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

by Lana Sky

  Vadim: Conquer

  A Club XXX Novel: Book Six

  Lana Sky

  Also by Lana Sky

  The Ellie Gray Chronicles

  Drain Me

  Chain Me

  The Complete Ellie Gray Chronicles

  Beautiful Monsters

  Crescendo

  Refrain

  Mezzo

  Allegro

  Club XXX

  Maxim: Submit

  Maxim: Obey

  Maxim: Surrender

  Maxim: The Complete Trilogy

  Vadim: Control

  Vadim: Corrupt

  Vadim: Conquer

  Vadim: The Complete Trilogy

  Savage Fall Duet

  King’s Men

  King’s Horses

  The Complete Savage Fall Duet

  The War of Roses

  XV: (Fifteen)

  VII: (Seven)

  I: (One)

  The Complete War of Roses Trilogy

  Painted Sin

  A Touch of Dark

  A Taste like Sin

  The Complete Painted Sin Duet

  Standalones

  Pretty Perfect

  Crossed Lines

  Dragon Triad Duet

  Moth

  Flame

  The Complete Dragon Triad Duet

  Rockstar Rebels

  Dirty Lyrics (Newsletter Exclusive)

  Conquer

  Conquer By Lana Sky

  Copyright © 2020 by Lana Sky

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design and Interior Formatting by Charity Chimni

  Proofreading by Charity Chimni

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks so much to everyone who supported this draft along the way, including the many beta readers who provided encouragement along the way! Please keep in mind that this story includes dark, graphic, and explicit content matter that is not suitable for readers under the age of 18—or for readers who are uncomfortable with the following subject matter: explicit sex, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of child abuse, graphic depictions of violence, and mentions of self-harm.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  A Word from the Author

  About the Author

  Also by Lana Sky

  Chapter One

  Insecurity thrives on doubt—but it doesn’t help when reality reinforces every last one of those petty fears. Like when your new lover’s ex-whatever-she-is-to-him comes back from the proverbial grave. It’s easy to write off the concerns as paranoia at first, until the truth is staring you in the face, and there is no escaping it.

  Knowing that Vadim had another woman in his life, no matter how he characterized her, scares me for reasons well beyond the obvious jealousy. Mainly because whenever I dare to picture such a woman…

  One small consolation was that the mythical figure I’d conjured up seemed so unrealistic in my head, a part of me was convinced she couldn’t possibly exist. She’s always beyond beautiful—she had to be in order to become swept within the orbit of someone like him.

  But here she is, in the flesh, and my self-deprecating fantasies didn’t even do her justice. Irina. Tall and slender, her long, curling blond hair ends at her waist, and her beautiful features convey poise and confidence—high cheekbones, perfect pouty lips, and a figure to die for.

  I self-consciously run my fingers over the skirt of my outfit, trying and failing to maintain my fake smile. My first thought is that she didn’t come dressed to impress her daughter. A tight-fitting navy dress exposes a wealth of cleavage, clinging to her narrow hips, hugging every curve not shrouded by her tailored black jacket. I can’t help but picture her with the man standing before me, their hands entwined…

  And they look fucking perfect, despite the fact that Vadim is still wearing a pair of sweats, rumpled from riding.

  My only consolation is an entirely selfish realization—she and Magda could be strangers for all the similarities they share. The latter is a damn near carbon copy of her father with his delicate bone structure, for one—even her expressions seem to mirror his. It could be safely assumed that Irina might not be related to her at all, save for their eyes.

  Vadim had called it himself—those eyes. Ice-cold blue, their twin gazes tether them together more strongly than any one feature of his. And I hate myself for being so bothered by that fact.

  Awkwardly, I linger at the back of the foyer while Vadim blocks the doorway, frozen solid. Some genuine sympathy creeps in, gnawing away at my nerves. For all of my selfish reservations, this woman has one title I can’t deny—a mother. Who am I to blame her for coming to see her child, even if it’s out of the gosh darn blue?

  Channeling my own mother, I force a polite smile and try to meet her gaze. “Hello—”

  “It’s been a long time,” Irina says softly without looking my way once. Her voice is lilting, tinged with a heavy accent I can’t place—but I’m too distracted by where her gaze is focused to really give a damn. The way she eyes the man standing between us…

  There is a word to describe it, I think. That longing, desperate expression.

  If my brain weren’t on red alert with dread, I’d be able to come up with the right description. Maybe ownership? That would certainly explain why my cheeks catch fire, and I sense my chin tilt defensively into the air. Stepping forward, I slip my hand into Vadim’s—not jealously. Just… Reassuringly. A silent way to reinforce that I’m here on this battlefield with him.

  Because, I sense, this very much is a battle.

  Irina herself imparts the first warning shot as her gaze finally settles over me. Only my time with Magda helps me interpret the icy shift in those unsettlingly blue irises. Annoyance.

  “I was hoping we could speak in private.” Her gaze lowers to our clasped hands and Vadim’s flex, gripping mine almost to the point of pain—but just as quickly, the tension loosens.

  “Tiffany…” From this angle, I can’t see his face. I don’t need to in order to picture his expression. Haunting, dark eyes implicitly closed off. Before I know it, his wall goes up, solid stone against me—and that realization stings. Almost as much as the act of him slipping his hand from mine does. “Why don’t you go for a walk?” he suggests without turning around.

  Hurt sears through my chest a split second before my ears perk up, catching the subtle, deliberate inflection in his voice. Walk. In this context, that clearly means something else when paired with how his gaze flicks toward the kitchen—and the tiny, helpless figure still there, oblivious to our visitor’s arrival.

  “Okay.” With difficulty, I turn away, sensing Irina enter th
e house—her presence is that overwhelming. Cloying rose-scented perfume itches my nostrils as her voice taunts me, a low hum.

  “I’ve missed you, my Dima,” she tells him in a way that makes my chest constrict. “God, how I’ve missed you…”

  Only sheer pride prevents me from turning back to see their reunion unfold. Determined, I make it into the kitchen, and there I spot the true target of my so-called “walk.” Instantly my priorities shift, and I bite back any lingering unease.

  “You okay, honey?”

  Magda watches me from the very back of the space, her arms crossed, her gaze wary. A tiny pang of panic makes me falter and brace my hand against the nearest counter. Did she see Irina? Hear her? Recognize her? If she has, I doubt even my mother’s skills of social navigation will help me much in this instance…

  “Is it the man?” she asks. In response to my raised eyebrow, she adds, “The big, scary man.” Her tone strives to convey bravery. If only her eyes weren’t bug-wide, her jaw clenched.

  But at least her assumption is so far off base, I doubt she knows our visitor’s true identity. Though, as for a big, scary man… Maxim? Forcing a smile, I shake my head. “No, honey. Just boring adult business. How about we go for a walk?”

  “A walk?” she parrots suspiciously, her arms still crossed.

  “Yes. I bet it’s lovely out.” I stroll boldly through the sliding glass door leading to the terrace and promptly feel my plan change on the fly once I realize that it’s pitch-black dark outside.

  “So…no walk,” I confess. As my eyes scan the brightly lit terrace, they fall over one promising diversion, however. “What about a swim?”

  “Now?”

  I have to smirk at the alarm in Magda’s tone. Like father like daughter. Reckless, impulsive decisions aren’t her style.

  “Yes,” I say, strutting boldly to the edge of the pool. She lingers back, but I glance over my shoulder to find her watching me with avid interest, bathed in the glow of a few lamps placed strategically throughout the terrace. “You’ve never taken a night swim before?”

  Her tiny lips press together, and I can practically see the gears in her brain whirling. Does she trust me enough to divulge whatever bit of information she’s mulling over? Finally, she sighs. “I can’t swim.”

  Her voice is so soft, so guarded. I suspect the lacking skill is a sore point for her, and I chalk it up as yet another failure of her last foster family.

  “I can teach you,” I suggest, fighting to keep the surprising amount of genuine desire from my voice. I actually want to—though with her birth mother seemingly back in the picture...

  Who knows if I’ll get the chance?

  Be positive, Tiffy. Forcing yet another grin, I shrug. “I may be too rusty in riding to help you with your pony, but I, my girl, have swum to and fro many a yacht party in the middle of the night.”

  I look back again to find her lips twitching, fighting a smile. “What’s a yacht party?”

  It’s my turn to be guarded. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

  Sighing, Magda wraps her arms around herself and rocks onto her heels. “I’m cold. Can we go back into the house now?”

  Shit. Thinking quickly, I skip to the edge of the pool, say a prayer for this beautiful Chanel ensemble, and then I dive in. The water is a shock to the system, but nowhere near as cold as it could be—as I kick, I recall something Vadim said about it being heated. The second I break the surface, I’m faced with a tiny figure leaning eagerly over the edge of the pool.

  With her wide-eyed, gleeful expression, I barely recognize the same surly little girl.

  “You are going to get into so much trouble,” she declares, sounding ecstatic at the prospect.

  As I let my brain toy with what my potential punishments may be—at the hands of my handsome punisher, of course—I feel myself more than matching her excitement.

  “God, I hope so.”

  “You’re all wet,” she adds more sternly. “And your clothes are all ruined. You’ll probably catch a cold. I bet you’ll get in big trouble too.”

  My lips twitch into a gleeful smile at the prospect of a disciplinarian Vadim. That is, if he isn’t with Irina right now, bending her over the desk in his office, overcome with lust at her return. My gaze drifts to the house as I picture it…

  There goes my smile. To hide my worried expression, I lean back, kicking my legs in an easy backstroke.

  “Trouble? I laugh in the face of trouble! And what about you, little Miss? Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”

  “I’m not!” She frowns and inches ever closer to the edge of the pool. As she eyes the water, her expression wavers in such a childlike display of hesitation that my heart swells at the adorableness of it all.

  “Chicken?” I ask her playfully.

  “I can’t swim,” she insists, sounding irritated at having to announce her weakness to the world a second time. So prideful, just like her father.

  “I’ll catch you,” I suggest, swimming toward her. “I promise. Keep your feet together. Jump straight down—just whatever you do, don’t panic. I’ve got you.”

  Her eyes narrow, her lips pursed in a damn near carbon copy of one of her father’s wary expressions. “Promise?”

  I stick out my pinky, deadly serious. “I promise.”

  Her eyes blaze as if she wants more than anything to deny that. Prove me wrong. So young, but so mistrustful already. I’m sure she’ll refuse and go storming back into the house when she steps back, smoothing her hands over her beautiful new outfit.

  “I’ll always have your back,” I tell her. “You can trust me.”

  She shoots me a fearful glance—glimpsed without her trademark mini-wall—and before I even have the chance to mull over the implications, she jumps into the pool. I lunge forward, slipping my arms around her the second I sense her start to flail. She claws at my arms, her tiny nails biting in, but I can tell that she’s trying hard not to panic, even as she sputters at the air, her expression shocked.

  “See?” Gently, I kick my legs, sending us further out into the water. “There’s nothing to it.”

  She eyes me skeptically, her teeth chattering. But when I shift to let her kick on her own, she does, clinging to my arms as I steer her into the shallower end.

  “Good job! It’s not so bad, is it?” I praise as she paddles with all her might to stay afloat.

  Her tiny lips twitch. Fighting a smile? A frown? In the end, an impishly self-satisfied grin shapes her mouth for just a second. I let her practice for a few more laps before bringing her to the end of the pool. The second she can touch down with her own feet, she lets me go, but her mouth is stretched wide. Definitely a smile this time.

  “You’ll teach me more?” she asks, barely managing to disguise her eagerness. “So, I can swim by myself?”

  I nod and then playfully flick my wrist splashing her. “You’ve got it—”

  “What on earth is going on here?”

  We whip around to find Vadim standing at the opposite end of the pool, his arms crossed, the picture of playful discipline. I feel my toes curl, and my heart drop in the same conflicting motion. One might never guess that, seconds ago, he had to deal with a literal demon from his past. Staying in the pool feels preferable to confronting whatever reality might await inside the house.

  His disarming smirk gives me no clue, only unnerving me further. “Whose idea was this?”

  “She did it!” Magda scuttles from the water, waddling to his side as her sodden clothing clings to her tiny frame. Crossing her arms, she copies his posture, eyeing me disapprovingly. “I told her not to.”

  “And you were right,” Vadim agrees, his tone ringing with authority. “Ena will kill me if you two track water throughout the house.” His smile lessens the impact of that statement, however. Gone is the darkness I feel I should see in his gaze, and my unease nibbles deeper. Is Irina still here, lying in wait to meet her daughter?

  Have they reconciled about her custody,
already?

  Together?

  I try my damn hardest to make eye contact with Vadim as I swim to his corner, but his attention is fixated firmly on his daughter.

  “What am I going to do with you?” He raises his hand to her, only to falter partway. Then something in his gaze hardens with resolve, and he tentatively ruffles one of her damp braids. Remarkably, she doesn’t cringe from him—a fact that makes his dark eyes soften with such gentleness I bite back a groan. “You’re soaked,” he tells her, some real concern slipping into his teasing murmur. “Let’s hope you don’t catch a cold, oui?”

  “Yeah,” Magda says, wrinkling her button nose.

  A teensy bit of guilt dampens my enthusiasm as I climb from the pool and rise to my feet. “Maybe you should grab us some towels? That way we won’t make too much of a mess—”

  “But I’m little,” Magda says, shifting toward Vadim conspiratorially. She tugs on his pant leg like a queen commanding a servant. “You can pick me up, and I won’t drip like she will.”

  The little minx. She’s so intent on her apparent victory that she doesn’t seem to notice she gave him permission to touch her. Permission he accepts with a strained look of awe so potent my heart aches.

  “Right you are.” He shrugs off his sweatshirt and drapes it over her before lifting her gingerly into his arms. She eyes me smugly from her new height, and I can’t resist seizing a chunk of her hair as I come up beside them, giving it a tug.