by Alexx Andria
But just as she took a few wobbly steps forward, Vince reappeared in the doorway, catching her off guard and she faltered with a cry, stumbling against the bed as her knees gave out. “Noooo,” she wailed, hating how weak she was and how her body refused to cooperate. “Let me go!” she cried when Vince immediately scooped her into his arms and returned her to the bed with a dark scowl.
“What is wrong with you?” he asked. “You’re injured and you can’t possibly make it to the hallway much less down the street to hail a cab. Not to mention, you don’t have a way of paying for said cab even if you managed to catch one. Stop being such an irritating twit and stay put. Rescuing women is not my forte. I suggest that you stop pushing my boundaries. I’m not known for my patience or my kindness.”
“I know exactly what you’re known for,” she whispered, hating his logic and hating him even more for being right.
“Which is?”
“You and I both know. You don’t need to hear me say it.”
“On the contrary, I’d love to hear you say it. In fact, I insist.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“What if I’d rather fuck you?” he countered, plainly enjoying her discomfort. He leaned forward, invading her space. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he observed, his casual tone belying the sudden hunger radiating from his body. “I prefer a little more meat on the bones but in spite of your tiny body, your tits are quite plump. More than a nice handful. I suspect they’d taste like ambrosia in my mouth.”
“Stop it,” she demanded, though her voice shook. “You’re disgusting.”
“I can be,” he agreed easily, taking no offense much to her dismay. “My appetites are varied and voracious. One doesn’t satisfy such a hunger like mine with the same menu over and over. I require variation and lots of it.”
She knew all about Vince’s appetites. In her research, she’d stumbled across a supposed private video of Vince as he “vetted” one of the hostesses. The video was key in her evidence against the club, alleging that the proprietors used the “casting couch” to hire their hostesses. She was horrified to admit that watching the video had been shamefully arousing. Vince Buchanan was powerfully built and genetically blessed in all ways, she thought bitterly. Was it any wonder he’d gleefully taken every advantage given to him? God, she needed to get away from Vince. She’d been stupid and naïve to go half-cocked and unprepared for contingencies but she’d been so anxious to get the ball rolling that she’d ignored that little voice of reason that’d cautioned her to wait. Tears welled in her eyes. “I want to go home,” she said. “Let me go home.”
“Not until we figure out who did this,” he answered resolutely and for a split second she almost thought his desire to keep her was to keep her safe until he said, “Once you help me identify the bastard who’s abusing my club, you’re free to go.”
“I don’t know who did this to me,” she spat, her pride inexplicably wounded by his single motivation. “All I know is that you and your kind are an abomination and need to be put down like rabid dogs.”
“You’re very passionate in your beliefs,” he said, his brow lifting in question. “Are you a religious zealot? Part of a cult?”
She blinked at him. “No, of course not.”
“Good. Then dial it down a notch, okay? We can be on the same side, you know.”
“No, we can’t,” she
“And why not?”
“Because I hate you and everything you stand for.”
He frowned. “Which is?”
“Spoiled, bored, narcissistic, over-privileged, trust-fund babies who only care about what gets them off. In your case, operating a sleazy Sodom and Gomorrah club for people of your same ilk so you can host lavish sex parties with ridiculous rituals and bonds of secrecy. Hello? Stanley Kubrick called and he wants his movie back. You could do amazing things with your wealth but you choose to spend it on the only person who matters in your world: you. And frankly, the world needs less people like you, not more. Anyone who would frequent your club has no soul. Frankly, I’m surprised what happened to me hasn’t been happening far more frequently.” She thought of Lana and held her tongue, not wanting to give up that piece of information. Lana, with her delicate features and gentle disposition, had been eaten alive in that place. If it took Emma’s entire life, she’d see to it that Malvagio closed its doors and its owners taken down.
He stared at her, stunned by her answer but it was hard to tell what else was going on behind those deeply intense eyes. In fact, it was hard not to shudder with a whole-body awareness as he held her gaze. There was something powerful about him — a dangerous sexual charisma that plucked at the hidden strings of her most private self and created a chord of need that she’d never experienced — and that, above all else, scared her spitless. She could not afford an attraction to Vince Buchanan. The very idea made her ill. “The fact of the matter is, Malvagio is a disgusting place and someone needs to burn it down to the ground.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” he said but his tone held an edge of warning. “Just because your morals are different doesn’t mean they are superior. Nothing happens in my club that isn’t consensual.”
“That you’re aware,” she countered. “There’s plenty about your own club that you don’t know a thing about.”
“Not likely.”
The arrogance in his tone scored her frazzled nerves and she lifted her arms, showing off the deep, motley bruises, wanting him to take some responsibility for the bad things he allowed to occur within his walls. “Then how’d this happen?”
But he was neither ashamed nor repentant by the evidence. If anything, he seemed irritated. “An aberration in security, which you created. You came to the club without going through the usual vetting system and you plainly weren’t invited or sponsored. I can assure you—“
“You’re a liar,” she cut in, hotly, quickly losing her ability to hold her tongue when it mattered. “If you know everything that happens in your club, then you know I wasn’t the first one to be beaten and practically raped in your club right beneath your aristocratic nose! Does the name Lana Winters ring a bell?”
“How do you know that name?” he asked, his stare narrowing dangerously.
“Because she’s my sister, you son-of-a-bitch! And she’s ruined because of your fucking little club! So when you demand that I help you find whoever did this so you can save your club, I say fuck that because the only reason I would help you is to bring you and your club down. Permanently.”
#
Vince stared hard at the wild blonde breathing heavily, eyes blazing with righteous fury, and he knew the situation had just escalated. If he’d been considering letting her go with a private tail on her whereabouts, that idea had just been punted to the far side of the field. There was no way he was letting her go now. He needed to call a meeting between the group, including Laird. “Don’t you leave this room,” he snarled in warning, moving swiftly to the door. “If you so much as take one foot from this room I’ll make your ordeal at Malvagio feel like a picnic in the park. Am I clear?” Her defiant silence was more of a condemnation than an agreement but he didn’t care. He wasn’t joking or making an idle threat. He slammed the door and grabbed his keys. Somehow he’d known he hadn’t closed the book on the unfortunate case of Lana Winters.
But he’d never expected her sister to show up looking for vengeance.
He’d never seen Lana, nor the extent of her injuries, though he knew them to be extensive and similar to Emma’s. At the time, he’d handed the details over to the lawyers to hash out the settlement and once papers were signed and checks written, he’d been content to forget about it but at the back of his mind, a niggling thought had persisted that this would come back to haunt them someday.
Apparently, that someday had come nearly six months to the day of the first attack.
And now Vince had no choice but to figure out what the hell was going on before he ended up losing everything the family had b
uilt.
#
Emma wasn’t about to sit and stay like a trained dog. She waited until she heard the front door slam as Vince took off at breakneck speed and then waited another half hour to ensure he hadn’t double-backed for anything. Once she believed she was in the clear, she grabbed two bites of the chicken that’d gone cold — Oohh, God, that’s good! — and made her way slowly to the door, determined to get the hell out of there. First, she was going to go home and get dressed; second, she was going to call the police and report Vince for kidnapping. She wasn’t entirely sure if what happened counted as true kidnapping as he had actually rescued her but she’d let the cops sort that out. If anything, having to explain his side of things will really piss him off and she was all for anything that put a serious crimp in that jerk-off’s style. Her legs threatened to give out but she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, ignoring every screech of pain with each step. She didn’t actually have a plan, aside from getting free but she figured a plan would come to her, even if it meant pleading with strangers to help her.
But as luck would have it, Vince had not expected her to obey and had made provisions.
Just as she managed to clear the hall and reach the elevator, the ornate double doors opened and another man stepped out, a wide grin lifting the corners of his sensual mouth. “Darling, you’re a live one! Generally, I’m the kind of man who appreciates a feisty woman but I really must insist that you stay here…for your own safety.” And then before she could protest, he scooped her into his arms and carried her back into the bedroom, depositing her gently on the bed, though if she wasn’t mistaken, his hand had lingered a little longer than necessary on her ass.
“I’m being held hostage,” she said, though she didn’t know why she bothered. She recognized the man as Vince’s friend and co-owner Laird Tiechert. “This is illegal.”
Laird made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Ah, I’d say that’s a matter of interpretation. The way I see it, my friend Vince is very concerned for your safety and he wants to be sure that no harm befalls you while under his care. And it seems you’re hell-bent for leather to put yourself in harm’s way. Why is that, by the way?” he asked but his gaze traveled her bare legs, causing her to hastily cover herself with the sheets again. He pouted a little but otherwise awaited her answer, which she wasn’t sure she should give. She’d already told Vince too much in the heat of the moment. But unlike Vince, Laird didn’t make her feel unsettled and jittery at the pit of her stomach. “Most women fall all over themselves to catch a Buchanan’s attention.”
“I can imagine nothing I’d like least,” she replied coolly, irritated at herself for feeling even the slightest, most errant flicker of arousal for anyone like Vince Buchanan. “Not everyone finds someone like the Buchanans attractive or desirable.”
He surprised her with a guffaw. “Girl, I’ve personally watched Nolan seduce the panties off a girl wearing a purity ring and as for Vince, he doesn’t even try to seduce the women and they end up throwing their panties at him, panting wet and ready for whatever magic he’s got in his pants.”
Ugh. Gross. “As attractive as that sounds, I prefer men with a more discernible moral character than that of a cartoon character.”
“Vince’s moral flexibility is one of his finer qualities in my opinion,” Laird said, grinning and she knew the conversation was pointless. What had she expected from a man who co-owned Malvagio? “So are you babysitting me or something?” she asked, annoyed with him and the horde of panty-throwing women conversation. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“I can think of a few things,” Laird said, his voice lowering with suggestion and she grimaced. He shrugged. “Can’t fault a guy for trying. Unlike Vince, I prefer my women a little less prickly. Besides, you seem the type who has their legs screwed tight at the knee.”
Her cheeks flared. “That was rude,” she said, lifting her chin. “And you seem the kind of man who will die of a raging STD before you’re thirty-five.”
“I did catch gonorrhea once,” he admitted as if it were no big deal to admit such a thing when Emma would’ve been horrified and taken that information to her grave if it were her. “But that’s the beauty of doctors and their meds. Cleared it right up. I did learn a valuable lesson — no glove, no love. And I stick to it.”
“Hallelujah,” she retorted dryly. “Sexual education at its finest.”
“Hey, better late than never.”
“I suppose you never worry about getting someone pregnant?”
At that he shrugged but the motion had lost some its signature jocularity as he said, “Shooting blanks. Bad motocross accident when I was kid. Killed my nuts.” The corner of his lips twisted in a brief smile as he said, “So, no little Lairds out there.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure why but the need to apologize was strong. Why did she care if he couldn’t go out there and irresponsibly procreate? It wasn’t as if Laird Tiechert was made of great father material. The man was possibly as bad as his best friend, Vince. He had to be, if they were that close. Still, it seemed harsh, even for her, to not offer something. “That sucks.” There. Eloquent and to the point.
Laird grunted something that sounded like “No big deal” and then started picking at her left over chicken. “Do you mind?” he asked as he took the entire chicken breast from her plate and started eating it. She shook her head, though seeing as he’d already eaten half of it, she doubted her answer would’ve mattered. “Damn, that’s good,” he murmured. “I bet he got this at that fancy Italian restaurant down the street. You don’t like chicken?”
“I love chicken. I wasn’t about to let Vince Buchanan feed me like he would a pet. I am not his possession nor his responsibility. I tried to tell him that but he insists on keeping me here against my will.”
“Yeah, he’s stubborn that way.”
“Mr. Tiechert—“
“Call me Laird…my father is Mr. Tiechert and he’s an asshole.”
“Fine. Laird. Can you please help me get out of here?” she pleaded, hoping to appeal to a sliver of chivalry that might still be present. “My sister needs me. I can’t leave her alone for too long. Already it’s been too long.”
“What’s wrong with your sister?” he asked.
“She’s…well, she was injured about six months ago and she’s still recovering.”
“What happened to her?” he asked, scooping up a spoonful of wild rice and shoveling it down.
“I’d rather not say. It’s private,” she evaded. If Laird found out that Lana was the same girl who’d been injured in the club six months ago, he’d likely be just as adamant as Vince about keeping Emma around. “Please,” she said softly, daring to put her hand on his, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m all my sister has in the world. I can’t abandon her. She’s going to be so scared.”
Laird seemed to struggle, clearly affected by her pleas and she sensed victory. “You know, I can appreciate Vince feeling responsible for my care but I really need to get home. It’s urgent.”
“How about this…I will take you to your sister and then you can check on her and see that she’s okay as well as grab some clothes and then we can get back here before Vince returns none the wiser.”
“No,” she disagreed sharply. “I don’t want to come back here. I want to go home.”
“Sorry, I can’t do that.” He appeared apologetic but her temper was returning and she didn’t give a damn if he felt bad for forcing her to stay. “Listen, I know we seem like the bad guys but you have to understand, we have to protect the club. A lot of people have a lot to lose—“
“I really don’t care about your stupid club. As far as I’m concerned your disgusting little club can go up in a powder keg of glitter and lube and the world would be a better place.”
“Ouch. Well, on that note, I’ll leave you to catch some shut eye,” he said, rising to gather her plate. “Take it easy, tiger girl.”
Laird closed the door behind him a
nd Emma swallowed a scream of frustration as she fell back among the fluffy pillows, causing several to bounce from the bed. She truly was a prisoner in a very gilded cage. With no choice but to wait until Vince returned, the fight in her dissipated and she was left with pure exhaustion from her ordeal. Her body demanded rest and she grudgingly gave in. Within moments, she was fast asleep.
-6-
Emma’s dreams were a fragmented mess of terror and arousal that she couldn’t seem to shake herself free from. She was back at the club, wearing that ridiculous hostess outfit that barely covered her breasts and behind, and all around her the sounds of sex and lust were unavoidable. Everywhere she turned, she saw men and women touching one another in acts of intense foreplay or worse, blatantly fucking like animals in heat. The music throbbed, nearly drowning out the moans and cries of pleasure, but there was no escaping the gaped mouths and shuddering bodies as they pinnacled to climax. Emma liked sex — the few times she’d tried it — but it was nothing to lose your mind over. Except those people seemed quite delirious in their pursuit of pleasure, almost drugged with carnal endorphins as they went from one partner to the next, handed off and shared like a party favor indiscriminately. She tried to avert her gaze but it was everywhere. And then he was there, towering over her with that damnable inscrutable expression, his eyes roaming every inch of her as if he had the right and her body responded instantly, drenching her panties even as she wished to God she wasn’t so desperately attracted to him. But here in the dreamscape, everything took on a surreal quality, melding and blurring reality until it was like an intense acid trip taken with Ecstasy. Her gaze snagged on a woman as Laird buried his face between her thighs, eagerly ravaging the woman’s most sensitive area until she gasped, twisting and crying her release. Suddenly Vince was behind her, pulling her tightly to him, whispering, “Does the little dove, like to watch?” Her cheeks burned but she nodded. Emma shuddered at the dark, husky chuckle at the shell of her ear and she couldn’t look away. “There’s nothing more beautiful than the sound of a woman cumming beneath your tongue.” He nuzzled her neck. “I wonder…what do you sound like when you shatter apart? Are you quiet and sweet or do you cry like a banshee, shrieking and shaking until your voice is hoarse?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, which was good because she didn’t know the answer. She was no virgin but she’d never had an orgasm. “I bet you’re loud, little dove. I bet when you come, you leave scratches on your lover’s back.” She squeezed her eyes shut and he reached down to cup her pubic mound, pressing against the sensitive skin and causing her eyes to pop open on a gasp. “You don’t want to miss the best part,” he told her, rubbing her with just enough pressure to make her squirm. “Watch…”
