Prologue - Weston
“Say it.” Victoria Arias looms over me, her feet planted on either side of my hips, seething. “I want to hear you say it.”
She looks like the storm that just passed. That poor lavender shirt is rippling in the remnants of the wind. It’s ruined. And out of nowhere, like God was playing a trick on us earlier, it starts to rain. Hard, pouring-down rain.
“What’s your fucking problem?” I ask. “Just what the fuck, Tori?”
She drops, her ass sitting on my dick, but nothing about this moment says seductive. She slaps me six times in the face. Both hands, one after the other. Six times. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam.
“Say it!” She yells it this time.
I taste blood in my mouth and reach up to wipe it away as I look her in the eyes.
Those beautiful violet eyes. That wild dark hair is sticking to her face as she rages. And her breasts are practically bursting out of her shirt—those last two buttons have no hope of containing them.
Another slap, and this time it stings.
“Stop it,” I say, grabbing both her wrists and pulling her down onto my chest. “Just fucking stop it.”
“I hate you more, Weston Conrad.” Her voice is low. Even. Controlled. “I hate you more than you will ever know and I want to hear you say it.”
“Why should I give in to you? Why the fuck should I? Do you really think this badass attitude you have is cute, Miss Arias? Well, it isn’t. It’s fucking old, OK? I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you. And I’m not giving you what you want. Ever.”
I push her off me and get up. I’m wet, I’m covered in sand, I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, and my dick has been hard for three days.
“You’re a coward,” Victoria says, her South American accent appearing. “You’re a coward and a cheat.”
“That makes no sense. And I’m not a cheat. You’re the fucking cheat. How the hell did you get here, huh, Victoria? You cheated!”
She’s on her knees now, that goddamned lavender shirt blowing open. “Well, just give me what I want, Weston Conrad. And then we can part ways and never see each other again.”
“I’m not giving you this contract. Fuck that. I earned it. You’re the one who tried to steal it from me.”
“I don’t just want the contract, you idiot. I never wanted the contract. I wanted you.”
I just blink at her. “What?”
“Did,” she clarifies. “I don’t want you anymore. I wouldn’t want you if you were the last man on Earth!”
“Or a deserted island?” I say, laughing.
She throws a handful of sand at me, but the wind catches it and it goes in her eyes. Her hands fly up to her face as she doubles over in pain.
Fuck.
“Victoria,” I say, dropping down to see if she’s OK.
She’s not. She’s crying.
“Victoria,” I say again as I try to pry her hands off her face. “Let me see.”
She shakes her head and starts to sniffle. “Just tell me what I want to hear.”
“What?” I ask. “What the fuck are you after? I can’t ever make you happy for more than a few hours. I don’t fucking know what you want!”
She drops her hands and looks me in the face. “I hate you more, Weston Conrad. I hate you more than you hate me. And I want to hear you admit it.”
“Fine.” I shrug. “Whatever. You hate me more. What the fuck do I care?”
“What the fuck do you care?” Her makeup was washed off in the rain days ago. There’s no leftover mascara to stain her perfect cheekbones. And her lips are naturally pink and plump. I can’t stop looking at them.
Her.
I can’t stop looking at her.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“I want that contract.”
“No. I told you no. How many times do I have to explain this to you? It was my contract to begin with. You fucking cheated!”
“But I need it more!” she yells.
“I said I’d help you, Tori. I already said I’d help you, for fuck’s sake!”
“Don’t call me that ever again!”
Jesus Christ. Why does she have to be so wild?
“If you give me that contract, I will give you something in return.”
“What?” I ask. “What do you possibly have that I want?”
“Me.”
Her eyes search mine. Back and forth. Back and forth. I do want her. I want her so fucking bad. But I can’t give her that contract. That contract isn’t even enough to fix her problems. But it’s mine. It’s mine, dammit. If it’s still available, I cannot let her have it. I just can’t. If she ends up with this contract, my world shifts. And not in a good way. She can’t have it and I’m tired of talking about it. Thinking about it. So I change the subject. “I thought you wanted me?”
“Not anymore,” she says, tipping her head up to regain some of her dignity. And even though most of the people on this planet wouldn’t be able to conjure up some dignity while sitting half-naked, half-starved, and half-satisfied at the tail end of a hurricane, Victoria Arias manages. “I mean nothing to you, West. You used me last night. You used me just like you use everyone else.” She pokes me in the chest to emphasize her words. “And you know what? I’m tired of you, too. You checked out ten years ago and never came back. Turned into Mr. Corporate and said, ‘Fuck you, Rhode Island. I’m going to LA.’”
I’m just about to open my mouth and tell her off when it hits me. She’s been mad at me this whole time. Not because we broke up. Not because we couldn’t make the long-distance relationship work. But because she thinks I left her behind.
But I don’t get the chance to say any of that. Because the sound of a helicopter comes into range.
“Here!” Victoria yells, jumping to her feet and waving her arms. “Here! Here! Here! We are here!”
She bolts down the beach, her perfect legs stretching out into a full run, her dark hair flying out behind her like a banner that dares me to follow her into war.
I want to follow her. I want to think so anyway. I want to believe that I can fight her battles, and take no prisoners, and come out on the other end a winner.
But I don’t believe it.
Because she doesn’t need anyone to fight her battles. She’s made that perfectly clear.
And I don’t believe I could match her passion and commitment anyway. I don’t believe I could keep up with her, to be honest. Or hold on to her, or even make her the slightest bit happy. I don’t believe I can do anything right when it comes to Victoria Arias.
And it’s not because I feel like sulking against the wall at my own pity party.
It’s because I’ve hurt her so many times in the past, it’s become a habit.
It’s because we’re in this endless pattern of destruction. We’re a trainwreck. A plane crash. A hurricane of nothing-will-ever-come-of-this.
Ever.