VLAD (The V Games #1)

by Ker Dukey

  Her gaze travels to my mouth, then my Adam’s apple. She keeps skimming down until her eyes fixate on my vest pocket. Her hand lifts and her slender fingers brush against my pocket as she plucks away a stray fiber. When she goes to drop the fiber, I grip her dainty wrist. It’s naked. If she were mine, I’d decorate her delicate wrists with glistening gems.

  “Don’t put that on my floor,” I murmur, my voice husky.

  A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “You’ll let Uncle Oleg throw half-eaten apples in your office and drip juice all over your chair, but I can’t drop a loose thread?”

  I would love nothing more than to continue this banter and flirt with the gorgeous girl. Unfortunately, I have a duty and it calls, goddammit. She is the sister of my fiancée. I can’t go there. Even if I selfishly wanted to fuck her and take that ripe cherry I know she has all for myself, I can’t. Father would have my head if I mess up this marriage arrangement.

  “It’s high time the Volkovs see how the Vasilievs do business,” I bite out, my voice turning cold. I can’t bring myself to release her hand. “Tell me what it is you want, then I will make you pay for it by doing something for me.”

  Her brows furl together as she realizes our moment has dissipated. I wish I could put the smile back on her face, but now is not the time. Possibly never. She tries to tug her wrist from my grip, but I tighten it. If I can’t adorn her wrist with jewels, she can wear my bruises instead.

  “I need a studio.”

  I blink at her. “There is an office and I was told Diana and you shared one before—”

  “Not an office, a studio.” Her cheeks turn a rosy pink as she drops her gaze from mine. “Like the sunroom back home.”

  To paint.

  All fierce determination to stay focused falls to my feet and shatters into a million pieces as my mind whirs with possible studio spaces in my home. I want to keep her far from the south wing where Father resides. Perhaps the west wing instead. I know just the place.

  “I’ll find you a place,” I vow, my voice husky once more.

  Her blue eyes lift and glitter with excitement. My heart rattles in its cage. This woman—sweet little Irina—is so bad for me. She distracts me when I need to stay sharp and focused. “Thank you, Vlad.”

  I stare at her for a beat longer, imagining just how beautiful she’ll look with the morning sun blanketing her as she paints in the greenhouse just off the sitting room beside my bedroom. I could watch her without her knowing. Like old times. My cock jolts against my thigh, eager for this notion.

  “That’s settled,” I grit out, driving away all thoughts of Irina painting in my house. “Come with me.”

  Oleg opens the back of the truck and many eyes peer from the darkness. Used, tired, worn out looking women stare back at us. Many are beautiful despite their dirty appearance. Father will be pleased.

  I motion for them to follow me. They whisper quietly amongst themselves as they file out of the truck. Irina keeps shooting me death glares, which only serves to harden my resolve. She will do this because it is asked of her. If she expects protection on my part, and a damn studio, then she can do this for me. It makes more sense for a woman to handle it anyway. At least I don’t have to worry about any of them ending up pregnant, raped, or mysteriously dead.

  Irina huffs, mumbling furious Russian curse words under her breath.

  Okay, so maybe dead…only time will tell.

  I walk them around the house to the back where a small shed sits. Inside is a stairwell that leads under the house. Beneath our home is where we train our fighters and whores. The ones who are worthless of manipulation will be sold to the likes of Ven Vetrov and his family. They’re always good to traffic a handful of worthless women.

  I pull a set of keys from my pocket. The engine of the truck echoes off the snow-covered landscape as Oleg leaves. Stepan brings up the rear, making sure none of the women flee. I’m not sure whether Oleg took these women or lured them here under the guise of better working conditions, but either way, I’ve paid for them and they’re mine.

  “I can’t believe you bought these women,” Irina mutters.

  Ignoring her, I unlock the shed and push through the door. I step aside and usher Irina in. Her shoulder, now covered in a thick winter coat, brushes against my chest. If there weren’t sixteen people behind us, I’d push her against the dark, dingy shed wall and show her what other nefarious deeds I’m capable of.

  I grip her elbow and guide her down the dimly lit stairwell. “This way.”

  She tries to jerk her arm from mine, but I tighten it. Little Irina is going to wear many of my bruises. We make it to the bottom that opens up into a giant area covered with mats. The walls are lined with rooms used for various things. In the women’s case, they will sleep and train here. By train, they will learn to fuck like their lives depend on it.

  Because they will.

  As soon as Stepan, Irina, and I leave, we’ll lock the fifteen women inside. They’ll be fed and cared for. They just won’t be allowed to leave.

  I turn and stare down each one, quickly assessing them. I weed out the good from the bad in one quick glance. And the one cowering behind a thick-waisted woman in the back…well, she’s going to be Father’s favorite. He likes the small, dark-haired ones. The ones who most resemble girls. The ones who are unable to put up much fight. With a barely stifled sigh, I point at her.

  “Name?”

  She peers up at me as though I could possibly be her savior. Big brown eyes. Messy hair hiding her from the world around her. “Darya.”

  “Take Darya to stable one,” I tell Stepan. “The rest of you may choose your own stable.”

  Irina is stiff beside me, but wisely doesn’t say a word. When I’m commanding in my element, people bend to my will. They bow at my feet and obey my commands. Even the sweet girl I’d love to spend each day fucking the fire out of.

  “Stables? What are we? Livestock?” a mouthy blonde with a ratty fur coat challenges me.

  “Call yourselves whatever you want,” I sneer. “But you belong to me now. If you’re wise, you will train, and you will succeed. If you behave, you’ll be rewarded. Simple.”

  “Doesn’t sound very simple at all, asshole,” she yells back.

  Belligerent bitch.

  “Come here,” I seethe, my voice low and dangerous.

  The woman eyes a chair nearby. With venom in her glare, she picks it up and heaves it toward Irina.

  Rage.

  Hot, quick, violent.

  I don’t think as I knock the chair out of the way before it takes out Irina.

  Yanking my new favorite hooked knife from my inside pocket, I lunge for the woman. Slash. Yank. Splatter. So fast. So efficient. I stare down in awe at the bloody, gory mess pouring from her stomach. Her intestines slide from the slices I inflicted and fall to the floor with a slurp. Several women gasp and whimper, but it’s a soft sob I recognize that pulls me from my furious haze.

  I push the still standing, but quickly emptying example of a woman, and she crumples to the floor. Fourteen women now. Father won’t be pleased. However, the high-pitched screams as Stepan locks the young woman into stable one tells me I’ll soon be forgiven.

  Father loves a screamer.

  With blood dripping from my knife, I turn and point it at each woman. They all cower and scamper off to the stables leaving Irina gaping at me in horror.

  Sweet Irina, this game is deadly and I always win.

  Your stupid father threw you to the wolves.

  “Y-You’re a m-monster,” she rattles out, her teeth clacking together.

  I stalk over to her and smear a bloody thumb along her creamy cheek. “As if you did not know this, little Irina.”

  “She was just a woman—”

  I cut her off by pressing my bloody thumb to her plump lips. “I’ll only say this once, so listen clearly. I. Do. What. I. Want. She was a whore, bought and paid for, and now she’s an example to the other women.”

 
; Her blue eyes widen, and she blinks rapidly at me. She starts to pull away from me and the monster she claims lives within me strikes. I snag her dainty throat and yank her to me.

  Diana.

  The Games.

  Father.

  I try to focus on all of that, but I can’t. All I see is her. Irina’s pink lips smeared with the whore’s blood. Lips that part so she can gasp for air. I lean forward, slightly releasing my grip, so she can suck me in. She needs to learn that I’m her master now. The moment I slid that stone on her older sister’s finger and Diana begged me to look after Irina too, they became mine. Irina is mine in some capacity, and I can feel my grip on her life tightening like a vise. It makes my cock painfully hard knowing she not only won’t be marrying someone of her father’s wishes, but she won’t be marrying anyone at all. Little Irina will die a pure, delicate virgin because I command it.

  If I can’t have her perfect cunt, no one else can.

  “Sir,” Stepan calls out, his voice sharp. It cuts through my haze and I snap my attention his way. He doesn’t hide behind cool aloofness like Vas or Viktor. Stepan wears his emotions on his goddamn sleeve. Another lesson I’ll have to teach him.

  “Yes?” I challenge. He’s uncomfortable with me choking the sister of my fiancée. I can see it in his eyes. But he, of all people, knows every level of the game.

  “The woman is secure.”

  “Good. Make sure Father knows where she’s being kept,” I instruct.

  His glare is hard, as if he’s imploring me to let Irina go. I’ll let her go when I fucking feel like it.

  “You’re dismissed,” I say coldly.

  He stays for a beat longer before storming from the basement. I’ll chain his ass up later and do like Father used to when the hunting hounds would misbehave. Beat them with a switch until they cried and remained forever submissive.

  Some of the rage has bled from my mind and it’s then I realize both of Irina’s hands grip my wrist of the hand that’s around her throat. I’m squeezing only hard enough to keep her in place. Perhaps just hard enough to leave a purple reminder of who the hell’s in charge around here.

  Instead of finding tears, I catch her staring at me. One of her hands leaves my wrist and she brushes a strand of hair that’s fallen from its gel hanging in front of my eye. The heat of her touch speaks straight to my cock. I close my eyes for a moment, relishing in her touch, before I let out a heavy sigh and release her.

  “Your duty is to train these women. Diana will be busy doing things I’ll ask of her, but this is something you can do. Teach them how to act like a lady. Show them how to dress and behave. Make them take a goddamn bath.” I straighten my coat and let my gaze rake over her trembling frame. The blood smeared on her face makes her look even sexier. Images of puncturing her skin with my knife and smearing her blood all over her perfect, young tits has me nearly coming in my slacks.

  “If I don’t,” she challenges, her voice raspy and hoarse.

  I raise a brow at her. “Be a good girl. Your studio awaits you.”

  She purses her lips, but doesn’t argue. And when I toss the keys at her, she catches them and pushes them into her pocket.

  “I expect you’ll be presentable by dinner?” I question, no inflection in my voice. “We’ll have many guests attending tonight.”

  Her gaze flits over to the corpse behind me and she swallows. “Yes.”

  “Don’t wear anything risqué. I know your sister worries about your virtue.”

  A flaming in her blue eyes is the only reaction she rewards me.

  With a tip of my head, I leave sweet little Irina in charge of fourteen whores and a corpse.

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the dresser in my new room. Everything about this place feels cold. I’m simply an outsider visiting.

  More like a prisoner.

  My lips are painted with the reddest lipstick I own because I swear, no matter how much I scrubbed my mouth, the woman’s blood remained on my lips. A shudder ripples through me. I’ve seen glimpses of Vlad’s power, but never have I seen that. What I saw earlier was violent and terrifying. I’ve seen people kill before—hell, Diana killed a man for hurting me—but it’s never been that brutal.

  He. Killed. Her.

  In cold blood.

  Emotionless.

  Tears threaten, but I blink them back quickly. I didn’t tell Diana about earlier in the basement. Her bedroom door was closed and the music was loud. I was glad Anton’s door was closed as well. Neither of them saw me rush past, sobbing my heart out, a disheveled, bloody mess. As soon as Vlad left, I locked up that basement and fled. Guilt sluiced through me at leaving those women, but I’m no idiot. In our world, false moves get you killed in an instant. It doesn’t matter who your sister or father are.

  People die. “Accidents” happen.

  I frown when I notice a purple bruise forming on my throat. I’d chosen a demure black dress where the neckline doesn’t go below my collarbone. He’d been clear in his warning. Don’t wear anything risqué. Five minutes ago, I heeded that warning because fear threatened to swallow me whole.

  But now?

  Bravely, I lift my chin and unzip the side of my evening gown. It falls to the floor in a heap, leaving me in nothing but my black strapless bra, lacy thong, and thigh highs. The back of my bra is held together by two thin silver chains, making it perfect for open-back dresses. It shouldn’t be hidden behind something so plain. I walk over to the closet and rummage around until I find a dress Diana bought for herself, but it didn’t quite fit her larger breasts. It was a little flashy for my tastes, so I never wore it.

  I pull the slinky silvery-gray material from the hanger and slide it up my thighs. It’s long and fitted, hitting a mere hair above the floor, but has a slit up the side that cuts through the material all the way to my hip. I zip up the side and make my way over to the full-length mirror. The dress dips dangerously low, revealing my quivering breasts that only look this supple and ripe because of the killer bra. The material hangs slightly off my shoulders and sinks low on my back, showing off skin to just above the crack of my ass.

  Wow.

  I look…

  Like a shadow come to life.

  The light catches the tiny, sewn-on sequins and sparkles.

  I’m a shadow standing in the sun.

  My long blonde hair has been pulled up into a fancy bun, but I decide I want the silky locks down at the last minute. I tug at the pins and free my waves.

  I’m beautiful.

  The thought makes my heart catch.

  Vlad can be a monster, Diana’s monster, but for the first time in my life, I feel beautiful and free—free to marry whomever I want.

  Maybe while Vlad makes out with my sister—his fiancée—I’ll start setting my sights elsewhere. Stepan, a good-looking man I’d been introduced to earlier, wouldn’t be a bad one to kiss. I saw the way his eyes followed me around the room.

  Diana calls for me from down the hall. I grab some black silky gloves and slide them up my arms. Then, I head out of my room toward my sister. With her back to me as she talks to a nicely dressed Anton, I admire my beautiful sister. She’s an angel—a vision—in her fitted white dress that’s apt for a princess. Sparkly and innocent. Any man in the vicinity will be thinking dirty thoughts. You can’t look at a woman like Diana in a dress like that and not be affected. Anton glowers at her and shakes his head before glancing up at me. When he sees me, his mouth pops open.

  “Ready?” I ask as I approach.

  “Miss Irina,” Anton utters. “Perhaps you’d like to grab a shawl?”

  Diana turns and gapes at me. “Oh my God! You look gorgeous! Is that the dress I gave you?” She lets out a squeal of excitement as she rushes around me to inspect all angles.

  “Is this okay?”

  “No,” Anton barks at the same time Diana says, “Yes.”

  She turns and glares at him. “She’s beautiful, and she’s wearing the dress.”

 
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. It makes my chest squeeze to see such a fatherly look of worry on Anton’s face. He’s nearly as old as Father, but he’s much more fatherly than our dad could ever hope to be. I mean, he’s spent our entire lives looking after us for Father. Anton is a good man and I trust him implicitly. I know Diana does too.

  “Will any of the other families be here tonight?” I ask, my voice shaking slightly.

  Diana nods. “The Vetrovs will be here. Veniamin, Ruslan, and Vlad’s sister, Vika.”

  We both share a look that has us giggling. Neither of us like Vika at all. Especially Diana. She won’t tell me what went on with them when they were younger, but whatever happened, Vika bears anger for my sister.

  Diana links her arm in mine and Anton follows behind as we make our way through the corridors to the main hall. As we reach the stairwell, I feel eyes on us. Many eyes. The room below is bustling with guests and waitstaff. As we descend the stairs, they seem to be collectively holding their breath. I search the crowd for Stepan, hoping to catch his eye and find him right off the bat. Diana will go to Vlad, and I’ll be left alone. I’m already planning my escape route.

  My flesh heats, and I know Vlad’s eyes have found us. I try not to look at him, but my eyes betray me. He stands at the bottom of the stairs wearing a mask of indifference. But I see the fire blazing in his amber stare. The same fire that blazed when he disemboweled that woman for talking back. Except, he puts on a show in front of all these people. Even my sister. Our eyes are locked and I nearly stumble. Diana’s laughter is like tinkling bells as she clutches onto me to keep me from falling.

  Vlad’s shoulders are tense and the vein in his neck throbs wildly. Earlier, in his office, I’d admired his physique without his suit jacket on from the shadows. The vest stretched over his impressive chest and the buttons were slightly pulling as though they might go flying off at any moment. And when he turned to enter in the code on his safe, I’d watched in awe at the way his slacks hugged his firm ass that’s usually hidden by his jacket. An ass that made my mouth water—that still makes it water.