Gravity (Wilde Boys, #1)

by Sara Cate

And I wonder if that’s what Emma felt before she died. The hair-raising plummet that sends your heart up into your throat—adrenaline, laced with terror.

I’m just another girl to him. I know that.

Not to mention, he didn’t even bother with a condom. I’m on the pill, but with what I’ve seen in his behavior lately, I have no guarantee that he’s clean.

He couldn’t even get fully undressed. This was never about me. I was an easy fuck and I didn’t put up much of a fight. I don’t know if this means I want my twenty-five-grand or not.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say in a low, husky tone as I come around to see his face. My heart plummets to the floor as my eyes adjust to the dim light. Alistair Wilde. Alistair-fucking-Wilde is standing in my club, waiting for a private lap dance. My mind feels like a broken record that can only utter one word over and over again. No, no, no, no.

Unlike his son, he’s not staring at my body. Aside from a quick glance to my face, he keeps his eyes on the window. Is he here for a dance? Or did Nash tell him how easy it was to get between my legs so now he’s here to get a piece for himself?

I’m swept away with this feeling of being in trouble even though I’ve never done anything wrong. If he did find out about Nash and me, is he angry? He’s probably here to buy my silence so I don’t tell anyone what a hot mess his son has turned into.

Then, he quickly shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, keeping his gaze over my head. My eyes dance over to the cameras in the corners. I should be dancing. I could get in trouble for this, and after the incident with Nash, I’m already on my boss’s bad side.

Did he just apologize to me? The Wildes don’t apologize, and now I see the slightest shift in his behavior, how he’s a little different now. His shoulders hang a bit lower, and there are heavy bags under his eyes.

When I saw him at the funeral he looked so unfeeling and cold, but now I can tell the pain has been literally spoiling him from the inside.

After Emma died and we laid her in the ground at a funeral far more extravagant than I could have afforded, I assumed I would never hear from the Wilde family again. There was nothing tying us together anymore.

There is a gentle tremor in her hands, and I realize I should feel bad. She is the sacrificial lamb I’m hoping will please the angry God sitting next to her.

Did he know this is how it would be? Was Nash right and Alistair hired me to be his fuck doll, his whore, someone to take his sick pleasures out on? And why does this thought hurt more than the others?

It would appear drunk Nash has a little more interest in me than sober Nash.

He presses me against the mirror and puts his face close to mine. “Listen to me, princess. I didn’t hire you to try and seduce me, so stop this shit right now.”

I know what women like you want, and you’re nothing but a distraction.

A moment ago, I felt like royalty in this dress, and now I feel like a whore—Nash’s whore.

But one thing is for sure. I will not let that asshole see me cry. So I pull on my cheap clothes, and I fix my hair. Rushing out of the dressing room, I violently bump against Alistair’s shoulder as I pass. Leaving him to pay the bill, I stomp out the door and wait on the street.

If Alistair was ever interested in me romantically, he sure has a fucked up way of showing it.

My affirmative answer comes out in more of a pleasure cry. I’m not keeping any secrets from Nash. He knows the deal, so he might as well know the terms. At least some of them. He didn’t mention talking to his dad being another of the conditions.

Then, she shoves him away and saunters away toward the guest house. My son watches her go, and for a brief moment, he looks like the old Nash. Like there’s a chink in his armor.

I’m stubborn, and the more my presence triggers Alistair, the more I want to be around him. I like seeing him so worked up, and I can’t help but wonder if I could break down that wall, just a little bit.

I noticed the subtle way his expression changes when he finds out Nash slept with me last night.

“You know this thing with Nash isn’t real, Alistair.” He looks away, focusing on the sauce as he adds the onion. “Of course it is.” “No, it’s not. I know you want it to be real, and I’m trying to help him, but I don’t feel like I’m doing anything. I mean...he left without me today. Without a word.”

My son needs you, but I don’t.”

He brought me out here to be some emotional punching bag for his son because they are both so fucked up. He doesn’t think I have damage too? Like I want to be the one to help Nash, but what about me? I know I took the job, and I know I asked for this, but it hurts all the same. I never expected Alistair to be nice to me, but the more he pushes me the more I feel something in me shatter. I want to break down and cry, but I won’t let that motherfucker see me break. Not for a second.

I’m not about to take this lying down. He wants me to do my job then I’ll do my job.

Nash’s eyes meet mine, and his bright, beaming smile vanishes. It’s replaced with a brooding frown, and I instantly regret coming.

Squaring my shoulders, I remind myself I’m in control here. Besides, we’re in a club. This is my territory. So, I march toward him, sliding through the throngs of onlooking women as I sidle up next to him.

A hand lands on my hip, and he pulls me closer. “You might be mine, Zara, but I’m not yours, and you’re really cramping my style.”

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” I say, glaring harshly right into his eyes. “I’ll just go back to your dad.”

“You really think this is all about me? Don’t you see the way he looks at you? You want to squeeze a few more million out of him, Zara, you’re spending your night with the wrong Wilde. So go back to Del Rey and leave me the fuck alone.”

Then I see what’s really going on. He’s insecure, and he’s lashing out to protect himself.

She got in my head that day. Not only in the helicopter but then with that fucking display on the pool deck with Nash. I know what she’s playing. And I’m not here to play games. I’m too fucking old for games.

If he needs her, then he should get her. Every single time.

“Am I allowed to be happy, Zara? Or is this my punishment? Loving you if I can’t have you.”

His words cut so deep because I feel them too. Are we allowed happiness? I don’t say it, but I know Nash feels the same way. The three of us are bound by grief. The guilt for surviving the people we loved the most has been eating us away for two years.

“Because I remembered how much you liked her. Every time she came to the house with Emma, I saw how you watched her. We all did. You were obsessed with her. I almost forgot she existed and when I needed a way to hurt you, I found her, and I fucked her. I made sure people got pictures of us together and posted them online so you’d see. I wanted you to know I still hated you.”

Sometimes I wish Alistair would fight for me. I wish he’d be braver to touch me in front of Nash, like he’s holding back from what he really wants. Then, I remember. That’s his son. Alistair will always sacrifice a little bit of his happiness for his kids and I will always come second to them. That’s the thought they leave me with as they pull away and I’m left alone.

“Nash,” I whisper. When he looks up at me, his jaw clenches, and the air grows thick. “Don’t you fucking do it, Zara. Don’t fucking say what I think you’re going to say.”

but because Nash’s nonexistent dating life since me has raised some concern for Alistair.