Chapter 1

1

AMITY

I take a deep breath and sprint across the rooftop, running as fast as my legs can carry me. As soon as my feet hit the edge, I jump, hurling myself forward. The wind rushes past me, pulling my hair back as I reach for the outstretched hand in front of me.

My fingertips brush against Adam's in the briefest of touches. His eyes grow wide, filling with a look of terror as he tries to grab me. But just like his smile, I fall before his hand can close around mine.

I plummet to the ground, and Adam's anguished roar echoes around me as the wind whips my hair around in a frenzy. I hit the ground with a thud and the air whooshes out of my lungs.

"And cut!" Ian shouts.

I take a second to catch my breath before rolling off the giant crash mat and standing up to the sound of clapping.

"That was awesome!" Ian calls out.

I give him a thumbs up and head over to Craft Services to grab a drink.

Pam smiles as she hands me a cold bottle of water, which I down in seconds.

"Hey, Amity." I turn at the sound of my name, used to people calling me Spook on set because I move around so quietly.

"Oh, hi, Kayla." I grin at the actress I'm stunt-doubling for.

I've been doing this for almost seven years now. I've worked with some amazing people and some real assholes. Thankfully, Kayla is one of the former. Once a child star, she's the lead actress in the movie we're currently shooting— When the Cradle Falls.

"Was that your last scene?"

I nod. Technically, jumping off the building is my last scene, but I'll stay for the rest of the day in case Ian, wants to reshoot anything.

"Yeah, I'm ready to sleep for the next week and do nothing but lay around in my underwear."

She laughs. "Isn't walking around in your underwear your usual outfit when you're not on set?"

"I'll admit, I have a love-hate relationship with pants. I love that they make my ass look good, and I don't have to shave my legs when I'm wearing them, but I hate the actual wearing them part."

"If I had an ass like yours, I'd walk around without pants on too."

"You do have an ass like mine. I'm your body double, remember?" I roll my eyes at her.

The truth is, she faces more pressure to look a certain way than I do. Sure, I have to resemble other actresses, but my job is so demanding that gaining weight is unlikely unless I start eating junk food all day, every day.

Kayla, on the other hand, gets torn apart and criticized by every news outlet and online troll in the world. My job might be dangerous, but I'll be the first to admit I couldn't handle what she does. That kind of scrutiny is relentless, and even though I've got thick skin, I'm still human.

"Let's just agree to disagree. Anyway, I just wanted to say I had fun working with you and thank you for helping me improve my sparring technique."

"You picked it up way faster than I did. By the time you start filming the sequel, you'll kick my ass."

She laughs, drawing the attention of those around us.

"You're good for my ego. Of course, you're full of shit, but I'll take it. It's kinda nice to get a compliment for my ass-kicking skills—rather than for the four pounds I lost while I was sick."

"Lifestyles of the rich and famous." I sigh. "I swear, Kayla, you've got ovaries of steel for putting up with it all."

"It has its perks." She smiles, her eyes drifting over to Alex, her co-star, and, if the rumors are true, her latest love interest.

I shake my head. Alex Chamberman's a nice enough guy, but he's got a reputation for dating his co-stars—relationships that rarely last beyond filming. Call me cynical, but I doubt this one will be any different. Still, it's none of my business. For all I know, Kayla might just be looking for a good time herself.

"Good luck with that," I say with a grin before heading back to my RV.

"You want to get dinner next week?" she asks.

I turn and look back at her. I want to say no. Dinner with Kayla Gray isn't just dinner with her; it's dinner with a dozen paparazzi snapping pictures all night long. It's definitely something I'll have to wear pants for. But the look she's giving me reminds me exactly why her picture is pinned to bedroom walls.

"Ugh, fine. But it'll have to be before next Friday. I leave for my next job then."

"Already? Don't you want to go on vacation or something first? You know, like a normal person."

"Says the movie star," I tease. "But seriously, after a week of naps and channel surfing, I'll be itching to get back to work. I'm not really into taking time off, but if I had to go on vacation, I'd go camping."

"That's not a vacation." She shivers, making me laugh.

"It's not so bad. I like hiking and exploring nature. How do you think I keep these"—I raise my T-shirt and show her my hard-earned, toned abs—"without going to the gym?" I gag at the word "gym." I only go when absolutely necessary.

"I hate you," she groans as Ian calls her name.

"I've gotta go. I'll call?—"

I shake my head. As if I ever answer my phone, pfft.

She sighs. "I'll text you the details for dinner next week."

"Sounds good."

"Liar." She chuckles as she heads over to Ian.

I smile and keep going, needing to disappear into my RV before someone else decides they want something from me.

Once I'm inside with the door shut, I breathe a sigh of relief. I love my job, but it really drains my social battery quickly.

I unzip my high-heeled boots and pull them off with a sigh, wiggling my toes. Anyone who says being a stuntwoman is easy—my male counterparts included—has never had to do their stunts in six-inch heels.

Next, it's time to lose the pants, leaving me in a black tank top and purple bikini underwear. Once I'm free of my leg prisons, I walk over to the fridge and grab another bottle of water and a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter. As I eat my snack, I look around, making sure nobody has snuck in while I was working. Nothing seems out of place.

It happened once, about three years ago. An overzealous fan broke in, thinking the RV belonged to Ella Mae Johnston, the lead actress in the movie I was working on at the time. He was obsessed with her, convinced they were in some kind of relationship that only he knew about. I'm not sure what he thought was romantic about bringing rope and a knife. But I was happy to use both on him.

As fucked up as it was finding a naked stalker in my bed—and a pretty lousy stalker at that, since he had the wrong girl—I was glad it was me and not her. My martial arts training meant I could disarm him before he could hurt anyone.

Stunt people rarely get trailers on movie sets, and I understand why. But as my popularity grew, I spent more time on set and less time at home, so the house I was renting was empty for most of the year. On a whim, I decided to buy an RV, killing two birds with one stone.

Knowing it would be my home and not just my work trailer, I took a chunk out of the inheritance my mom left me and bought one that was nicer than most people's homes. It's always amusing to roll into a new town and see people get excited to see a rock star or some other big name, only to find little old me instead.

Inside, the main living area has two cream leather recliners facing a matching three-seater couch. To the left of that is a dining area large enough to seat four, and directly opposite it is the kitchen, complete with a stove, sink, dishwasher, and fridge-freezer. Beyond that is the bathroom and a washer and dryer, followed by my bedroom. My queen-sized bed takes up most of the space, but there are built-in closets on either side of the room and drawers under the bed where I keep bedding and towels.

The bedroom and the living area both feature giant flat-screen TVs on the walls. I might not get much downtime, but when I do, I like to binge-watch mystery series and crime documentaries.

I kick back in one of the recliners and take a sip of my water just as my cell phone rings. I ignore it because what kind of monster still uses cell phones to call people? If it's important, they'll leave a message. But after ten missed calls in five minutes, my eye twitches as I get up to grab my phone from the counter where I left it to charge. I don't need to look at the screen to see who it is. There's only one psycho in my life that's this relentless.

"You are the worst friend in the world. I don't know why I put up with you," I snarl into the phone before my best friend, Nevaeh, can even say a word.

"Is your blood sugar low? Go eat a banana or something."

I take the phone and walk into the bedroom, face-planting on my bed. "Why can't you just text like a normal person?"

"I think we both know I'm the normal one in this relationship. Now stop being grumpy and listen to me for a freaking second."

I picture my five-foot-nothing—with her heels on—friend, with her long red hair and big green eyes, and wonder how a woman who looks like a tiny, pocket-sized doll can make me want to commit murder on a weekly basis.

"The floor's all yours, Pippin."

"I hate it when you call me that," she growls, which is exactly why I said it. Peregrin Took has been her nickname since she was twelve and stopped growing and stayed hobbit height, but I prefer Pippin because it's easier to say and it pisses her off.

"So, you know how you asked me if I wanted to come be your assistant for that cowboy movie?"

I sit up and cross my legs, suddenly glad she called. "You're coming?"

"Yep."

"Yes!"

She laughs giddily.

"Holy fuck, I can't believe your dad's letting you come."

Nevaeh's dad, Andrew, is a pastor back home. To say he's strict doesn't even begin to cover it. I could understand it when we were kids. They went through something no family should have to go through when Nevaeh's twin sister, Citlalli, was kidnapped from right outside their house when they were just ten years old. But it's been fifteen years, and Andrew's grief has left him stuck in time. He still treats Nevaeh like she's ten. His inability to let go has left Nevaeh trapped in a time capsule while the rest of the world has moved on.

It was painful to watch my beautiful, vibrant friend hide her true self just so that she could keep her father happy.

"Well, he kinda thinks I'm going away to Bible camp as a camp counselor."

I sigh, knowing better than to open my mouth. There aren't any right words to say. It would be so easy for me to criticize Andrew or tell Nevaeh that she needs to put her foot down, but I've never lived through what they have. I don't know what it's like to be stuck living between what they lost and what they could have had.

"You're not saying anything." The excitement fades from her voice.

"I'm surprised he agreed to the Bible camp. That's got to be worse than hanging out with little old me."

She chuckles, and I can hear her relief. "My aunt's going. Dad said he'd only let me go if I shared a cabin with her and stayed by her side the whole time. My aunt says she's sad Citlalli's gone but seeing that I've stopped living hurts her even more. So, she told me to go with you, and she'll cover for me."

I swallow, wishing she were here so I could hug her.

"She's right. I know she is. I just don't want to hurt him."

"I know. But your aunt's right, Pippin. You need to live your life, too."

"That's why I'm coming. Bible camp is in the middle of nowhere, so there's no cell service. My aunt will break that to him once I've already left. Maybe a bit of time away will give us both some perspective."

"Well, I can't wait to see you."

"Same. I'd better go. I need to finish up some work before I leave. Text me if you want me to bring anything."

"Will do. Bye."

I wait for her to hang up before sliding off the bed and doing a little dance.

"This is going to be so much fun."