Gravity (Wilde Boys, #1)

by Sara Cate

Love is our greatest weakness. Nothing will royally fuck you up the way love can, and I swore I would never be such an idiot for another person.

At first I thought it was a crush. I mean, who wouldn’t be beguiled by those ocean blue eyes and chin-length brown hair in that six-three frame? But it’s not just his looks that caught me. Nash is a force, and I’m drawn to him like gravity.

There is no plan really. I’m just going to go in there with my best flirting skills, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll throw myself at him. Like I said, love makes you stupid.

If he asked me to get on my knees at this very moment, I would.

I get regulars all the time. Faces tend to blend after a while, and I try to remember names and details from those I’ve danced for before. But this face is a different type of familiar. He’s not a regular. As far as I know, he’s never been in the club, and I’ve definitely never danced for him.

It’s a face from an old life I vaguely remember, from when I still had a sister. The world still made sense, and I wasn’t broken yet. Nash Wilde is in my club, and his eyes are trained on my face.

Everyone in the country knows Nash Wilde doesn’t have any business. He used to. Once upon a time, he was a rising star in the industry his father pioneered. But now he only does girls, parties, drugs, and spending all of his daddy’s money. He’s not celebrity status, but he’s popular enough among the crowd of rich and famous trust fund babies that he can get whatever he wants, whenever he wants.

“Okay, you saw it. Why don’t you get the fuck out of here?” I glance around the crowd at the bar, hoping I spot someone looking for him. “Are you here alone?” “Not anymore,” he growls with a slur. His hands brush my hips. “I want a lap dance.” Chills race down my spine. He must see the panic in my expression because he leans in, putting his mouth next to my ear. “A private dance.”

“Nash, I’m working. You need to go home.” Ignoring the girl, he turns toward me. “I’m buying you for the rest of the night.”

“You can’t do that.” My hands land on his chest as I push him out of the crowd. He’s still hanging over me, impossibly close, and I feel every inch of him against my bare body. Pressing his lips toward my ear again, he speaks so loudly everyone in a ten-foot radius can hear. “Twenty grand for the night.”

“How did you end up at the club so drunk in the first place?” I ask. “I’ve been at the club all night. Waiting for you to come on.” I spin around toward him. “Are you serious?” “Yep.”

“Take off your clothes, Zara.” I want to tell him to get out. To fuck off. To leave my life and never come back, but it’s Nash, and I’ve been caught in his orbit. I couldn’t get away if I tried. “Make it twenty-five,” I counter, feeling ballsy. There’s not even so much as a flinch in his expression. “Fine.”

“You couldn’t even bother with a condom? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He groans. “You’re on the pill, right?” “Of course, but do you have any idea how fucked up that is? This isn’t like you.”

“I’m clean,” he mutters against my neck. I huff, pulling away. My anger is growing with each passing second, and if I don’t get away from him, I know he’ll see me cry, and I’m not ready for that. “Bullshit,” I snap, shoving away again. I grab my clothes off the floor and pull them on. Just as I’m about to tell him to leave, he stands up and walks to the door. “I’m sorry, Zara,” he mutters, and I barely got a word out before he’s gone.

There is no recognition anymore. Shortly after Emma died, I bought a box of store-brand black dye and I erased her from my appearance. Because this wasted girl in the mirror doesn’t deserve to look like my sister.

There’s not talking to your dad when you never see him, and then there’s living under the same roof and still refusing to utter a word to him. He tries every fucking day to get me to open up, and I take great joy in torturing him with my silence. He deserves it.

That night at her apartment fucking shook me and not because I slept with her—or because I broke an eighteen month dry spell—but because the way things went down that night was different. It was like I tapped into some deep, hidden urge, and I had to fight with how much I wanted to control her.

“Hi, Nash,” she says quietly. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, and even I can hear the slur to my speech. “Nash Wilde,” Astrid says, scolding me. “That’s not how we speak to our guests.” “He really convinced you to come, didn’t he?”

“Don’t get too comfortable, Zara. This place might be beautiful, but it’s a fucking prison, and everyone who lives here is miserable.”

“Good,” she says. “Then, I’ll fit right in.”

“So what’s the plan? You’re going to get me to fall in love with you? Convince me to forgive my dad and go back to being his perfect, happy son?” There’s a darkness in his tone that sends chills up my spine. “Who the fuck am I to convince you to be happy? I’m just here for the money, Nash.”

“That was a one-time thing, Nash. You caught me at a weak moment, but it never should have happened.” The slow, eerie smile that creeps across his face makes my stomach turn. “What?” I bark. “Nothing,” he says, composing himself. “I just think it’s a good idea if you refuse me. I kind of like it.” “What the fuck is wrong with you?” “That is a good question.”

“It’s ironic that you’re here to make me better when the things I want to do to you are the worst things I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“To get you to come eat dinner with us.” I figure honesty is going to work in my favor here. I have to make Nash believe he and I are on the same team. Us against Alistair. Nash lets out a deep chuckle, setting his phone on the side table. “What do I get if I do it?” His eyes travel down my body with a mischievous smirk. “Dinner.” His smile widens, creating dimples in his cheeks I suspect haven’t seen the light of day in a long time. “Are appetizers on the menu?”

“How about a kiss in exchange for one family dinner?” “One kiss?” I catch him staring at my lips as he answers. “For now.” I swallow, hoping he doesn’t see how much he unravels me. “Fine.”

Nash is not gentle. Even his soft kisses hurt. His touch burns like fire, but the more I fight him, the faster I melt.

Zara’s lips are still red and swollen as she and Nash sit down at the dinner table, but at least my son is in the same room as me. That’s a start. 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.

As he scoops up a bite of steaming red pasta on his fork, I get a momentary flash of deja vu, remembering the gentle-mannered little kid who thought I set the sun in the sky every morning. Once upon a time, he showered me with attention. I was ready to hand him the keys to this kingdom I’ve built.

“The west side of the island has a beautiful view of the sunset. Nash can take you to see it,” I say, breaking the silence. My son doesn’t respond as he continues eating like he didn’t hear me. Zara glances back and forth between us. She and I stare at each other a moment. Then, she turns to Nash and touches his arm. “I want to see it.” It’s not a request or a question. She’s demanding it, and I almost want to laugh.

Nash does not indulge anyone. The moment he thinks you want something he will deny it. He gets that stubborn tenacity from me.

The table grows silent for a moment before he looks at me, then her. With a fake smile plastered on his face, he says, “Then we’ll go see it.” I know it’s to spite me, and that’s fine. If Nash lives the rest of his life...

A moment ago we were having a civilized conversation, but that’s not us. This is us, this charged back and forth, give and take. Passion laced with anger, hatred, lust.

“Admit it,” he says with a snarl, pressing me even harder against the hood. “Admit you’re my whore.” “No.” Fuck, my heart beats faster, my stomach clenches, and I nearly lose my breath. “I feel that pussy pulse in my hands. How much is Daddy paying you to be my whore, huh?”

“If you want to come, you have to say it, Zara. Say you’re my whore. Admit you’re just as fucked up as me. You like it when I treat you like shit as much I like being the piece of shit who does it. We’re both fucked up, Zara, so admit it and I’ll let you come all over my hand, then we can go home.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t have anymore,” he says as he pulls his wet digits out of my panties. As he walks toward the driver’s side, he stares at me with a vicious scowl as he licks my arousal off his fingers, and my stomach turns.

I love scotch. After two years of being bought drinks in every variation from vodka to Everclear so strong it could peel the paint off the walls, I grew an appreciation for the drinks usually associated with more class and money. The men who ordered the scotch took their time. They tipped better and watched me differently. When they bought me a drink, I enjoyed it, even though it took me a whole two years to even be able to stomach the stuff.

“Why aren’t you out there with Nash?” he finally asks, the question I was expecting. I’m not quite sure how to answer it. Honestly? How can I tell him his son gets off on being borderline abusive—and oh yeah, so do I.

“Nash, I’m serious.” I hear the shake in my voice. As he moves toward me, I brace myself, ready for the impact, but he doesn’t land on top of me. Instead, his hand rests gently against my cheek, and I know he feels me flinch. “You’re afraid of me,” he says. “I thought you liked it.” “Not like this.” My voice sounds so small next to his. “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?” “No, I don’t.”

He’s asking me to save Nash’s life, whether that means keeping him from hurting himself or keeping him from wasting away like some soulless shell of a man.

“Take your clothes off please,” Nash whispers against my mouth as he pulls away. “Nash,” I respond in a warning. He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I just want you to sleep next to me, Zara. I want to hold you.” Then, in a quieter, deeper tone, he adds, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Don’t let me catch you talking to him again, Zara. You’re not here for him.” “We were just talking.” “It’s never that simple with him. If he was nice to you it’s because he wants something from you.” “What could he possibly want? I’m here to help you, just like he asked.” He puts his lips even closer to my ear as the hand he held at my stomach moves down to cup my sex. “Gosh, I wonder, Zara. What else could he possibly want?”

As soon as the curtain is closed and I’m sure I’m alone, I stare into the mirror and silently scream. This feels like someone else’s life. It is someone else’s life. This was Emma’s life, and I guess I should feel bad that I’m living it now, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything.

“Listen to me, princess. I didn’t hire you to try and seduce me, so stop this shit right now.” “I’m not—” I argue, but he places a hand over my mouth to quiet me.

“You think I don’t see what you’re trying to do. I saw you working at your club, using this body of yours to weasel men out of their money, but this shit won’t happen here, do you understand? I know what women like you want, and you’re nothing but a distraction. The only reason you’re here is to distract Nash from whatever the fuck is going on in his head. So, let’s be perfectly clear, Zara. You don’t get more money by trying to fuck me. Just do your fucking job and get my son’s head out of his ass.”

I may not be rich or classy, but I’m sure as fuck no princess. I’ll do my goddamn job, and I’ll get my money, and I will never see the Wildes again.

“Wait, so if I go with you, you’ll fly again?” “Maybe,” he mutters as he grabs another beer. “How long has it been since you’ve flown?” I ask, trying to sound casual and not terrified. “Two years.” He says it like it’s nothing, and I’m wondering if I’m crazy for thinking that sounds like a very dangerous situation. If he hasn’t flown, isn’t that even more of a hazard?

“It’s like riding a bike, Zara. I’m still a good pilot if that’s what you’re worried about.” He climbs back on his jet ski in the water. “I don’t fly anymore.” I say it like it’s some unchangeable fact. But to be honest, I’m no match for Alistair’s persuasion, and I already know if he tries to get me in the air, he’ll probably succeed. Nash is persuasive too, but I get a thrill out of denying him.

“Don’t give him all of the control, Zara. Let him think he has it, but don’t be afraid to fight him for it.” “And how would you know that?” she asks. I want to tell her that apple didn’t fall far from the tree, but I don’t. “I just do.” “You’re a couple of stubborn assholes,”

“I’m not afraid of him,” she adds, but she won’t look at me. “I had clients like that all the time at the club. The ones who didn’t like letting go, and honestly, I like the challenge. The payoff was always better.”

“Nash seemed happier today,” she says quietly. “But I’ll be honest, Alistair. I don’t know how I can repair your relationship if I don’t know what happened.” “I wish I knew.” “He just stopped talking to you after the crash?”