Free Web NovelChapter 268: The Golden Bait
The early morning air inside Hangar 47 was cool, but Nash had already been out on the court for a good hour. His grey tank top was soaked through, clinging to his chest and highlighting the dense muscle underneath.
Under the halogen lights, he attacked the baseline, pulling a sharp, sudden crossover on an imaginary defender before exploding toward the rim with a brutal, mechanical vertical leap.
Clack. Fwop.
The reinforced steel rim groaned heavily under the impact of a ferocious, one-handed dunk. Nash dropped back down smoothly, catching the ball on the bounce and blocking it against his hip.
He was just about to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his forearm when a familiar voice, filled with a playful insolence, cut through the silence of the hangar.
"Sup, putting us to shame first thing in the morning?"
Nia was leaning against the metal doorframe of the locker room, holding a large insulated sports bottle. She was wearing her ultra-short Blacklist practice shorts and a tight, sleeveless top that highlighted her athletic curves.
Her blue eyes sparkled with that sharp, defiant glint he knew all too well, her lips curving into a teasing pout as she watched him.
Nash tossed the ball her way with a swift, easy pass.
"You’re up early, Nia."
"Had to be, I’m on a mission," she shot back with a light laugh, cushioning the ball against her chest, though the impact forced a soft, breathless gasp from her lips.
She pulled off a few quick, fluid dribbles between her legs, her eyes locked onto his feet. She strutted onto the hardwood, stopping directly in his space and closing the distance.
"I spent the night rewatching the tape of the previous match. My transition lines are clean, but the second I push my drive toward the right, my visual spacing drops. That’s pretty bad, right? So... since you’ve officially become the undisputed king of this damn circuit, I figured I should kneel to suck some tips from the master’s cock."
Nash felt a genuinely surprised, and maybe 5% aroused. Let’s make it 15.
But it was meaningless face to the surprise of Nia’s proposal. Even long before his System had activated and dramatically multiplied his stats, his greatest strength had always been his brain, his innate ability to read tactical schemes, anticipate defensive blocks, and control the game.
For a while now, he had secretly wanted to find someone on the roster he could actually train to substitute him when needed, a tactical alter-ego on the court who could read the floor at the exact same level he did.
Better safe than sorry, who could say if he’d be able to play the whole match every time?
Seeing Nia stand there, her lower lip tucked between her teeth as she waited, completely serious about stepping up her game and determined not to be left behind by the recent salary bumps or the other girls’ contracts, made him instantly eager.
A lazy smirk pulled at his lips.
"You really want me to show you how to run a court, Nia?"
"Less blabla, Nash, just coach me," she laughed, giving his shoulder a firm, friendly shove, though her hand lingered on his wet skin for a second too long, her fingers twitching slightly.
"I want to become an absolute monster out there. I want the guys in suits to choke on their millions when they see my game. There is no way in hell I’m staying on the sidelines while Jaz and Alicia take all the spotlight."
Beautiful, just what he dreamed to hear. Such a perfect friend.
"Alright, let’s see your baseline setup then. We’re breaking down the mechanics,"
For the next two hours, the empty warehouse turned into an absolute grindhouse. Nash didn’t run her through basic physical drills; he trained her eyes, her mind, and her analytical capacity.
He would step right behind her, his large hands occasionally gripping her waist to correct her alignment against the baseline, his thumbs tracing the edge of her shorts, showing her how the tiniest tilt of a defender’s hip revealed their next rotation.
He focused heavily on training her court vision, teaching her how to scan the periphery and dissect oncoming defenders before they could establish their stance.
"You’re watching the ball too much, Nia," Nash explained as he stopped her drive, his chest pressing briefly against her back to correct an angle.
"Keep your chin up. You need to read the whole board, to anticipate the gap before the pass even leaves my hands. That is the difference between a good player and a killer."
"Like this?" she panted, her bronzed skin glistening under the raw halogens as she threaded sharp pass-feints and quick changes of pace under his direct commands.
She hesitated for a split second before a crossover, trying to visualize the defensive shift he kept describing, her eyes widening as the pattern finally clicked in her head.
They pushed transition sprints, tight dribbling, and blind-spot analysis until Nia’s lungs were completely on fire.
By the end of the last set, she let the ball roll away, stopping dead in the middle of the paint with her hands on her knees, gasping for air as her chest heaved erratically.
Nash walked over smoothly and draped a heavy, clean towel over her upper back. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
"Not bad at all," Nash smiled, crossing his arms. "You’re catching on to tactical concepts ten times faster than I expected."
Nia took a deep, heavy breath, gripping the edges of the towel to slowly straighten her posture.
Her blue eyes locked into his, burning with excitement and a touch of exhaustion.
"Told you I was a fast learner. My favorite player just needed to give his girl the right motivation."
"The right motivation, huh?" Nash repeated, taking a step closer to completely erase the space between them. "You looked mostly motivated to beg for air two minutes ago."
Nia let out a low, husky laugh.
She dropped the towel straight to the floor, completely refusing to wipe away the sweat building up on her forehead and running down her neck into the swell of her chest.
She stepped right against him, her fingers nervously twisting the bottom hem of his wet tank top before a highly provocative smirk pulled at her full lips.
"And why would I wipe it off?" she murmured in a low voice, deliberately rubbing her wet back against Nash’s bare front in a slow, sensual dance.
"Didn’t you say once that the smell of your girls’ hard work was your favorite perfume? I’m just serving you your fix, Nash."
The challenge was entirely too direct.
In one fluid movement, Nash locked his arms around her from behind, pulling her firmly against his chest. His large hands moved up to knead her breasts with a possessive, unyielding grip, feeling Nia’s heart beating violently against his palms as he squeezed her back against his wide hips.
Nia let out a vibrant, trembling moan, her knees shaking slightly as her head fell back against his shoulder.
Nash spun her around with a firm grip, his fingers plunging deep into her messy blue ponytail, twisting the damp strands tight around his fist like a leash.
He yanked her head back just enough to kiss her.
Her full, soft lips parted instantly for him, slick with sweat and saliva, so he drove his tongue into her mouth, tasting the sweet-salt tang of her exertion mixed with the faint flavor of her sports drink.
Nia moaned shamelessly into him, sucking greedily on his tongue like she was starving for it, pulling it deeper, swirling her own hot, wet tongue around his with filthy, desperate hunger.
Thick strands of saliva connected their mouths as they parted.
"There is absolutely nothing better than having some fun with my most hardworking girl," Nash murmured against her mouth, a predatory grin on his lips.
Nia purred with pleasure, her hands shaking slightly as she grabbed Nash’s large wrists to guide them down her wide hips, pushing his fingers down toward the waistband of her soaked practice shorts.
"Your body is so perfect for this, Nash... You work so hard for all of us, it’s only right that I reward you a little..."
She began to rub her plump ass aggressively against his crotch, both of them exchanging a hot, suffocatingly gaze that was ready to explode right there on the hardwood.
"It seems both of your legendary court vision completely vanishes the second the temperature rises." Dahlia’s voice interrupted them from the shadow of the equipment lockers.
She stepped out onto the court, her eternal notebook clutched tightly against her fitted blouse.
Her professional mask was flawless, but her dark eyes swept over the couple with a heavy intensity, her breath catching subtly for a fraction of a second.
Maybe she wouldn’t have mind waiting two minutes? But with Nash, make it 3 hours.
Nash let out an amused chuckle, slowly loosening his grip on Nia but keeping a possessive hand resting firmly on her hip.
Nia, not the least bit flustered, adjusted her top while shooting the secretary a cheeky glance, her chest still heaving.
"Don’t be a hater, Dahlia... You can always take off your suit and join the session if you’re feeling left out."
Dahlia froze for a second, her eyes drifting across Nash’s sweat-glistening muscles before snapping back to Nia’s insolent confidence.
For a second, a small crease on her forehead and a sudden, twitch of her lips made it look like she was genuinely considering the offer, before she gave her head a sharp shake to recover her clinical coldness.
"Keep your strength for later," Dahlia said, her voice turning completely neutral as she pulled a heavy envelope from her folder.
"Something urgent just arrived. A courier from the Upperworld. Nash, you are expected in Ma’am’s office immediately."
Nash frowned, every trace of playfulness instantly vanishing from his face.
"The Upperworld?"
The air inside Victoria’s executive office was chilled down to a near-polar freezing point, the air controller running on maximum just to handle the high-pressure atmosphere in the room.
Victoria sat dead straight behind her massive mahogany desk. Dahlia took her spot near her, and Nash settled deep into the heavy leather chair directly across from the manager, his eyes focused on the center of the dark wood.
A thick, heavy ivory parchment envelope was resting right there.
Stamped in the exact center of its wax seal was a flawless, crisp imprint displaying a very specific coat-of-arms: the official mark of the main house of Apex Records.
"An invitation?"
Nash asked, breaking the silence. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
"A formal summons," Victoria confirmed, her tone remaining completely icy and professional, stripped of any private intimacy they usually shared behind closed doors.
She pushed the document forward using only the tips of her slender fingers.
"It is signed directly by the hand of Hector. A reservation for tomorrow night, at The Gilded Pavilion, the most heavily secured and obscenely expensive restaurant inside the Spires."
Nash picked up the parchment, checking the elegant, flowing script.
"He’s begun his move," Nash muttered, tossing the paper back onto the mahogany. "Should have happened sooner or later. The new contracts leaked, and Blacklist is officially turning into an independent financial threat that won’t rely on the Midnight Rest cash anymore. He’s shifting tactics."
"Exactly," Victoria murmured, her full lips leaning into a tight line as she tapped her manicured fingers against the desk.
"He wants to cut away my last remaining lever. He understands that you are the absolute heart of our entire trajectory. This dinner is a transparent trap, Nash. He is going to try to buy you out, to recruit you. He will align endless millions of credits, Upperworld status, corporate power, more than I can offer now, everything a lower-sector player could ever dream of, just to force you to betray me and join his roster."
Nash leaned back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Let’s see... He doesn’t know our actual relationship," Nash reasoned.
"To him, I am just a talented player you’ve been incredibly lucky to find down here. So obviously, throwing a bigger proposal my way is his default line of attack. But if I refuse the invitation outright, Hector will immediately become prudent. He will realize we are playing an entirely independent game behind the scenes, and he will redouble his security and vigilance around Baby-Boom and Monique. Our plan to rescue those girls needs to be surgical; we need him to completely underestimate us, to almost forget about Baby-Boom entirely, so we can strike when his guard is down."
"But if you go, the danger is immense," Victoria countered, her invisible eyes locking onto his through her dark lenses, her head tilting slightly.
She trusted him, but in this brutal world, right now would be the absolute perfect milestone for a flawless betrayal.
"If you play the good servitor to ease his suspicion, you are going to be forced to listen to his offers. If you refuse him too, he will mark you as a direct threat helping me. And if you ever accept..."
"I won’t accept," Nash cut her off, his deep voice leaving zero room for argument.
Dahlia scrolled through the restaurant’s security protocols on her screen, her fingers tapping a tight rhythm.
"Hector Perez is not your standard rich guy, Nash. He is a clinical manipulator. He studies his targets for months before deploying an offer. He knows exactly where to apply pressure to shatter a man’s allegiance. If he comes now, chances are that he already knows everything about you."
Nash fixed his gaze on the crimson seal of Apex. Knowing him? What would a guy like Hector actually know? His hidden relationship with Zayela? The girls around him? What exactly could a baron from the Upperworld use against him?
He kept thinking about it, but as he thought, the words kept twirling in his head, and suddenly, his eyes widened.
Knowing everything about your opponent? Didn’t Nash have exactly that power???
He still had his System. Hidden securely behind his eyes, that was the absolute cheat code that offered him capabilities that neither Hector, nor Apex, nor anyone in the Upperworld could ever anticipate.
If he sat at Hector’s table, if he could approach that monster face-to-face and analyze his actual stats, his internal weaknesses, and his verbal preferences, he would gain total psychological dominance over him.
A predatory confidence filled his chest.
"Fine. I’m going to this dinner," Nash declared, standing straight up from his chair, maybe a little too fast.
Victoria and Dahlia both watched him with a legitimate spark of deep suspicion, thoroughly destabilized by his sudden, absolute certainty.
"Nash, you are playing with fire," the manager warned, her voice tightening as she leaned over the desk, her glasses sliding down her nose by a fraction.
Nash didn’t back down. Instead, he leaned forward, locking his gaze directly onto Victoria.
He looked at her with a face so entirely full of unyielding confidence that it caught her off guard, forcing her to blink in surprise.
An intense grin spread slowly across his lips.
"Let him come," Nash replied with an olympian calm.
"He thinks he’s the one pulling the strings down here, but he has no idea how the game actually shifts. This is about absolute control and total domination. Hector wants to play the master? Fine. I’ll sit at his luxury table, dissect every single flaw he hides, and break him from the inside out."
He took a step closer to her desk, his voice dropping into a deep whisper that sent a sudden shiver through the room.
"When I’ll be done with him, I’ll put a collar right around Hector’s neck, with your name engraved on it, Victoria."
