Page 62 of Control: XXX Vadim 1
But another voice cuts over me. “Enough.” Very softly, Vadim murmurs, “I suggest you choose your words more carefully, Maxim. Whore is a strong word to use in your circumstances.”
The brunette’s eyes blaze, her chin set stubbornly, and Maxim rocks onto the balls of his feet, opening his stance.
“Get the hell out.”
Milton stands then, “Maxim—”
“Gladly.” Vadim snatches my wrist, yanking me to my feet. “We were just leaving—”
“Good. I hope you’ve had your fun playing copycat. What next? You hire some children to reenact my life in full? You are pathetic.”
Vadim stops short, his teeth clattering together, his eyes like ebony fire.
“Copy you?” he wonders coldly. “By womanizing and terrorizing? Don’t kid yourself. Hire children? I’ve known my limits in ways you can’t even imagine. I was not so reckless as to gamble a young life to placate my ‘whores’ or assuage my ego—” He cocks his head and smiles that beautiful, breathtaking grin. It’s wider than ever, quivering at the edges. Meanwhile, his eyes blaze, a chilling ebony. “How long before your happy little family falls apart by your own making?”
“Son of a bitch!” Maxim’s arms ripple with tension as he starts to circle around the table. “Is that a threat?”
“Maxim,” Francesca says, rising from her chair. Her eyes worriedly trace his shuddering frame, but if I’m not mistaken, he stops short, his breaths thundering from his chest like growls.
“Get out,” he snarls.
“Why should I?” Vadim counters. “I do own part of it, after all.”
“An oversight.” Maxim shoots a glare in Milton’s direction, implying something I suspect. Vadim mentioned that he owned part of the sex club—but I’m realizing that partnership may not be mutual on Maxim’s end. “One I will soon rectify if I have to beat a ‘recusal’ out of you. You think I’ll let you weasel your way into my life? My club? You should have stayed in the shadows, rat. Sniveling in secret suits you better than playing the part of a man!”
He lunges, but Vadim doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. I’ve never seen him like this. Enraged. Frozen. Paralyzed. Social etiquette would dictate I try to smooth things over—but something in my brain snaps, and all of my social conditioning goes right out of the darn window.
“S-Stop!” I step forward in the path of the advancing man, though Milton is already behind him, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Have you forgotten what we discussed?” Milton says quickly, his grip tight as he glares at the back of his skull. But Maxim’s clearly too angry to see anything other than Vadim in his firing line.
“Leave him alone,” I rasp anyway. “We’re going—”
“Ah, so you’ve trained her to defend you,” Maxim sneers, his mouth a fearsome snarl. “One would think you’d repulse any woman with an ounce of sense. It must be the money. Pathetic. I hope you reward her well for this stunt.”
My vision blurs as anger sears through my skin. I think something in my brain snaps, robbing me of any semblance of decorum. I don’t even realize I’m speaking until my voice echoes back to me, high-pitched and bitchy.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” A better question would be—why am I so angry? Why does the sight of Vadim standing rigid make something inside of me tear open and bleed? I can’t explain it. I can’t suppress it. Facing down Maxim, I grit my teeth and square my shoulders, unafraid. “All he wants is a relationship with you! Can’t you see that?”
I can. I can acknowledge the effort it took for him to even come here. His barely concealed confusion that I had scored a customary present from his brother, who only seemed to treat him with hate. I don’t know what lurks between them. Heck, I don’t even know the man beside me. But with my hand in his grip, I can’t seem to back down, even as he tugs me toward him, his voice a slap, “Come. We’re leaving—”
“Why are you such an ass to him?” I demand, though I’ve heard the horrific actions mentioned. Kidnapping. Threats. But Vadim’s scar looms vibrant in my mind. His pain when he speaks of his past. The longing he doesn’t even seem to realize whenever he brings up his brother. Is it all rooted in hateful malice? No. I don’t think so.
“Do you have any idea how much he just wants to be accepted by you?”
Maxim blinks, his nostrils flaring, eyes widening.
And I have my answer.
“You don’t do you? You don’t have a clue—”
“Tiffany!”
I flinch in response to Vadim’s tone. It’s icier than I’ve ever heard it—a stranger’s, adrift on an island to himself. “We’re leaving. Now.”
He releases my hand and storms toward the entrance, leaving me to follow.
“Dima,” Milton calls after him. It seems he’s about to go after him, but the blond takes his hand and stops him, her eyes pleading with something I can’t even begin to understand. Only now do I realize that everyone is staring at me. Open-mouthed. All I can do is spin on my heels and chase the lanky figure marching steadily toward the red sportscar out front.
