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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.
#
