Conquer (XXX Vadim Book 3): Club XXX Book 6

by Lana Sky

  “Good.” I suck in a breath and face him fully, squaring my shoulders. Screw waiting. Reclaiming my independence is now or never. “Because when she’s out of the hospital, I’m going back to California.”

  I can’t explain the way his expression shifts. It’s like watching a violent storm roll across the landscape. His eyes flash, posture sways, voice booming like thunder.

  “So, you still leave—”

  “Leaving you, yes,” I say nastily. “But you wanted me to have joint custody of Magda? Well, you got your wish, because I’m taking her with me. One week. I’ll bring her back after that, but that’s how we’ll do this from now on. I can’t live with you anymore.”

  His eyes turn so damn cold I stiffen in the face of his anger. But suddenly, he deflates. Boneless, he staggers to a nearby chair and collapses onto the end of it. Both hands shake as he tears them through his hair, sending the dark curls flying in every direction. “You would take her from me?”

  He sounds so damn hurt at the mere prospect. So wounded, that even in my rage I can’t relish in causing him this kind of pain.

  “No. I’m not taking her from you. But you wanted me to be a mother to her? This is what happens when there is no trust between two parents. They separate. I want to go home. You forced me into this. Besides, don’t my parents deserve to meet the new grandchild they had no clue existed when I left? Magda deserves to spend time with me, in my home. Or was that all a lie, and all you wanted was yet another toy in your game?”

  “No!” He forms a first, slamming it onto the cushioned surface beneath him. “Fine. You want to take her? Fine. You want to leave me? Fine. But then admit it. All you wanted from me was to take, wasn’t it? My money. My lust. Now my child—”

  “No!” I’m blinking rapidly, but nothing can stop the tears from falling. “I wanted to love you! I could have if you just trusted me! Gave me time, like I asked.”

  It terrifies me to realize how close I’d been to getting there. Falling in love with him. Only now can I admit it to myself.

  All along, I’d been on the edge of abandon.

  “You ruined us, not me.” I push past him and storm into the house. I navigate the layout in a blur and find Ena waiting for me out front, already in the driver’s seat of the gray car. When I slip into the backseat, Vadim appears in the doorway of the house, his expression stricken.

  I watch him as the car finally pulls off, but I fight back any more tears and angrily swipe away those already fallen. By the time I reach the hospital, I’ve nearly regained my composure, and when I enter Magda’s room, I’m my charming, carefree self once more.

  And no one will ever knock her down again.

  Magda isn’t discharged until a full four days after her admission. Though the doctor approves her traveling via plane, he cautions against an excess of sugar or exercise, at least for a week.

  The latter prescription she takes the most umbrage at.

  “I feel fine,” she insists as I bundle her into the backseat while Ena watches on, his arms crossed. In our wake, Vadim follows at a safe distance, packing her things into the trunk. It’s the first time in days that we’ve managed to be together in her presence for longer than the few tense seconds it takes to trade-off.

  God, I can’t even look at him.

  “I should be able to ride my pony,” Magda insists as I slide onto the seat beside her. “Right?” She glances mournfully at Vadim as he enters the front passenger’s side.

  “I’m afraid not, chérie,” he says, calmly but firm. “But once you’re fully recovered, I’ll take you riding every day, ça va?”

  “Okay.” That seems to mollify her, and she sits back in her seat, clutching It to her chest. Despite her ever-growing collection, that bear is the one toy she’s rarely without, battered to hell and back with signs of her affection.

  Does that bother me? Maybe. Even if I’m determined to cut Vadim out of my life, as long as she’s a part of it, he’ll always be there. A festering wound encased in synthetic fucking fur.

  “What’s wrong?” Magda asks, adjusting her grip on It.

  Forcing a grin, I shake my head. “N-Nothing!”

  When we reach the house, Vadim heads for the trunk while I take Magda inside. As we head up to her room, I finally gather up the nerve to speak.

  “Honey…” I guide her to the bed and crouch down as she sits on the edge of the mattress. Taking both her hands in mine, I force her to meet my gaze. “I’ve decided that I need to go back home, to where I’m from. All this cold is giving me wrinkles.”

  She frowns and wriggles her hands away. For a split second, she can’t disguise the panic that shapes her features, widening her eyes and making her lips part. “Why?” she demands, crossing her arms, strangling her bear in the process. “Why are you leaving?”

  I playfully tug on one of her braids. “I miss the sun, honey. And I think we could both use a walk along the beach. That’s why I want you to come with me.”

  “Really?” Her expression brightens before something quickly makes her temper her excitement. “Is Vadim coming?” She says his name so carefully—as though she’s deliberately avoiding calling him anything else. And the wary note in her voice paired with another uneasy frown makes me realize that she does want him to come. Even if she won’t admit it.

  Damn.

  “Not at first,” I say, with an enthusiasm I don’t feel. “He has some business, and we need a girl’s trip anyway. But maybe later in the week. Besides, you’ll be back before you know it, and you can ride Dasha by then. At least this way, you won’t be tempted.”

  She frowns, the gears in her brain turning. Then she nods. “Okay! When are we going?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  She shrugs, kicking her legs, but doesn’t argue. Feeling brave enough to risk it, I head into her closet and rifle through the hangers. “What would you like to bring?”

  “Hmm…” She bounds to her feet and marches past me. “My sweater,” she declares, fingering a turquoise ensemble. “And this.”

  “Okay.”

  We have an armful of items assembled by the time Vadim appears in the doorway, her suitcase in hand. He sets it on the floor, his jaw rigid as he spots the clothing I promptly place on the bed. I start folding various items, aware of his gaze boring a hole through the back of my neck.

  When Magda shuffles from the closet carrying a stack of nightgowns, she inclines her head in his direction. “When are you coming?” Another rare hint of unease creeps into her voice.

  “I… I’m not sure yet, chérie,” he admits. From the corner of my eye, I see him crouch down to her level, his expression pained but neutral for her sake. His eyes dart toward me, and I turn away, folding a dress into thirds. “I have a lot of business to attend to. But I want you to have this. I promise to call you every single day.”

  “A phone?” Magda exclaims. I turn to find her brandishing a blue model with a touch screen. Wide-eyed, she meets his gaze, and he ruffles her hair.

  “I am always just one call away,” he tells her, cutting his gaze to me. “Always.”

  “Can we go swimming in the ocean?” she asks, her eyes still on her phone. I don’t know if she’s directing the question at him or me.

  “Maybe,” Vadim says before I can form a reply. “But anything you do will be a lot easier if you have this, hmm?” He pulls yet another present from nowhere—a blue and white polka dot fanny pack. Magda snatches for it, her eyes bug-wide.

  “You can keep your phone in it, as well as your insulin supplies,” Vadim explains while helping her strap the bag around her waist. “It is very important that you keep them safe. Especially when you play. No one else should ever take your medicine but you. Understood?”

  She nods solemnly.

  “And don’t worry about your pony.” He breaks his stern, fatherly character long enough to ruffle her braids, his smile strained. “Mr. Ena will take care of all of the horses while you’re gone.”

  “Okay!” She climbs
onto the bed, looking nothing like the sickly girl rushed to the hospital four days ago.

  “Help me finish packing,” I say to her gently. “And then we can eat dinner. We have an early flight tomorrow.”

  “Flight? We’re going on an airplane?” Judging from her tone, a plane ride seems almost as appealing as riding her pony.

  “Yes,” Vadim cuts in before I can reply. “Your very own private plane, all to yourself.”

  I stiffen, biting back a retort. So much for the two commercial flights I’d booked last night. I know without bothering to ask that the bastard took the “liberty” of canceling them. I want to be pissed. Furious, even—but in this case, logic counters my irritation. It’s probably not good for Magda to be squeezed onto a plane with hundreds of other people, anyway. So, I force a grin.

  “You’ll love it, honey. Now, why don’t you go get washed up for dinner? Vadim and I will be downstairs.”

  I push past him and enter the doorway before I can fully process his startled grunt. He’s on my heels, his breaths tainting the air, steps unsteady.

  “Finally,” he rasps once we reach the first floor. “We can talk—”

  “No talking,” I hiss, striding into the kitchen. “Just boundaries. You don’t come near my parent’s home without permission. You don’t come near me. If you want to see Magda, you make arrangements for somewhere else, and I will bring her to you. Understood?”

  I whirl to face him and suck in a breath. Damn. His expression is too open, and I’d give anything for the shelter of his wall. In lieu of it, the full extent of his gaze renders me weak. He’s never looked so open as his dark eyes blaze with hurt. My knees buckle, throat hitches. I can’t face him like this—so I turn to the row of windows overlooking the bay instead.

  “I mean it,” I whisper, my gaze on the churning waters in the distance. “You don’t follow me—us. You don’t pop up unannounced. If I didn’t already tell Magda you’d come, I’d request you stay away from California entirely—”

  “So you think to ban me from your world?” he demands, his tone that stormy, grated cadence that makes me quiver. “Rather than talk to me? I am sorry that I—”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it!” My voice breaks, and I hate myself. Still, it’s too late now, blinking back tears, I soldier on. “You accused me of trying to kill your daughter through reckless intent. Then you barred me from her hospital room. You told me to leave. Well, this is me, leaving.”

  “If you would just listen to reason, I wouldn’t be forced to such measures,” he growls—yet in a tone far too low for Magda to hear from upstairs. Regardless, his heavy footsteps resonate like gunshots, advancing toward me.

  I scramble to a distant corner, but he’s right on my heels. Too fast. I’m defenseless as he seizes my wrist in an iron grip, his breath fire against my ear.

  “All I wanted was for you to hear me out,” he growls, his chest hard against my back, his hips pressing against my ass. “But it seems you only want to take from me—”

  “I’m hungry.”

  We both whirl around to find Magda standing in the doorway, holding It crushed to her chest, her new fanny pack still slung around her waist. And it’s as if we both flip some internal switch. I slap on a fake grin while Vadim swallows his fearsome scowl in favor of a neutral smile. He heads for the freezer while I turn on the oven and usher Magda to the dining room table.

  “What are you in the mood for, honey?” I ask, ruffling her hair.

  She taps her chin with a tiny finger and then shrugs. “Pizza?”

  “Pizza it is.” Vadim diligently sets about warming her a meal while I cajole her into a conversation that I pray distracts her from whatever she might have overheard.

  When the food is finally ready, we eat in a terse, awkward silence broken only by Magda’s oblivious, innocent chatter.

  And I realize that my divorce from Jim, as painful as it was, was a cakewalk compared to this.

  This is torture.

  Unbearable agony.

  Because in this case, I can’t just walk away.

  Chapter Seven

  Ena drives us to the airport in the morning, and we arrive in Cali by noon. It’s a surreal experience, returning to my home state via a private runway rather than a commercial queue. Unsurprisingly, Vadim arranged for a car to pick us up, but as I hasten Magda into the backseat, I realize that I never even told my parents I was coming.

  In fact, I haven’t spoken to them at all in roughly…

  A month? Two months? It’s amazing what shame will do to a person, driving them from even their most cherished relationships. I toy with the idea of calling them now, only to chicken out.

  An hour’s heads up is the least of my concerns when it comes to them, all things considered. As the driver takes off, I wrestle with the best way to spring my new life choices on my parents. Well, I’m alive for one. And, I’m not destitute, pregnant, or addicted to drugs—but in some ways, I’m no better off. Pseudo-married to a billionaire, the newly adoptive mother of his daughter, and I’m addicted to him. Vadim Gorgoshev.

  Which reality might cause my parents less stress?

  “You lived here?” Magda asks, drawing my attention to her. She has It balanced on her lap, still wide-eyed from the plane ride. If I weren’t too busy seething, I’d wish Vadim could have seen her reactions—utter fascinated interest—to the inner workings of the takeoff and landing. I think in addition to her interest in boats, planes are a newfound discovery as far as her hobbies are concerned.

  “Yes,” I tell her, smoothing back her tousled braids. “I used to live here.”

  Until a brooding businessman and his magic cock lured me away into a world of manipulation and mind games. It all has the makings of some sordid fairytale.

  Too enthralled by the landscape beyond the windows, Magda falls silent until the car pulls up before a set of wrought iron gates, adorned with the phrase “Connors Residence” in elegant script.

  “You lived here?” She sounds far more skeptical now, and I bristle at the doubt.

  “Yes, I lived here.” But, as I join her in gaping out of the window, I can admit that the place is impressive when glimpsed from the outside.

  My father’s estate is a minor offshoot of his brother’s—my uncle Conroy—vineyard, which supplies a world-renowned label internationally. By virtue of its location, the property is impressive, though it has nothing on the rustic charm of Vadim’s place.

  Still, I didn’t grow up a pauper, to be sure. Our house, my mother’s pride and joy, is a four-story white stone Victorian style villa draped in rose vines and oodles of prestige that come with being “old money.” Or so my father used to say.

  Everything looks nearly the same as when I left it. The rose bushes, and begonias lining the paved stone paths. The tennis courts beyond the house and the acres of wine country looming just beyond the front walkway. I’ve never appreciated it more. In fact, I think I’m more eager than Magda to escape the car and stretch my legs. First things first, I circle around to the trunk and assist the driver with her bags. The second I lift Magda’s gray suitcase, a familiar booming voice calls out.

  “Tiffy? Sweetheart? Is that you?”

  “Daddy!” I run to the front porch as he descends the few steps to meet me. Within seconds, I’m in his arms, inhaling his trademark scent of cologne, whiskey, and cigar smoke. He’s wearing his typical polo and light wash jeans, I find as I pull back, his graying blond hair windswept back from his face.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he asks with mock seriousness, his blue eyes twinkling. “I think your mother was about to send in the national guard.”

  “Tiffany?” As if on cue, a slender woman with reddish curls appears in the entryway, her hair coiffed, her outfit one-hundred-percent authentic vintage Chanel. Her eyes widen dramatically as she spots me, her lips breaking into one of her signature charming grins.

  At least until she spots Magda scuttling up the steps after me and said grin slips at the edges.


  “This is Magdalene,” I say, getting it out of the way now. Sighing, I glance from Daddy to my mother and shrug. “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s a good thing you came during my afternoon wine,” my mother snipes from over her half-empty glass. We’re in the sunroom overlooking the garden while Magda inspects the blooming flowerbeds under my father’s watchful eye.

  “This situation may be far harder to understand otherwise, darling.” Tilting her head back, my mother promptly drains her glass and smacks her lips. Satiated, she reaches for a nearby bottle and pours herself a refill. “Now tell it again, from the beginning.”

  “I’m dating someone,” I reiterate, choosing the safest of options to describe Vadim. “Magda is his daughter. He’s…away on business. I decided to give us the week off and come spend time with you guys.”

  “Hmph.” Fifty-four years of well honed-bullshit detecting are concentrated in the look my mother levels my way. Desperate to escape her scrutiny, I stand and approach one of the screen windows, watching Magda dutifully follow my father from bed to bed. He entrusted her with a watering can it seems, his voice a soothing hum audible even from here. Gently, he tells her how much or how little to give each plant, sprinkling every bit of advice with charming jokes. The familiarity hits me like a kick in the gut, and I realize just how much I’ve missed this. Missed them.

  At least, when they aren’t playing detective into my personal life.

  “Did you hear me, Tiffany Ann?” My mother snaps in her no-nonsense chirp deployed only in emergencies. “I insist we must meet him this… What was his name again?”

  “Vadim,” I rasp without turning to face her. “And I told you, he’s on business—”

  “Poppycock. He can’t spare a few hours to come to visit you? Or meet the strangers forced to accommodate his child? What kind of man is this?”

  I bite my lip. Disparaging Vadim as some kind of deadbeat, absentee father too busy for social connections could help in the long run when I later tell them that I’m co-parenting Magda and separated from him. But…