“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 built.
#
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?”