Corrupt (XXX Vadim Book 2): Club XXX Book 5

by Lana Sky

  Stop it, Tiffy.

  My only hope is that something happens to shatter this moment before it becomes too potent to ignore. But in a cruel twist of fate—coming in the form of advancing footsteps—I get my wish tenfold.

  Vadim reacts first, his expression darkening as I turn to find Ena marching into the kitchen with a taller figure in tow.

  “Mr. Hood,” he announces gruffly. “He come. Already cleared.”

  Apparently, Milton doesn’t require the same security reserved for Maxim. His expression wary, the British man steps forward, dressed in a gunmetal-gray suit and a blood-red tie. His dark eyes go directly to Magda, widening as he takes her in.

  But she pales and nearly falls off the chair in her scramble to get down. She winds up jumping, but rather than onto the floor, she flings herself at Vadim, who catches her seemingly by instinct, holding her close.

  She copies the same stance she took in the presence of Maxim—her face buried against his shoulder, her knuckles white as she grips him tightly.

  But this time, Vadim strokes her back with a sigh. “It’s okay, ma chérie. This is…Uncle Milton.” His voice conveys nothing but soothing warmth though his eyes tell a different tale. He looks like a man who came close to claiming a pile of gold, only to have it slip through his grasp at the last minute. And he eyes Milton as though he’s the force that made said fortune vanish.

  Unperturbed, the other man boldly steps forward. Almost before my eyes, it’s as though he transforms, softening the harder, angular stance of his rigid posture for a softer, friendly appearance. Even I’m fooled, almost forgetting the imposing figure he so regularly presents as. Smiling warmly, he says, “You must be Magdalene. I’m a friend of your… Mr. Vadim’s.”

  Sensing the danger has passed, Magda squirms from Vadim’s arms and scrambles away from him, her cheeks pink. She eyes Milton warily but doesn’t move to take the hand he extends her way.

  Without missing a beat, he uses the same hand to reach into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and withdraws an enormous lollipop even the surliest child couldn’t resist. Case and point, Magda steps forward, and he crouches on one knee and presents his offering to her.

  “Sugar-free, of course,” Milton declares, glancing at Vadim.

  Magda takes it and eagerly rips off the wrapping, before taking a tentative lick. Her eyes practically light up even as she takes a step back from him. I watch in awe as she reaches out with her free hand, finding Vadim’s pantleg. Their expressions mirror each other’s for a split second—hers irritated by her seemingly overwhelming need to cling to him, while he seems overwhelmed all at once.

  Rising to his feet, Milton maintains his polite, charming smile, but when his eyes meet Vadim’s, something unspoken flashes between them. It’s like I can sense the atmosphere shift in an instant.

  “It was very nice to meet you, Magdalene,” Milton says. “But right now, I’d like to borrow Vadim for a minute.”

  Vadim glances at Magda, and I can see the internal struggle as he wrestles with leaving her. But then he cuts his gaze to the other man. Again, some understanding flashes between them and his jaw clenches. Sighing, he captures the hand Magdalene has on his pant leg, and I can tell that nothing in the world pains him more than having to ease her away.

  “I’ll be back,” he swears, stepping forward. “And I will bring you a reward fit for a conquering queen.”

  Whether the promise mollifies Magda or not, I can’t tell. She’s utterly stoic, watching as the two men head toward the study. I skip toward her, and I can’t resist tugging on a dark curl even though she wrinkles her nose and turns away.

  “Help me clean up, oh majesty?” I ask her before eyeing the fortune of fake money scattered over the floor.

  She eyes me skeptically, crossing her arms. “Queens don’t clean up.”

  “Hmm.” I stroke my chin and nod. “Not normally. But they do if the treasury is at stake and a thief is on the loose, threatening their fiscal hold on the populous!”

  I stoop for a fistful of money. Alarmed, Magda drops to her knees and attempts to grab as many bills as she can before I snatch them first. Within minutes, we’ve gathered up every last bit.

  “I win,” Magda declares as she places her haul back into the box.

  I can’t resist tugging on another curl though this time she doesn’t seem to resist. “You did! Awesome job…”

  I trail off, distracted by a sudden noise coming from the hall near the study. Angry, thumping, brutal noise. Smiling wider for Magda’s benefit, I playfully tap the bridge of her nose with my finger. “Why don’t you figure out how to set up for a second round, oh majesty? I’m going to go grab a pen so we can keep score.”

  I use that harmless lie as my excuse for tiptoeing down the hall. Not the urge to spy or eavesdrop. I need a pen. A pen that ceases to matter completely the second I catch Vadim’s grated rasp.

  “…and you still seem to hold out hope that we will reconcile?” he laughs. “I don’t think so. Not after this.”

  “You did provoke him,” Milton replies, his tone level. “You know how he can get. Like a dog with a bloody bone. Give him time to cool down.”

  “Time?” Vadim echoes coldly. “Don’t play coy, Milton. You aren’t a gossip, and you wouldn’t be telling me of his little ultimatum if you didn’t believe he was serious in this threat. What was it again? ‘I leave within three days, or he will take measures.’” He laughs in that icy, beautiful way that resembles how I figure a fallen angel might. One seriously considering joining the ranks of Lucifer. “And you asked me why he will never see Magdalene?”

  “Like I said, give him time to cool down,” Milton insists. “Besides, he’ll be gone for a few days. He’s on his way to Moscow. Apparently, someone disrupted a supply chain of munitions he had stored there. Damn near took out an entire arm of his operation overnight. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Munitions? Supply chain? Something at the back of my brain tingles, filing away those terms for later. They sound far more sinister than the typical business venture, that’s for damn sure.

  “Would you be surprised if I did?” Vadim asks dryly. Gathering up the nerve, I creep forward enough to peek into the office through the cracked door. He’s leaning over his desk, his eyes downcast.

  Milton must be standing before him, his posture rigid. “No. Especially not after you accused him of disrupting your own business interests there—an accusation he denied, by the way. And you know he wouldn’t shy away from claiming ownership if he had.”

  “Or maybe you’ve just grown too damn trusting,” Vadim counters with a harsh laugh. “Would you believe me if I denied it? Perhaps a part of me gets some sick pleasure out of making little Maxi squirm?”

  I shiver at the coldness in his tone. But just as quickly, his posture seems to slump, his body deflated.

  “I’ve humored Maxim’s hostility far longer than I should have,” he says softly. “But I am telling you now, Milton. If he dares to do anything, I won’t be so forgiving this time.”

  “He’s all bluster,” Milton says. “Between the shit going on in Russia and the shock of discovering your little secret, you might want to cut the man some slack. I will admit that I was skeptical at first myself. That you were planning one of your little mind games to drive the man insane. But, damn… She looks just like you.” His voice deepens, conveying the depth of his awe.

  “Which is why…” Vadim sighs. “Maxim can harbor his hatred toward me all he likes, but I will never let him hurt her—”

  “And I would?” Milton counters, stepping forward to brace his hands over the desk. “Threatening children isn’t Maxim’s style, you know this. But I will suggest you consider moving anyway. Why provoke him further?”

  “Why?” Vadim shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “You always take his side. I’ve ceded this city to Maxim for ten years. I’ve dwelt in the shadows and let him play king. Not anymore. I said it once, and I will say it again—
I’m taking what I want. For myself and Magdalene. Her desire is my only concern, so if he wants to get in my way, let him try.”

  “Or,” Milton says softly, “you two could finally put aside your petty feud and play happy families. Especially if you both are so intent on starting your own.”

  “Don’t compare me to him.” Vadim stands and turns his attention to the door just as I manage to scuttle away.

  I find Magda seated at the dining table with a neatly arranged and reset monopoly board before her and a look of utter ferocity on her face.

  “Ready for round two?” I ask, joining her with a forced grin.

  She kicks my ass. In the end, I have to concede with shreds of my pride left intact.

  “You are well on your way to world domination,” I tell her as we clean up the game for good. “But I’m still the adult, and I will always have one superpower over you, even when you rule the world.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  “Bedtime.”

  I follow her upstairs and into her room, where I enter her closet. “I’ll pick out your pajamas while you take your bath, okay?”

  Surprisingly, she doesn’t argue. Minutes later, she’s dripping wet and freshly dressed in a pair of ivory silk pajamas that make her resemble a dark-haired variation of the porcelain doll tucked under her arm.

  “Can I brush your hair?” I ask, moving toward her end table as I speak.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she nods and climbs beneath the covers while I sit beside her and tackle those gorgeous curls. This time, I deliberately ignore that warning voice telling me to back away. That I shouldn’t be enjoying this. Smoothing my fingers through her hair shouldn’t feel this natural, neither should I take pride in how she relaxes against me.

  I’m not her mother. It’s wrong.

  “I thought you might be asleep…”

  I look over to find Vadim hovering in the doorway. His eyebrow raises as he spots me beside Magda, and I smooth one last curl into place before backing away. She’s already slumped against the pillow, her eyes drifting shut. When she spots what Vadim holds in his hands, however, she bolts upright.

  “I thought you might need this if you are to ride your pony tomorrow,” he says, stepping forward to place a large, white box on the bed. It’s wrapped neatly with a turquoise ribbon that Magda rips off before lifting the lid.

  Her mouth drops open, and I can’t smother a grin as she gingerly withdraws a sheet of tissue paper to reveal a pair of tan jodhpurs, a white riding blouse, and an ebony jacket, complete with a riding helmet.

  “They’re beautiful,” I murmur as Magda runs her fingers over the material.

  Though she doesn’t admit it out loud, I can guess from her wide-eyed expression that she feels the same.

  “I’ll let you get some sleep,” Vadim says, seemingly not expecting much more gratitude from her than that. “Goodnight.”

  My heart feels swollen as he leaves. I slip from the bed and make the mistake of looking back. Magda’s already slumping sideways, her eyes falling shut even as she clutches the sleeve of her new jacket. I lift the box from her bed and set it aside before gently easing her beneath the blankets. I tell myself that the act is purely out of necessity—but brushing a stray curl behind her ear isn’t.

  Neither is making sure that both Biphany and It are within her reach before turning off the light and finally leaving her room.

  The panic I feel is ten times stronger than the emotions I try to resist when it comes to Vadim. I’ve had my heart stomped on by a man before. As much as it stings, I can survive that pain again. But I don’t think there’s a cure for loving a child that isn’t mine.

  Don’t do this to yourself, Tiffy.

  I enter the master suite and find Vadim sitting on the bed as if waiting for me. He’s removed his suit jacket, and the topmost buttons of his dress shirt are undone, revealing a tempting sliver of his chest. It’s a fitting distraction from budding emotional turmoil. After locking the door behind me, I eagerly start to strip my dress.

  “Wait.” He stands and crosses to me. I’ve rarely seen him so tired, his lips pursed, eyes unreadable. Alarmed, I let my hands fall from the skirt of my dress as he captures each one, stroking the knuckles. “You are…incredible,” he tells me.

  But this confession feels different from his prior attempts at practicing praise. His voice reaches down into some secretive, innermost part of me, making it bloom despite myself. Swell. I feel my cheeks catch fire, my throat tightening. The feeling has nothing to do with selfish pride or gratitude—it’s far simpler than that. It’s a desperation I’ve been struggling to ignore. A desperation to feel useful to him. To help him. To make him feel safe enough to keep his wall down around me, even as I mutter something about needing to leave. Boundaries.

  “You are incredible,” I tell him, inching closer. I bury my nose into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling him as his arms encircle me, cradling me to his lean frame. I’ve never felt so safe before.

  And so very exposed.

  A flurry of commotion has me blinking my eyes open to a darkened room, my heart racing. Shadows flicker along the walls, cast by a quickly moving figure darting from the closet. Before the panic can crest, I recognize that surly frown, barely visible through the dark.

  “Vadim?” My voice croaks, heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”

  “Go back to sleep.” I stiffen at the steel in his tone. He marches back into the closet, and I hear hangers clanging together. The clock on his nightstand reads that it’s barely six a.m.

  “You’re leaving?” I murmur as he stumbles back into the room, wrenching on a pair of loafers.

  His gaze cuts up to mine, constricted with visible torment. “I… I need to attend to something. Get some sleep—” He crosses to me, brushing his lips over my cheek in a hasty kiss. “I’ll be back later today. If you need anything, I’ll have Ena stay close by.”

  His wary grin struggles to convey a calmness that his stiff posture contradicts. Once he wrestles on his suit jacket and loops a tie into place, he practically races from the room.

  Alone, I slump against the pillows, but it’s impossible to fall back asleep. Eventually, I slip into a robe and head downstairs in a futile search for coffee. Vadim, it seems, is a tea man. After heating up a kettle on the stove, I make myself a cup of some fancy French blend I can’t even begin to pronounce. Then I sit at the dining room table and watch the sunrise sluggishly over the water, my thoughts in turmoil.

  To distract from his absence—and all the many potential causes for it—I scan the view beyond the window glass, pleasantly surprised.

  Vadim’s been making small improvements to the property day by day, it seems. The playground is nearly done, lacking only a completed swing set. Near the water, I can see that the docks now sport two small rowboats that instantly make me imagine lazy days on the water beside him, Magda in tow.

  A dangerous fantasy to indulge for sure. One that seems more impossible to attain when tiny footsteps allude to the figure who prances into the kitchen.

  The second I see Magda decked out in her riding outfit, my heart breaks. I can barely muster up the strength to meet her gaze, especially as her lips part into a rare, fleeting grin.

  “Can we ride my pony now?” she asks. Her eyes excitedly scan the kitchen, presumably for Vadim. And my heart splinters all over again for them both.

  “He had to go away on business, honey,” I say thickly. “I’m sorry.”

  As if she inherited his internal emotional switch, her expression falls and hardens in a way that triggers a horrible sense of déjà vu. Just like Vadim, she knows how to erect a wall in a heartbeat, closing herself off.

  “He’ll take you as soon as he comes back,” I insist, rising to my feet. “I promise.”

  But he won’t be back anytime soon, I suspect—though I don’t have the heart to say it out loud. I saw it in his face. The pain of being away from her, even for a short amount of time. Whate
ver drew him away, might keep him all day again.

  And something tells me that Magda knows that as well as I do. She spins on her heel, racing from the kitchen.

  “Honey, wait!” I follow her up the stairs, wincing as the door slams in my face. I test the handle, finding it unlocked, but when I finally push the door open, she’s lying face down on her bed. Her shoulders shake though she’s overall silent. Her pale skin reddens, and I imagine her biting her lip as hard as she can to keep any noise inside.

  “I’m so sorry, honey.” I sit on the edge of the bed and tentatively place my hand on her back. “I know you’re disappointed—”

  “I’m not!” She wrenches away from me and snatches the helmet off her head, throwing it across the room. Then she glares at me, her expression so fierce I suck in a breath.

  Until, she breaks. Before my eyes, she transforms from a mini, ice-cold Vadim into a seven-year-old girl whose hopes have been dashed. Tears spill from her eyes, and I can’t stop myself from snatching her into my arms. Boundaries be damned, I hold her even as she squirms until finally, she succumbs, sobbing openly against my shoulder.

  “I know, honey. I know…” Helpless, I can only smooth my fingers down her back, letting her cry. A part of me suspects that this emotion has nothing to do with her pony and everything to do with something deeper. Something that makes her melt into my embrace, too exhausted to fight. I rock her, speaking reassurances that I doubt she even hears.

  Eventually, I coax her into pulling back enough for me to see her face.

  “How about we go pet your pony?” I suggest, wiping away some of her tears.

  Her eyes blaze. “No!” She lunges from the bed, storming into a corner, her arms crossed.

  “Okay.” Sighing, I start to follow her only to change tact and enter her closet. “Let’s go for a walk instead, hmm?” I take my time picking out the clothing I suspect were her favorites from our shopping trip. The red dress. The black faux fur stole. It doesn’t matter if they’re too extravagant, I help her dress in them as she allows me to stiffly manipulate her limbs, her expression blank.