Control: XXX Vadim Book 1 (Club XXX 4)

by Lana Sky

  This isn’t about me or my nerves. They’re nothing in comparison to the man beside me. He’s still shaking, and real concern makes me grasp his hand, squeezing tight. Sweat beads across his forehead, and Ena’s warning invades my thoughts. When was the last time he’s eaten?

  “You have some damn nerve coming here, I will give you that,” Maxim snarls, palming the table. His hands are massive, the knuckles scarred and battered. “Did he tell you?” He turns his piercing gaze to me, and I flinch, sliced through. “Did little Dima mention that he kidnapped a child. Held her hostage while her sister panicked, thinking the worst. Did he tell you that?”

  Alarmed, I look at Vadim, and I barely recognize him. He’s ice-cold, his wall an ocean between us. The skeptical, twisted part of my brain races through the reasons why someone might kidnap a little girl—none of them heartwarming. Especially when paired with what he mentioned of his past…

  “Did he?” Maxim presses, his tone so fierce I can’t resist replying.

  “No,” I admit hoarsely. “He didn’t tell me that.”

  “And did he tell you that he threatened my life? That he likes to play God with his money? That he is a snake—”

  “What a lovely dinner,” Vadim says, his grin wicked. He pushes back from the table and stands. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave—”

  “I’m not done with you.” Maxim lurches to his feet as well. “Did you tell your whore that she is nothing more than a puppet in your quest to mock me?”

  The woman beside Maxim lowers her head as my cheeks catch fire. I feel slapped. My lips are already parting as I attempt to stammer out a reply.

  But another voice cuts over me. “Enough.” Very softly, Vadim murmurs, “I suggest you choose your words more carefully, Maxim. Whore is a strong word to use in your circumstances.”

  The brunette’s eyes blaze, her chin set stubbornly, and Maxim rocks onto the balls of his feet, opening his stance.

  “Get the hell out.”

  Milton stands then, “Maxim—”

  “Gladly.” Vadim snatches my wrist, yanking me to my feet. “We were just leaving—”

  “Good. I hope you’ve had your fun playing copycat. What next? You hire some children to reenact my life in full? You are pathetic.”

  Vadim stops short, his teeth clattering together, his eyes like ebony fire.

  “Copy you?” he wonders coldly. “By womanizing and terrorizing? Don’t kid yourself. Hire children? I’ve known my limits in ways you can’t even imagine. I was not so reckless as to gamble a young life to placate my ‘whores’ or assuage my ego—” He cocks his head and smiles that beautiful, breathtaking grin. It’s wider than ever, quivering at the edges. Meanwhile, his eyes blaze, a chilling ebony. “How long before your happy little family falls apart by your own making?”

  “Son of a bitch!” Maxim’s arms ripple with tension as he starts to circle around the table. “Is that a threat?”

  “Maxim,” Francesca says, rising from her chair. Her eyes worriedly trace his shuddering frame, but if I’m not mistaken, he stops short, his breaths thundering from his chest like growls.

  “Get out,” he snarls.

  “Why should I?” Vadim counters. “I do own part of it, after all.”

  “An oversight.” Maxim shoots a glare in Milton’s direction, implying something I suspect. Vadim mentioned that he owned part of the sex club—but I’m realizing that partnership may not be mutual on Maxim’s end. “One I will soon rectify if I have to beat a ‘recusal’ out of you. You think I’ll let you weasel your way into my life? My club? You should have stayed in the shadows, rat. Sniveling in secret suits you better than playing the part of a man!”

  He lunges, but Vadim doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. I’ve never seen him like this. Enraged. Frozen. Paralyzed. Social etiquette would dictate I try to smooth things over—but something in my brain snaps, and all of my social conditioning goes right out of the darn window.

  “S-Stop!” I step forward in the path of the advancing man, though Milton is already behind him, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “Have you forgotten what we discussed?” Milton says quickly, his grip tight as he glares at the back of his skull. But Maxim’s clearly too angry to see anything other than Vadim in his firing line.

  “Leave him alone,” I rasp anyway. “We’re going—”

  “Ah, so you’ve trained her to defend you,” Maxim sneers, his mouth a fearsome snarl. “One would think you’d repulse any woman with an ounce of sense. It must be the money. Pathetic. I hope you reward her well for this stunt.”

  My vision blurs as anger sears through my skin. I think something in my brain snaps, robbing me of any semblance of decorum. I don’t even realize I’m speaking until my voice echoes back to me, high-pitched and bitchy.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” A better question would be—why am I so angry? Why does the sight of Vadim standing rigid make something inside of me tear open and bleed? I can’t explain it. I can’t suppress it. Facing down Maxim, I grit my teeth and square my shoulders, unafraid. “All he wants is a relationship with you! Can’t you see that?”

  I can. I can acknowledge the effort it took for him to even come here. His barely concealed confusion that I had scored a customary present from his brother, who only seemed to treat him with hate. I don’t know what lurks between them. Heck, I don’t even know the man beside me. But with my hand in his grip, I can’t seem to back down, even as he tugs me toward him, his voice a slap, “Come. We’re leaving—”

  “Why are you such an ass to him?” I demand, though I’ve heard the horrific actions mentioned. Kidnapping. Threats. But Vadim’s scar looms vibrant in my mind. His pain when he speaks of his past. The longing he doesn’t even seem to realize whenever he brings up his brother. Is it all rooted in hateful malice? No. I don’t think so.

  “Do you have any idea how much he just wants to be accepted by you?”

  Maxim blinks, his nostrils flaring, eyes widening.

  And I have my answer.

  “You don’t do you? You don’t have a clue—”

  “Tiffany!”

  I flinch in response to Vadim’s tone. It’s icier than I’ve ever heard it—a stranger’s, adrift on an island to himself. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  He releases my hand and storms toward the entrance, leaving me to follow.

  “Dima,” Milton calls after him. It seems he’s about to go after him, but the blond takes his hand and stops him, her eyes pleading with something I can’t even begin to understand. Only now do I realize that everyone is staring at me. Open-mouthed. All I can do is spin on my heels and chase the lanky figure marching steadily toward the red sportscar out front.

  He holds out the door for me, but as I pass him and enter the passenger’s side, I suck in a breath, chilled to the bone. He’s angry. Furious.

  My heart pounds as he claims the driver’s seat, his expression a mystery in the dark.

  “Did you really do it?” I croak as he slams on the gas, sending us careening down the driveway. “Did you kidnap a little girl?”

  I don’t sound anywhere near as horrified as I should. Maybe because I already know the answer before he clenches his jaw, his gaze fathomless.

  “Yes.”

  He did. A man who seems to enjoy needling his brother through any means had no qualms with using a child as a pawn in their game. But is it really so simple?

  “Why?” I ask, struggling to understand.

  He shrugs, and his haughty chuckle should give me my answer. “Take your pick of one of the many horrific explanations circling your brain,” he suggests coldly. “You know my past. I’m sure you’re jumping to that conclusion—”

  “Don’t you dare.” I square my jaw and shift to face him though he doesn’t look from the road once. “Don’t insult me. Don’t shut me out. You did it. I’m willing to hear why. So tell me.” Something in how he stiffens makes me add, “I know you wouldn’t hurt her… You w
ouldn’t.”

  Maybe it’s naive, but when I picture him with Zzazza—his affinity for such an innocent creature—I can’t see him hurting a child, not even to spite Maxim. Even as I watch, he flinches at the insinuation, betraying his own disgust at the accusation.

  “You didn’t,” I insist, surer of that by the second. “I want the truth.”

  “I…” He deflates, his posture wavering. “I wanted to know,” he finally confesses, his voice soft. “I wanted to know.”

  “What?” I whisper. Gathering up enough nerve, I tentatively stroke his forearm. He’s as rigid as stone, stiffening against me. “Tell me.”

  He laughs, and his wall comes up in record speed. Stunned, I recoil, withdrawing from him.

  “Don’t pretend like you aren’t suspecting what I know you are—”

  “Stop it!” I lower my hand, this time resisting the impulse to recoil. “Stop pushing me away.”

  “Why?” he counters, more harshly than ever.

  “Because I know you,” I say simply, though deep down, I know how false that statement may be. But in some ways, it’s not. I feel it in a way I’ve never been so sure about anything before. Jim was an asshole. Vadim is far from it—though he likes to play the part of one. “I don’t think you would hurt a child. Not with the way you treat Zzazza—and if you did, I think Maxim would have killed you,” I add with a hard swallow. “You had to have a reason, and I’d like to think it’s deeper than trying to spite your dick of a brother.”

  He goes silent, still stewing. Still brooding. Still so very angry.

  But as his eyes flicker from the road for an instant, I sense for the first time that I’m not who he’s angry at. Not by a longshot.

  “I wanted to know,” he reiterates, his voice a hollow rasp. “If I… How… If I could be around her. If she could sense that I was broken. If I had made the right choice. And I did then. I know I did. I know.” His voice breaks, conveying such pain…

  Tears prick my eyes before I can fight them back, drawn by the fierceness of his reaction.

  “The choice to what?”

  “To leave her,” he says, devoid of any emotion. “To abandon her. I let her go. I had to… I had to.”

  I don’t think he’s talking about Maxim’s little girl anymore—or anyone I’m familiar with. Another woman? I don’t have the heart to ask about her now. He’s more distant from me than ever.

  “Vadim?” I brush my hand along his forearm.

  He wrenches away from me violently, and the car jolts sideways with the force of his reaction. I brace my hand against the dashboard as he navigates through the city, and after what feels like an eternity, we finally reach his home.

  He parks and leaves the car before I can get my bearings. I’m forced to trail him into the house, unsure of whether to even stay.

  Vadim is gone. His body may be here, but his soul is eons away. I risk whispering his name, but he doesn’t even look at me. He crosses to the bar and hunches over it, his face in his hands, his body trembling.

  “You should eat something,” I suggest, taking a tentative step forward.

  “I need to be alone.”

  His tone is a slap. Confused, I turn to the stairs and hurry up them without letting myself reconcile the fact that I should leave. Staying at all is foolish. We aren’t in a relationship. He owes me nothing.

  And I’m not responsible for soothing his boo-boos or fighting his battles. I tell myself this even as I enter the closet and exchange my dress for an ivory nightgown. When I approach the bed, Vadim isn’t there waiting for me.

  He doesn’t come up the stairs when I lie down, either.

  And I remain awake, listening for him until I finally hear his steps resonate…

  But they depart the house entirely.

  And a door slams in his wake.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He doesn’t return by the time dawn creeps across the horizon, and I drag myself from the bed and venture downstairs. It’s eerily silent, and the excessive neatness of the house stands out in stark contrast to the chaos of storm clouds building beyond the windows. On second appraisal, the place looks barely lived in.

  There are no pictures. No personal knickknacks. Despite my sex toy, I don’t think I can name anything in the house that stands out as remotely unique.

  The man is living in a dollhouse.

  And yet I sense that he picked it—specifically this location—for a reason. To further torment his brother? Out of some unhealthy interest in the children Maxim lives with? Or is it more than that?

  Something to deal with her. The person he mentioned abandoning. Someone from his past?

  Jealousy, that vicious thing, nibbles away at my resolve. From his tone alone, I sense she mattered to him more than I could ever dream to. I’ve never heard his voice so…broken before. So vulnerable and raw.

  So imperfectly human.

  I’m tempted to venture up to the room he warned me against. Maybe the answer lurks in there? I shrug off the thought, though.

  My past is an animal I feel comfortable dredging up only on my terms. I sense he might feel the same way.

  So, I’ll wait, and stew in self-pity instead. Ena was right. I’m an idiot toy, and I couldn’t even do something as simple as make sure the darn man ate. I picture him wandering mindlessly, his blood sugar dangerously low—or high. And it’s all my fault.

  Cooking was never my forte, but I enter the kitchen and find myself fishing ingredients from his surprisingly well-stocked kitchen. This must be Ena’s realm. I try to tread carefully as I dump a handful of ingredients into a bowl, too distracted to measure properly. I merely work on autopilot until I pour some semblance of a batter into a cake pan just as the front door opens, carrying a familiar scent.

  I shove my cake attempt into the oven and race from behind the counter. Vadim is already entering the kitchen, still wearing his suit from last night, his face haggard. His eyes take me in, and gradually his wall lowers.

  I pull out a stool and silently urge him onto it. Sighing, he complies, shifting to face me as I circle the counter.

  I’m painfully aware of his eyes on the back of my neck, tracking my progress as I wash each dish and return them to their rightful spot. By the time I’m done, a promising smell issues from the oven.

  I check on my cake and warily pull it out. When I turn holding my offering, Vadim raises an eyebrow.

  “Breakfast,” I say awkwardly as I set the cake before him. “It won’t taste as good as Ena’s, but you need to eat something.” I hunt for a fork, stab it into the center of my cake and warily offer it to him.

  He meets my gaze for so long my legs have gone numb by the time he finally accepts the fork and takes a bite.

  “It’s good,” he lies, struggling to choke down my creation. To my shock, he drags the cake closer to him and goes in for another bite.

  A relieved sigh nearly robs me of balance. I have to brace my hands against the counter just to stay upright. “I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I shouldn’t have run my mouth. I shouldn’t have said—”

  “Don’t.” He sounds so tired. “Don’t ever apologize to me. You’ve earned that right. No one—but perhaps Milton—has ever defended me like that against him,” he adds thickly. “No one.”

  He makes it sound so momentous—arguing with an, albeit very scary, dickhead who seems determined to rip him down for whatever reason. He’s having another one of those revelations, I suspect—but this one is dangerous, because I think I’m sharing the same moment of awe.

  Such a beautiful, broken man who doesn’t realize he’s worth defending. Protecting.

  “Don’t shut me out like that again,” I whisper. I’m begging. “Don’t. You scared me.”

  “I know.” He looks away and rakes a trembling hand through his hair, his expression pained. “I know…”

  “Next time, I just won’t force-feed you a horrible cake that may or may not give you unintended food poisoning, either.”

  His lip
quirks, forming a shadow of that trademark grin. “Next time?”

  “Yes,” I say, deciding something momentous on a moment’s whim. There’s no turning back now. “I want a relationship with you. A real one, if you’re interested, that is…”

  He looks away, and my heart seizes up. Panic, unlike any other, grips me tight, and I realize just how badly I do want to explore something with him. Something beyond sex. Something real?

  “Do I want it?” he echoes softly. His slim fingers flatten over the counter as he stands. “Turn around.”

  I frown but comply, sensing an urgency that warns me not to question. His breath fans the back of my neck as he approaches me from behind and smooths the hair from my neck. Something flashes before my eyes, and I sense a coolness settle against my throat. I reach up instinctively and gasp as my fingers fall over a delicate, silver chain.

  “Vadim,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “It’s beautiful.”

  A diamond necklace beyond my gold-digging dreams. It’s decadent and yet delicate, and I know without even having to ask that it must have cost him a fortune.

  “You didn’t have to buy me anything,” I start, but his hand settles over my shoulder, making me fall silent.

  “I know…” At the sound of his voice, I spin around to find his gaze stormier than ever. He strokes my cheek, cradling my jaw against his palm. “Think of it as a down payment in my quest to earn your affections,” he adds. I notice that nearby a baby blue box rests on the counter. The same one he’d taunted me with the other night.

  A tiny prickle of unease stabs in my chest—the same feeling I got when he thought I was an escort. Beautiful or not, the gift is yet another subtle insinuation that our interactions are only ever a transaction to him. He once claimed that communication was merely another form of manipulation. Does he think I’m only interested in him in exchange for bribes and toys? Even his brother had insinuated as much.