set. Her stomach swooped with pre-stunt jitters. She nodded once, short and sharp, and gave the signal. Took a deep breath.

‘Ready. 3, 2, 1… Go!’

Gennie sprinted to the edge and pushed off. For a heartbeat, she hung suspended and untethered. Then gravity took over, and she hit the hidden airbags with a whoosh. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Elation flooded through her, bright and fierce and alive.

Fucking nailed it.

As Gennie changed out of her gear and back into her top, jeans, and sneakers, her phone vibrated. A sick, sinking feeling crept over her as she read the screen.

Daniel.

Again.

She let it go to voicemail. The last thing she wanted was to listen to another one of his guilt trips or charm offensives. Four years she’d dealt with his crap. Four years since they’d bonded over a bottle of tequila after wrapping on some low-budget action movie.

He’d been charming, magnetic, with dark eyes that promised all sorts of pleasures and a crooked grin that made her legs turn to jelly. A pretty boy. Like so many others in this town, he was an aspiring actor with big dreams and an inflated ego – all show and little substance. At first, it had been a casual thing, a way to blow off steam between jobs. No strings, no expectations. But he’d started weaving a web around her and entangled her. Embarrassingly, it had taken her a long time to see what was going on. Daniel only wanted her when he couldn’t have her.

And right now he couldn’t.

He’d chase her, wear her down with sweet words and grand gestures, only to drop her and push her away the second she lowered her guard. Over and over again, a twisted game he never seemed to tire of. Rinse and repeat. But with each round, he’d lost a bit of his thrall on her. She’d ended it three months ago. Or she tried. The calls, the texts, the surprise visit to the set last week… The more she pulled away, the more he came after her. It was exhausting.

Gennie grabbed her bag and headed for the parking lot. She was trying to cut the strings and burn the bridge. With nail clippers and a wet match, yeah, but definitely trying.

I’m ghosting you for a change. Take a fucking hint.

She pointed her battered red jeep towards Venice Beach. The late afternoon sun glinted off the bumpers in traffic. Palm trees swayed, dusty and drooping from the sun. In the distance, the Pacific glittered, an endless stretch of shimmering blue. L.A. had lost much of its lustre to her over the years, with all the grime and despair that lurked beneath the glitzy surface. But there was still a certain magic about this vortex of vanity.

She sighed as she unlocked the tiny house on Cabrillo Ave that she shared with her mother.

‘Mum?’

No answer. Gennie tossed her bag onto the cracked linoleum and winced at the hollow thud. The place was dark and silent. Of course it was. Her mother was out doing God knows what with God knows who, chasing her latest flight of fancy.

The usual.

She glanced around the shabby, cluttered room. The fabric of a half-sewn dress her mum would never finish, the batik tapestries, the faint smell of burnt coffee and patchouli incense in the musty air.

Crystal Rivers had never been one for responsibility. Gennie had learned long ago not to rely on her, not to expect too much. After all, she hadn’t even told Gennie the name of her biological father. And just last month, Crystal had run off to Mexico for an ayahuasca trip on a whim, seeking spiritual enlightenment.

Oh, life with her single mum was never boring, that was for sure. One minute they’d been living in some New Age commune, eating nothing but raw veggies, the next her mother had dragged her off to a Boho music festival in the middle of nowhere. Not to forget the time Crystal thought they could make a living selling homemade dream catchers and sea glass earrings on Venice Beach and Gennie had to be her sales assistant. Just the two of them, as it had always been.

Spoiler alert: they couldn’t.

But through it all, Gennie had learned to be resourceful, to think on her feet, to sniff out a good opportunity and grab it with both hands. Because if she didn’t make things happen for herself, no one else would.

Gennie stripped off her sweaty clothes and headed for the shower, letting the scalding spray batter her sore muscles until the small bathroom was clouded with billowing steam. She went through the motions mechanically and scrubbed away the dirt of the day.

If you can’t get a hug, take a long, hot shower.

After way too much time, Gennie stepped out and wrapped herself in a scratchy towel. For a minute, she stared at her unrecognisable reflection in the misty glass.

Who are you?

There were no profound revelations lurking in the fogged mirror. Just the silhouette of the body that was her tool, her weapon, her shield against uncertainty.

But who are you really?

Probably just a hot mess of unresolved daddy issues, a penchant for adrenaline that bordered on addiction, and a smattering of control issues. Nothing a few years and a mountain of therapy couldn’t fix. No biggie.

As Gennie turned around in the tiny bathroom, she knocked over the rattan bowl with her mother’s hair clips and bobby pins. The cheap plastic and metal pieces clattered against the tiles and scattered across the floor.

This fucking shoebox of a house.

What would it be like to have a place of her own? Not that she could afford it here in L.A. But she wanted her own domain, a place to belong. And maybe even someone to come home to. Someone who was actually there to hand her a glass of wine. Snuggles and hugs and movie nights.

Not that she’d any idea what that felt like. Or ever admit that out loud. Gennie Rivers, looking to settle down? As if. Silly notion. She was married to the game. The only partner she had was that sweet, sweet stunt rush, her only family the ever-changing crew. Her life was solid proof that there was nothing else in store for her. Nothing to expect. No one to rely on.

Be content with what you’ve got.

With her index finger, Gennie drew a happy smiley face into the condensation before she turned away and shuffled into her cramped room. She collapsed onto the bed, her hair dripping onto the threadbare sheets, and picked up her phone. The screen glowed with an unread text from Daniel:

(MR. D. 20:12) Gennie, honey. Stop ignoring me. We’re soulmates. You can’t run away from that.

She’d heard it all before. But she didn’t buy it anymore. The thing with Daniel was that he was so charming and irresistibly beautiful. Ridiculously so. Long, sooty lashes, full lips, firm ass, the whole enchilada. And when things were going well, when he was on his best behaviour, he made her feel like the centre of his universe, the only star in his sky. He’d sing under the shower, dance with her in the street, and leave her the last piece of pizza.

Probably because he was watching his waistline.

Gennie had seen behind the mask often enough now, knew the sinister narcissism that lurked beneath the charming fa?ade.

She thought of the worry that creased her mum’s brow whenever Gennie mentioned Daniel’s name, which wasn’t very often these days. ‘You deserve better, Gentlestorm,’ Crystal would say, smoothing Gennie’s hair as she’d used to when she was little. ‘Don’t let this man dim your light.’

Her mother might be a flake and the world’s most unreliable role model, but she was right about this. Time to break free of Daniel’s twisted gaslighting games for good. Her thumb hovered over the screen. In a surge of determination, she deleted all his messages, then blocked his number, email address, and social media accounts.

A weight lifted from her chest. As if a giant boulder had crushed her chest and now she was free to breathe again.

But if she was serious about this, if she wanted to create space between them and remain steadfast, she needed to get out of here for a while. Out of his reach. This new gig was ideal. Shooting a film on location in Scotland. Gennie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, imagining the green hills of the Highlands, the scent of peat and heather on the wind.

I need this chance to make a name for myself. Before I’ve got too many broken bones to count.

With her job, she was living on borrowed time and she knew it.

She tried her mother’s cell to share the news, but it went straight to voicemail. A pang of guilt flickered in Gennie’s chest for leaving her mum behind in L.A. She quickly squashed that feeling like a bug. Crystal Rivers had a freakish talent for surviving and thriving in all circumstances. Like a beautiful, useless weed.

Yep, her mother could take care of herself for two months.

Maybe she won’t even notice that I’m gone.

Scotland. A fresh start. A potential breakthrough. No more looking back.

Tomorrow, she’d give the production company her answer. And then she’d grab her passport, pack her bags, and kiss the smoggy L.A. skyline goodbye. She was ready to jump into the unknown and trust that she’d stick the landing.

After all, that was what Gentlestorm Rivers did best.