Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Vadik

My office is silent for an unusual length of time after Charleigh’s question, the only sound an old industrial radiator snuffling along under one of the windows lining the wall behind me.

When this was my father’s office, he positioned his desk so he could see out the window. I was never exactly sure why because there isn’t much of a view in this part of town other than some derelict, abandoned warehouses and weed-infested parking lots.

I never got to ask him, but perhaps he liked watching the members as they came in? Which doesn’t make a lot of sense because we have cameras everywhere anyway, and he could just watch them on his computer monitor.

When Uncle Mikey took over, he didn’t change a thing, partly because he hardly spent any time here. Dominika ran the show for the two years Mikey was looting it, and she has her own closet of an office near the girls’ dressing room, since they’ve always been her main responsibility. Why my father didn’t give her a better office, like one with a view since there are plenty to choose from, puzzled me until I realized hers was an easy place for their daily trysts. No windows, fairly soundproof, and deadlocked from the inside.

What every man wants for his mistress, I suppose. If that’s your thing.

So when Mikey split and I moved in, I changed shit up a bit by turning my desk to face the door. Why anyone would ever have an office with their back to the door is beyond me, even if you’re not in my kind of business. You’re so vulnerable like that and even if you don’t have safety concerns, every time someone comes to your office you have to turn around to see who it is.

Plus it’s bad feng shui or some shit.

“Come have a seat over here,” I say to Charleigh.

I intentionally take the big leather easy chair, leaving the sofa for her so she doesn’t assume I’m making a move on her.

“You want a scotch, Charleigh?” I cross the room to get myself one.

When she doesn’t answer, I see she’s sitting on the edge of the sofa, explosively tense, with her hands folded over her knees. The prim and proper bearing is a funny juxtaposition to the sexy little costume she wears for cocktailing.

“Well?”

She takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, her cheeks adorably puffed out, revealing her ambivalence.

“I’ve… I’ve never had scotch.”

Well, damn. Why didn’t I realize that? She’s not the typical party girl I cross paths with. Why would I think any different? She’s probably an aficionado of cheap light beer and the occasional five-dollar bottle of wine. Special occasions only.

I pour her a small amount and add an ice cube. This sort of thing goes down easier, at least for the first time, when it’s been chilled first.

“Here you go,” I say, helping myself to a seat next to her. I realize I should probably give her some space, but fuck it.

She attempts to take the glass from me, but I nudge away her hand, raising the drink to her lips myself.

Like I’m feeding her.

“Just take one tiny little sip, pretty girl.”

She glances sideways at me, her face full of distrust, and parts her lips to accept the rim of the glass. A small sip of the amber liquid flows into her mouth, and as soon as she has a taste, pulls her head back and pushes the glass away.

“Ugh,” she sputters, taken aback by the initial burn, repeatedly licking her lips like she lost a layer of skin.

I have to try not to laugh.

“Look. This is how you do it. You open your mouth and let it pour in. If you let it sit on your lips, it’s going to burn. Now watch me.” I take a smaller than usual swig so I don’t freak her out, but I do let the scotch pour into my mouth as I described.

The heat is soothing and delicious. Hell, I can drink this stuff all day.

It’s a wonder I don’t, since I’m basically surrounded by it as well as all other forms of alcohol.

“Ready to try again?”

She frowns. “Maybe. If I can hold the glass myself.”

I hand it over. “Be my guest.”

She looks at the dark alcohol and takes another sip, this time bypassing her lips, at least as best she can. Taking a mouthful, she quickly swallows. She only coughs a little this time and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“There you go,” I say, returning to my seat.

She sits back on the sofa, visibly relaxed, I don’t know whether from the alcohol, getting more comfortable with me, or both.

“Are you going to answer my question, Vadik?” she asks, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

“About?” I know full well what she’s referring to. I’m just being a dick.

“My auction. I’m asking you to help me. Either you guys buy me, or make sure someone nice does.”

I don’t blame her for asking, and in fact respect that she has. I’d do the same in her situation. But I don’t know that I can help. The wheels are already in motion and things may be out of my hands.

But there’s no reason for her to know that.

* * *

Vadik

“I have to think about that, Charleigh. Right now we’re having… problems, as I think you know.”

She looks disappointed but nods to show interest. “Yes. Niko mentioned it.”

“Dimitri’s gang is up to no good, as usual. They are interfering with our businesses as well as making up shit and spreading rumors like our girls have diseases.”

I have to laugh at that middle-school-level tactic. Our girls are the cleanest in the business. I have a freaking doctor on retainer to ensure just that.

“He’ll do anything to take us down, that’s how badly he wants the club. The man’s playing with fire. And I am afraid he’s about to get burned. Very badly.”

“Are they trying to get back at you for telling him I was hands-off?”

Damn, she’s direct. I like that.

“In part, yes. His ego is as fragile as an eggshell. But it’s more than that. Years of what he sees as petty insults. That sort of thing.”

She shakes her head with a little laugh. “And here I thought my life, studying for my bookkeeping cert and keeping my little sister on track, was a lot. I never worried about people turning on me. At least until my father did.”

She sighs, lost in thought, and before she even sees me coming, I am back across the room sitting next to her. She’s barely touched her scotch after her initial couple sips, so I take the glass from her, the ice now melted, and belt back what’s left.

I’m not surprised she doesn’t like it. It’s an acquired taste, and something I like because it smooths out my rough edges.

Charleigh has no rough edges. At least not yet.

And then, because I can’t help my goddamn self, I take a hank of her silky hair and bring it to my nose with the inhale of a man starving for oxygen.

The kind only Charleigh can deliver.

And fuck, she smells good. Girls like her do, and without even trying. She’s not drowning in lotions and potions like the other women I know, guilty of trying too hard or following someone’s arbitrary instruction about what attracts a man.

I wish I could tell these women, it ain’t perfume.

But Charleigh. Clean and fresh, like simple drugstore soap and shampoo, and maybe a nice little hand cream.

I know I warned my brothers about this sort of thing, consorting with Charleigh. And now look at me.

I’m a damn hypocrite.

And I don’t give a fuck.

I remove a clip at the back of her head and her hair tumbles forward, partially obscuring her face. She looks down, hiding behind it like a veil, so I push it aside and turn face toward me.

“Don’t block me from seeing that face, pretty girl. I won’t allow that. Not at all.”

Her gaze meets mine, her eyes heavy-lidded and relaxed, and while I know I shouldn’t be doing this—regardless of what my brothers and I have already done—I can’t help myself, dammit.

* * *

Vadik

I hate that. I hate that my resolve is not stronger. But I love that I’m here right now with this beautiful woman on the sofa in my office, who looks like she’s about to melt into my arms.

The goddamn irony of it all.

It’s been a long time since I’ve laid eyes on a woman who caught my fancy. I mean, I see women I want to fuck, and I often do, but they aren’t anyone I’d take out to dinner or see a second time. I can’t imagine trying to talk to them over a glass of wine, these women who pretty much look at me like a walking wallet, and who I pretty much look at as a way to empty my balls. We each get what we want, more or less, and go our separate ways.

Then there’s Charleigh. She has so much to offer, and yet she’ll be gone in a few days. I will never see her again. Do I know what will happen to her? To an extent, I do. Men, insatiable men who are ruled by their dicks, will spend ungodly amounts of money to take from her something no one else but they will ever have. It’s an obsession for some, deflowering a virgin, ruining her so no one else can have the part of her that they claim. That’s winning to them, and winning is everything. No matter the cost.

We know this about these men and exploit it to the fullest. We’re just fulfilling basic human needs, a solid business strategy that’s been successful for years and will continue to be. Strippers, gorgeous girls delivering drinks—and auctions—will get the club back on solid ground after Uncle Mikey’s damage.

My brothers have asked why. Why do I care so much about a business of ours, the club, which is not nearly as lucrative as our liquor stores, gambling rooms, and security services, not to mention the international ‘cargo’ we move? The club takes time out of our days and nights, requires us to deal with no end of assholes, and then there is Dominika, who’s difficult on her best day.

I have my reasons, and I am far more committed to them than Kir or Niko. First, this club was Papa’s pride and joy. It’s where he mixed with his friends, and where he negotiated business. Established himself in America, which brought him no end of happiness. It’s not easy to leave your home country, even when there’s a price on your head, as there was on his. With one foot in the old world and one in the new, he missed Russia terribly, but seldom looked back when he had so much to look forward to.

The second, and perhaps most important reason I am keeping the club alive, is that I will seek revenge against Dimitri for the murder of my parents. At some point he’ll trip up, and by keeping him close at hand here at the club, we’ll be front and center when he does. The man is not smart, so it’s just a matter of time. He’ll step right into the trap we’ve set and the only way he’ll get out is by chewing off his leg. Something I can’t wait to witness.

Charleigh will soon be gone from our property, our lives, and our lustful imaginations. She stirs something in me, but is not meant to be mine. Or my brothers’. She is here to serve another purpose. Where she ends up, I will likely never know. It’s not my job to follow her. I’ll be on to the next auction girl in no time, and this one will be a distant memory.

Or will she?

I need to get my ass back behind my desk instead of feeding Charleigh scotch. I need to do some work, starting with the crisis du jour—the missing gun shipment. I need to stay away from this woman who, as much as I might like her to, will never have the chance to heal my scars. She won’t be around long enough, and who knows if she would even want to get involved in my darkness, anyway.

If she’s smart, she won’t.

But instead of being the wise, older brother to Kir and Niko and walking away from Charleigh like I told them to, I slowly pull her closer, closer until I can brush my lips over hers, back and forth, teasing and igniting the passion I suspect lives right under the surface of her respectability.

Other men want to ruin her. I want to cultivate her, like a garden exploding into a symphony of color and fragrance until it takes your breath away. You know you’ve lived nirvana, tasted the best life has to offer, and it no longer matters what happens after. You’ve been on top of the world. There’s nowhere else to go.

And that’s okay.

Such an indulgence is not meant to be, though, especially not for me. I carry too much ugliness, and there are too many fractures in my character that no amount of Charleigh can redeem. If I could clone her a hundred times, it would not be enough.

And that’s why she must go.

Until she does, however, I will make her feel like the princess she is. I suspect she’s not been treated like one many times in her life, if ever, and after she leaves our property, she probably won’t be, either.

I know I can’t fuck her, that would be entirely too greedy and counterproductive, but there are other pleasures I can bring her.

And many she can bring me.

“Such a beautiful girl.” I trail my kisses down her neck and into the cleavage created by her tight bustier.

I move down between her legs and, parting them, push up her short skirt, pressing my face into the crotch of her panties to take a long inhale of her sweet aroma. This is mine, all mine, at least for the moment. I slide the thin fabric covering her pussy to the side, and out pops her little pink clit, greedily demanding attention, and even more so when she shifts and pushes her hips into my face.

Message received.

I slide my hands under her bum, grabbing her panties and pulling them down until they rest around one ankle. I push her wide open again and swipe a finger up her wet slit. She gasps and shivers, and my dick is so hard it hurts inside my trousers.

Fucking hot.

“Baby,” I whisper. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

Her head pops up off the sofa and her eyes widen, studying me as if she’s not sure whether I’m serious. When she doesn’t move, I take her hand and place it between her legs, leaving it there to see what she does.

She might be a virgin but I am sure she masturbates. How do I know? There are cameras in her bedroom, and she plays with herself most nights before she goes to sleep.

God love her.

With her gaze locked to mine, she teasingly slides a finger between her bare lips, reaching all the way to her ass cheeks, then brings it back to her clit, which she circles with two fingers.

I stand between her parted legs and reach to open my trousers. With the weight of my belt, they clatter to my ankles, and I lower my boxers enough to free my aching cock.

She stops her little circles when she sees it, not sure what’s next, and looks up at me, her eyes hooded, her mouth full and wet.

She’s not afraid. Just curious.

“Keep going,” I say, stroking my length from root to tip.

I slide my hand over my hard-on, up and down, while she looks, and I watch her play with her pussy.

She twitches, and her hand speeds up. Her mouth opens slightly, but she keeps her eyes on my dick. Fuck all, I could come right here all over her. But she needs to come first.

Then I’ll spill my seed.

“C’mon, baby,” I whisper, “stroke that clit. Make yourself come.”

As if my demanding words push her to the edge, her hand moves faster. A second later she’s shaking, strange, guttural sounds flying out of her mouth. Her hips buck off the sofa to push harder into her fingers.

That’s all I need. I lean over her and spurt my cum right onto her pussy, watching it run off her hand and between her slightly-parted lips.

“Oh fuck, yeah,” I growl, emptying the last of my load.

With one arm, I lean onto the sofa and attempt to catch my breath. As I do, she brings her hand up to her mouth and licks the mixture of our juices off one finger and then another.

Holy fuck, I am in trouble.