Explicit: A Novel

  Explicit

  Copyright © 2018 by Ava Harrison

  Published by AH Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or restaurants referenced in the work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Line Edit: Lawrence Editing, www.lawrenceediting.com, Gray Ink

  Content: Jennifer Roberts-Hall, Becca Mysoor

  Proofreader: Write Girl Editing Services, Marla Selkow Esposito

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Invitation

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Clandestine: A Novel

  Sneak Peek of Sordid: A Novel

  By Ava Harrison

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dedicated to those who need help finding beauty in the broken pieces of themselves.

  Please join us as we break ground on the newest Lancaster venture.

  You are cordially invited to Antibes, France.

  Saturday, June 4

  Official groundbreaking ceremony to start at 7 p.m. followed by a celebratory dinner.

  Pretentious fucking bastard.

  I’m not surprised. He’s always been a pompous ass. Goddamn Spencer Lancaster. Heir to the Lancaster family fortune, head honcho at the biggest hotel chain in America, and, most importantly, my brother. My oldest brother.

  The one who has it all and has no problem reminding you. He’s always loved to flaunt his wealth, and today is no different. If anything, today is even worse. With a promise to build an elite property fit for royalty on a plot of land in Antibes, France, he already has everyone whispering amongst themselves about how great he is. If that isn’t enough, he’s down on one knee in front of his closest friends and family, handing over his balls to a recovering addict.

  And they say I’m the fuck-up.

  Who doesn’t like to have a good time? What the fuck else is there to do? I like booze, drugs, and women, but at least it doesn’t own me. Unlike Olivia, my older brother Spencer’s fiancée, I can hold my own. At least unlike her, I never ended up in rehab. I can stop whenever I want. Sound like a cliché? Too bad, because it’s the truth.

  I’m not my brothers, and I’m not expected to contribute to the family name. No one has ever asked me to work for the family business, to run a chain of hotels, hell, they haven’t even asked me to work at one, so if they don’t want me around, why should my decision to spend time and money on my vices matter to anyone? Yet, by the nasty phone messages I’ve been getting from Spencer and, even more surprisingly, my other brother Grant, my “reckless lifestyle” is all that matters to them.

  The irony of this situation isn’t lost on me.

  Spencer’s constantly breathing down my neck about how I’m soiling the Lancaster name, which is completely ridiculous. Hypocrisy much? Here he is, promising his life away to someone who was snorting lines not even a year ago, and I’m going to be the one to bring down the name. How is she any different from me?

  Fuck them.

  I pull my flask out of my pocket and take a swig, not caring who sees. The liquid burns my throat, scorching the persistent bitter feelings that threaten to float to the surface. My entire life I’ve been the black sheep of the family, always overshadowed by my brothers’ success. They don’t even give me a chance. For years, they ignored me, all too busy with their own drama, so I kept myself busy with other distractions. Getting fucked is an easy way to forget just how irrelevant you are to the world.

  “Clap your hands, Pierce.”

  A soft voice cuts through my inner rant, and I turn my head, looking down at Olivia’s best friend, Lindsey. Her eyes are narrowed, their color so deep with thought they appear black as the night, dark and ominous. I lift my gaze back up to scan her face and am met with lips downturned in a scowl. Apparently, she’s not happy to be here either. That, or she doesn’t like me very much. No, I’m always a good time.

  Brown locks fan her shoulder, resting on her translucent skin. Something twists in my gut as I watch her. Lindsey sitting in a wheelchair, helpless, sucks. A devastating accident left her pretty badly banged up and has kept her away from our typical hangouts. She used to be the life of the party, and I have to admit I miss seeing her around.

  “Want some?” I point the flask in her direction.

  She shakes her head.

  “It wouldn’t kill you to act happy for your brother,” she scolds quietly. Each word comes out only a little above a whisper, but no matter the octave, her intent is present. She’s totally thinking, Suck it up, Pierce.

  I roll my eyes but do as she suggests, bringing my hands up to slowly clap. I’m not fooling anyone, especially not her, but I still put forth my best acting effort. Yeah, I’m a dick. So what? My false bravado doesn’t seem to faze anyone. No one cares. They’re all too excited to notice me.

  Hoots and hollers are called from all around. I take it all in, watching the cheers from the sidelines. Everybody’s happy for the couple. Spencer and Olivia are about to plan a wedding, one that’s sure to be the soiree of the year, and apparently, this is the kickoff. My stomach twists. A stra
nge feeling of jealousy washes over me, and it’s unwelcome.

  “Oh, come on, Lindsey. Don’t you want to get drunk and make bad decisions?” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.

  “Eww.” Lindsey scrunches her nose in disgust. I shrug, knowing she’s full of shit. Before her accident, she wanted me bad. She’s alluded many times when there were copious amounts of drinks being had, just how much. It never happened, unfortunately. Not because I’m not attracted to her, but because some other girl beat her to the punch. Tonight I could use the camaraderie, and a good blow job wouldn’t hurt either.

  From across the expansive gray gravel where we’re all standing, I watch them smile happily at each other.

  I wish I could flee, but no, not until the golden couple makes a speech. Anything other than listening to my brother speak sounds like a more enjoyable way to spend my evening. Just as I’m contemplating an escape plan, I notice Spencer and Olivia making their way through the crowd, thanking everyone for traveling to Antibes to witness their engagement. I take another swig, chasing the buzz that will get me through the night.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Lindsey suggests, worry evident in her eyes. “They won’t miss us.”

  I recognize what she’s doing. She’s saving me from the awkward reunion with my brother. He knows I’m here. Obviously, being the good soldier, obeying the commands of my superiors, I came. Still sucks to be here, especially with the relationship between us so strained. Truth is I’ve been avoiding him for the last year, but he’s been too focused on meeting Olivia, falling in love to care and apparently reconciling with Grant to notice. When I was still in high school, Grant, my middle brother had a huge falling out with the family, but seeing as he’s in Antibes, celebrating with everyone, that bridge must have been mended.

  I lift my flask once more to my mouth, and Lindsey shakes her head and motions to leave. She obviously realizes my alcohol consumption won’t go without an argument, seeing as she’s best friends with his soon-to-be wife. It’s such bullshit though, as flutes of champagne are currently being passed around. What the hell does it matter if I brought my own? When I still haven’t agreed to go, she speaks.

  “We’ll say I needed to pee and you helped wheel me out of the gravel,” she declares on a loud exhale of breath, sounding frustrated at the thought.

  “You’re going to take the heat for my disappearing act?” I’m surprised. Dumbfounded really. Why would she do that?

  “I want out of here. It’s hot as hell.” She fans herself. Bending at the hip, I bow to her before taking the handles of the chair. Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

  “Let’s go, Miss Daisy.” I laugh while wheeling her around like her own personal chauffeur.

  I feel like a complete idiot.

  Truth is, having to be in a wheelchair in France, isn’t ideal. I’d much rather be using my cane. But unfortunately, instead of using it, it’s lying on my lap because the ground is too uneven at this location for me to do anything more than stand.

  It’s been a year since the accident that changed my life. Before the accident, I was the life of the party. Always jet-setting around the world, looking to have a good time. But everything changed on that drive back to New York City. My car crashed. Olivia and my driver were lucky. I wasn’t, hell I’m still not lucky.

  Now it hurts to walk even a few steps, let alone dance on top of a bar.

  You’d think it would be better by now, but I’ve recently undergone corrective surgery to have the screws removed from my leg, so technically, although a shit ton of time has passed; I’m still in recovery. The surgeon said I’ll be able to stop using my cane in a few weeks, but I’m not happy about having to use it at all. I’ve spent the last year trying to mend myself back to whole. Doctor after doctor, followed by physical therapy and still, I’m not okay.

  So, here I am, being pushed by Pierce Lancaster. Nothing could be more humiliating than this.

  But I saw his face. I can see it written all over every single feature. The way his green eyes darkened when Spencer spoke, and the twitch in his jaw. Even the way he brought the flask to his perfectly formed mouth.

  I hadn’t seen Pierce since London last year. Since I’d all but thrown myself at his feet. He didn’t want me then. My cheeks warm with embarrassment. He certainly won’t want me now. So who cares if he has to push you around like a little old lady to escape his family? It’s not like you have a chance anyway.

  But even knowing that doesn’t calm the heat spreading across my body. No matter what I tell myself, Pierce Lancaster still does things to me. My treacherous body still wants him.

  He’s so damn beautiful.

  Head in the game, Lindsey.

  That’s not going to happen so stop longing for him. You’re nothing to him, never have been, never will be. If he didn’t want you when you were perfect, why would he want you when you’re broken?

  The ground beneath my chair dips and my cane bounces in my lap, hitting my upper thigh with a thump.

  “Sorry about that,” Pierce says.

  “It’s fine,” I reply, pulling my mind back to reality.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “I said I’m fine,” I snap. I don’t want his pity. I just want to be normal, for crying out loud. I want to be the girl I used to be, even if just for a night. But no, here I am, in France, in a wheelchair.

  I’m not sure what I was thinking. A part of me was so excited to get the invitation to come to Antibes. I didn’t know Spencer was planning this elaborate engagement. I, like everyone else, thought they were throwing a giant party to break ground on the newest hotel in the Lancaster Holdings portfolio.

  The excitement I’d had was short-lived, though. It’s not that I’m not happy for Olivia. I am. It’s just her life keeps moving forward and mine is stuck. Kind of like Pierce right now trying to get me over the bump in the ground.

  “I can stand,” I say when he tries to push the wheel through the hole in the gravel.

  “Are you sure?” His voice is hesitant.

  “God, Pierce. Yes.” I lace my fingers on the handle and push my body weight up.

  I don’t bother with the cane. I stand. Internally, I grimace, but I don’t let my face show any signs of pain. I grit my teeth and bear the feeling radiating down the front of my left leg. Shards of glass. It feels like shards of glass pulling the muscle from the bone. The surgeon said I should be recovering, and in truth I am, but it’s too slow for me.

  Sometimes I think of myself as two people. Lindsey before when I had the world accessible to me, and Lindsey now, not so much. I was lucky to live that day, but that doesn’t make this healing process any less tiring. I just had what will hopefully be my last corrective surgery, and my doctor assured me if I work hard I should be able to run again, but it feels like it will never happen.

  I think that’s the hardest part. As much as I loved to go out and dance, I loved to run more, and no one even knows. It was a hobby I took up years ago when shit got bad with my parents. Olivia had been off at college, so I’d packed up my shit and moved to Europe. I’d had no one. Sure, I had people to party with, people to do drugs with, but every now and then I needed to calm down, collect myself.

  One of those times I tried calling my dad. He answered, and I expected him to ask me where I was, how I was, what I was doing. Instead, he asked, “How much?” I was furious. Angry. Sad. Heartbroken. I hadn’t spoken to him in three weeks.

  “One hundred.”

  He knew what that meant. He hung up then, and as I walked to the gym, I heard the familiar ping of my phone. A deposit had been made: one hundred thousand dollars.

  I didn’t make it to the gym that day. Instead, I ran from where I was standing in front of the building, down the street, up a few blocks and right into Hyde Park. I kept running, and for the first time, I felt free. The scenery, the newly blooming trees, the way the sunlight illuminated across the early morning grass in the distance, it transported me to a different place.
>
  A different time.

  The endorphins I released rivaled what I got from doing coke, rivaled what I got from booze, and from there on out I was never sober. I never had to think about my problems. During the day I ran, and at night I got high. I was running from my problems in all directions.

  Now I’ve lost all of that.

  And I have nothing.

  The sound of Pierce grunting removes me from my tormented thoughts. He lifts the wheelchair off the ground, his arms flexing beneath his button-down. Only Pierce could wear a baby-pink shirt, white linen pants, and sneakers and look devastatingly handsome. His hair is disheveled. Too long on top, but just long enough to pull it in the throes of passion. He always looks like he’s just had sex.

  I stare at him, saliva pooling in my mouth. All thoughts of my family drama behind me as I stare at this beautiful specimen. I hate that he does this to me. I hate that no matter how much time has passed, I still want him as much as I did before, and I hate that he’ll never want me.

  His gaze catches mine and his lips spread.

  Shit, he caught me.

  “Like what you see?” he jests. His typical cocky grin grows on his face.

  “Hardly.” I grimace and dramatically roll my eyes.

  He raises his eyebrow. “Your chariot awaits.” He motions to my wheelchair now safely away from the large divot in the ground. “Do you need help?”

  “I’m good.”

  He eyes me warily, small lines etching away at his face with concern, but I shrug him off and take a step. I don’t have my cane and the ground is horribly uneven, so this is a bad idea. But having him help me any more than he already has is the worst idea.

  My left leg lifts, hits the ground, and then it happens, a pebble. Or a rock. It might even be a boulder from the way I feel myself falling forward. I brace for impact. For pain.

  But I never feel it.

  Instead, I feel his arms around me, cocooning me in his strong embrace. He has me. I’m safe. I’m mortified.

  “Shit. I got you, here.” He moves me in his arms as if he’s my crutch and I hate it. I hate how weak I am. I hate this feeling. I want to crawl into a ball and hide. Drown my feelings.