The Vault Box Set

by Summers, Eden

  She had too much to lose if they remained together. And even if she didn’t know it, he would kill himself trying to make up for the mistakes of his past.

  * * *

  Cassie’s cheeks ached from pasting the fake smile on her face for the last three hours. She was nervous. Nauseous from treating T.J. badly. Manipulation wasn’t something she agreed with, and the only thing keeping her here was the knowledge she’d gotten under his skin.

  “I’d like to see downstairs.” She waited for her husband’s head to jerk up.

  She’d been standing at the door to the upstairs office for a few minutes, merely watching him as he sat at the thick oak table, a laptop in front of him. He was lost in thought, not having moved since she’d found his hiding place. His eyes barely blinked as he stared at the screen reflecting its glow back on his handsome face.

  “Not tonight.” His voice was low, barely reaching her ears.

  “Why not? I’d like to see it.” She stepped forward, entering the room. He was entirely perfect—his face clean-shaven, his hair styled as usual, his suit flawless. He’d recovered from his misstep on Thursday and was now taking the divorce in stride, when even breathing seemed hard for her. “Brute said he’d be happy to show me around.”

  His gaze gradually rose to meet hers, his eyes dark with anger. “This isn’t up for negotiation.”

  She scoffed. Who was this man? He’d dictated the terms of their divorce, and even though they were largely made in her favor, she still resented his inability to discuss any of it with her first. Now he was telling her where she could and couldn’t go?

  “You’re right.” She kept her tone light, unwilling to let the frustration, pain, anger and grief take over. “I am going down there. It isn’t up for negot—”

  His chair shot back, the rough scrape along the wooden floorboards sending her heart into a rapid beat as he loomed over the desk. “Don’t push me, Cassie.” He strode for her, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. “I’ve said no.”

  She was scared—that she was pushing him away instead of tugging him forward. That he was beginning to hate her instead of realizing how much he loved her. That the plan was going in the opposite direction and she was digging her own grave. But his anger was far more appealing than his disregard for her existence.

  “Why are you against me going down there? That part of the club isn’t even open tonight. It’s vacant. It’s not like I’m married and overseeing a sex club without the presence of my partner.”

  His jaw clenched, his fists, too. “You said you didn’t have a problem with me working down there.”

  “And I didn’t.” Not until he’d blindsided her with the end of their marriage. “So, you have no right to say I can’t go down there when it’s currently unoccupied. When I can’t even witness all those images you teased me with. Or experience all the pleasure you once promised. I’m going down there, T.J., whether you like it or not.” The more he refused, the more she wanted to push him, hoping he’d break.

  “Not now, Cassie.”

  The way he said her name, the raw savagery, made her throat constrict with sorrow. “Then when?”

  Anguish flickered across his features, telling her there would never be a good time. She didn’t know what his problem was. It was an empty sex club. Why was he adamant she couldn’t enter the sacred walls? Could it be guilt? More misplaced protection? Or did he want to claim the club as his own, trying to keep the taint of his wife out of the sordid area so he could move on easier?

  “I don’t know.”

  She gave a sad smile and shrugged. “Well, I think now is the perfect time. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you I’m still part owner, so your permission isn’t necessary.” She turned and sauntered the few steps to the door. “I’ll be going down there with Brute as soon as the private party is finished.”

  As she reached the threshold, he still hadn’t responded, breaking her heart all over again because he’d stopped fighting so easily. He didn’t make sense to her anymore. She couldn’t read him. Couldn’t predict his thoughts or actions, when once his love had been a reliable strength she could always count on.

  She hung her head and entered the hall. No tears formed even though pain consumed her. She was all cried out. She was past waterworks. Tears didn’t fix anything. People did. She did. So why the heck couldn’t she figure out the man she knew better than she knew herself?

  “Cass…”

  She froze, straightening her shoulders as the muted thump of the downstairs music throbbed around her.

  “Don’t do this to me,” he pleaded. “I’ve given you the car, the house, the dog. Leave me the Vault. Just give me this one thing.”

  Her throat tightened, the beat of her heart increasing until the rhythmic pounding became painful. “Don’t do this to you?” She swung around, hoping the fury in her veins matched the expression on her face. “How dare you? You break my heart, turn my life upside down and expect me to do you favors? And over the same type of establishment that destroyed our marriage? Christ, T.J. Who the hell are you?”

  He stood in the doorway, unable to meet her gaze as he opened his mouth to speak.

  “No.” She raised a hand, cutting him off. “Forget it. I’m going downstairs with Brute. You can have your damn club once the divorce is final. Until then, you better get used to me going wherever the hell I like.”

  Instead of fighting like she anticipated, he stepped backward, disappearing into the office and closing the door behind him.

  Damn him.

  The more they fought, the more she questioned what she was doing. His unfamiliar actions were making her second-guess the marriage they’d once had. Second-guess T.J. in general. Previously, she’d thought he could never taint the memories she had. Now, she wasn’t so sure. He was dampening everything. Their love. Their happiness.

  Shay was wrong. Being close to him hadn’t given her the upper hand. It had resulted in the opposite. Because now she was beginning to believe the divorce may be exactly what they needed. Maybe they were better off alone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cassie finished stocking bottles of wine into the fridge under the bar and moved to her feet. Shay and Leo were escorting the last of the private party toward the club entrance, while Brute was beside her, clearing away dirty glasses along the counter.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  He didn’t glance her way, didn’t quit stacking glasses in a long tower to rest against his chest. “Where’s T.J.?”

  “Still upstairs.”

  He nodded and continued stacking. “We’ll wait a minute.”

  Cassie frowned. “He’s not coming, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

  He cleaned the bar as he went, stacked glasses in one hand, damp cloth in the other, until he reached the dishwasher.

  “Do you need a hand?”

  “Nope. Leo and Shay can finish up when they come back. I’m just waiting for a minute.”

  “What are you waiting…” Her words trailed off as a thud sounded upstairs, then the heavy rhythmic pounding of angered footsteps.

  “For that,” Brute muttered. “Let’s go.” He closed the dishwasher and stalked around the bar, leading her toward the locked door at the far side of the club.

  “Wait,” T.J.’s shout shot down her spine, all the way to her toes.

  Brute didn’t pause, didn’t even glance over his shoulder, so neither did she. T.J. wasn’t going to stop her. This was her last hurrah. The final push until she walked away forever.

  She sucked in deep breath after deep breath, calming herself as Brute unlocked the heavy padlock securing the entry to the staircase leading to the Vault of Sin.

  “Wait,” T.J. growled. “I’m coming, too.”

  Her head snapped around, her eyes greedily eating up the sight of her husband as he strode toward them. He was furious. All that anger and animosity directed right at her. If he was trying to intimidate her, he was failing miserably. Her bo
dy had the opposite reaction. Her nipples were pulsing, her throat tight, lips dry.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  Her naïve heart fluttered. Her mind knew his acquiescence didn’t mean a thing. It was merely a control measure. But anticipation filled her anyway. This was the first and maybe the last time she’d walk down these stairs with him. What once had been a fantasy was now a broken reality, and she’d take it nonetheless.

  Brute swung the door open and waved out an arm for her to proceed. Before her was darkness. She could sense the staircase looming to her left because she knew it was there, yet she had no clue where the light switch was.

  “Move,” T.J. growled, pushing past her. He flicked on the light, illuminating the staircase she remembered from Thursday night.

  Images lined the walls, the hedonistic pictures of sex and foreplay making her pussy throb. The scrape of her thighs against one another as she descended the stairs only made her arousal more potent and the slickness of her sex seep into her panties. She wondered if T.J. would care. Or how he’d react if she told him. Yet telling him scared her. Especially when she now struggled to recognize her husband.

  His large frame was tense, his back ramrod straight as he led the way while Brute followed behind her. It could’ve been intimidating—her angered husband in front, a brutal man at her back—maybe that was their intent. Instead, it awakened fantasies, making her burn all the more to experience the Vault when it was at full capacity, this time without a disguise.

  When T.J. reached the bottom step, he flung out his arm and flicked on another set of lights, bringing the entry area into view. She wasn’t given a guided tour. T.J. didn’t even acknowledge the doors leading to the locker or change rooms. He stormed ahead, moving to the keypad securing the entrance to Vault of Sin at the end of the hall.

  He slammed his index finger against four numbers in quick succession and the panel let out a caustic beep. He did it again, slamming harder this time, and earned another beep in return.

  “Fuck.”

  His hand was shaking, his head now hung low with his hair curtaining his eyes. His fragility consumed her, washing away her arousal, replacing it with the need to console. He wasn’t just filled with anger. She knew that. Underneath his resentment was pain.

  “Want me to do it?” Brute asked.

  “Fuck you.” T.J. straightened and poised his finger over the panel again. This time, he entered the numbers slower, the same four digits she’d memorized since childhood—one, zero, one, six.

  “My birthday,” she whispered as the lock released with a click. He may be fighting to push her away now, but back when the club had opened, even after the assault in Tampa, she’d been the first thing on his mind when he’d chosen a security code for the sex club.

  He flung the door wide and held it there, peering down at her without emotion as she strolled into the room fighting to hold back a grin. Her first glimpse was different from her recollection. The large screen previously playing porn was black. Silent. The room was bathed in sterile florescent light instead of the dimmer lamps to help set the mood. But it wasn’t the Vault she was interested in. It was T.J.’s reaction. He was watching her, not in anger, not in spite, but in pained curiosity.

  If only she could bathe him in the praise he deserved for creating such a respectful, reputable environment. She had no delusions that setting up this club had been difficult for him after what they’d gone through. Even though he hadn’t been able to bring her down here, a part of her was in every piece of the Vault. She was in the heavy vetting process established to make sure participants were genuine and honest. She was in the classy furniture and clean sheets. She was in the heart of this club, and he’d never be able to take her out.

  “This is where the fledglings stay until they feel comfortable playing with the big kids,” Brute drawled, squeezing past her.

  She inclined her head. “I like the idea.”

  She continued to watch T.J. from her periphery. His posture was taut, his discomfort visible even from a side glimpse. As she approached, he strode forward, leaving her and Brute alone in the small space.

  “Why is he acting like this?” She turned to face Brute.

  Her business partner raised a brow. “Maybe because he wants a divorce and you won’t let him go.”

  She snapped her lips shut, refusing to bite back at his heartlessness. There was no empathy in his features. No kindness. No annoyance. Nothing. He was void of emotion.

  “You raise a good point.” She walked past him, into the main open room of Vault of Sin.

  Everything was set out the same as the masquerade party. There was a corner lounge to her left, the bar up ahead with an entrance to the staircase leading to the parking lot hidden around the side. The sex swing still hung in the far corner. There was a king-size bed to her right, and every inch of the room screamed with debauchery, even though there were no writhing bodies.

  She pretended to take in her surroundings, while her focus kept returning to T.J. with his back leaned against the bar in between two stools. He was watching her like a hawk. Scrutinizing her perusal, reigniting her arousal.

  “I like the sex swing,” she announced to no one in particular. “I assume staff get free entry.” It was a joke. Her halfhearted chuckle announcing humor that nobody else returned.

  T.J.’s nostrils flared, his arms crossing over his chest. “I’d die before I let you participate down here.”

  She sauntered toward the bar, bridging the space between them, smiling as she did so. “And will you pay me the same respect?” She raised a brow, trying to contain the snarl in her voice. “Or is it already too late?”

  His face fell. Undiluted guilt filtered into his features. His eyes, previously harsh with annoyance, filled with devastation. Then, in a blink, it washed away. He schooled his features, straightened and shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re free to do as you wish, Cassie. You just won’t be doing it in here.”

  He met her gaze, her calm, gentle husband nowhere to be seen. Instead, she stared back at a man filled with torment she couldn’t soothe. He’d been broken by something. If it wasn’t the club in Tampa, she had no clue what. And it scared her to ponder the possibilities.

  “Exactly what I thought,” she muttered. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  It was harsh to taunt him with guilt he shouldn’t feel. Regret he hadn’t earned. But she had very few cards up her sleeve, and the knowledge he’d made a mistake on Thursday was one of them.

  “I guess I should be happy.” She clutched the seats of the stools he stood between, her shoes almost touching his. “Once the divorce is final, I’ll be able to get back to exploring all those things you promised me.”

  He broke eye contact, his jaw ticking. His chest began to rise and fall, his chin jutting to fight off her attack. She didn’t move back, didn’t leave his personal space. She couldn’t. This harsh side of him did things to her belly, and places much lower. If only he’d succumb to his desire for her. She knew it was there, hidden under his fear.

  “I wish you all the best with finding what you need.” His words were like a steel blade—lethal, sterile, cold. Deep down, she knew he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. But her strength to push wavered under his callousness.

  They were playing a game. Each of them shoving at the other, waiting for the first one to crack. He would either succumb to his need for her and revoke the poor excuse for a divorce, or she would buckle under his heartlessness, too hurt to keep fighting him.

  “Do you mind if we pause the tour so I can use the bathroom?” She couldn’t maintain the strong façade much longer. She needed privacy. A few moments to regroup before she came back swinging.

  “No problem.” His focus narrowed on her, his curiosity seeing straight through her. He knew he was winning the war. And by the barely visible pity in Brute’s eyes, he did, too.

  * * *

  T.J. watched her disappear into the room leading to the bathro
oms. He’d grown weak, his gaze tracking her every movement, his feelings for her shoving to the forefront again.

  “She sure knows her way around for someone who’s never been down here before,” Brute drawled.

  T.J. tore his attention from the doorway and scowled. “What do you mean?”

  Brute shrugged, acting as if his words weren’t a bombshell. “I sure as hell didn’t show her where the bathrooms are.”

  Panic washed over him. “She couldn’t…” It would have been impossible for her to get into the Vault. “You handle all entry information. How could she have been down here without you knowing?”

  Brute narrowed his gaze. “Is that accusation I hear in your tone?”

  No. It was fury. How the fuck had his wife gotten into Vault of Sin without his approval? The how, what, where and when assailed him. Was it recently? Had it been all those months ago when the Vault first opened? Or maybe a few nights ago at the masquerade party, hiding under a disguise to watch him disrespect their marriage vows.

  “When?” he asked through clenched teeth. “How could this happen?”

  His mouth dried as he tried to figure it out. The Vault was locked when not in use. Dead-bolted. On event nights, not only did the downstairs entrance have a digital alarm, the upstairs door and parking lot entrance were both manned by security guards. If she was callous enough to try and attend a night the Vault was open, she would’ve had to go through the approval process—photos, ID, approval at the door. It was impossible.

  “Maybe she took a wild stab at where they were.” He glanced at Brute in hope.

  His friend raised a brow, not needing to back up his disbelief with anything other than his confident stare.

  Fuck. “It had to be Shay.” She’d been a pain in his ass since the news of his divorce.

  Brute narrowed his focus to a glare. “Accusing Shay without evidence is going to land you in a world of hurt.”

  As if he wasn’t there already. “For her sake, I hope I’m wrong.”