The Buchanan's Redemption (3 page)

Nolan agreed. The ghost of a woman that they didn’t need to name floated between them and Nolan wished he knew how to finally put that poor girl to rest so that Vince could, at last, know true peace and move on.

But if tonight’s show of stubbornness was any indication, Vince was digging in his heels, quite comfortable in his misery.

Vince was changing into a bitter, angry, cruel man —
 
all because of a woman he couldn’t forget.

Eventually, there would be little left of Vince that was Nolan’s beloved twin.

And that scared Nolan senseless.

Emma awoke, her throat scratchy from disuse and her vision still swimming but at least the bone-shattering pain ricocheting through her body had abated to a mild rumble that she could handle. She forced her eyes to focus and when she realized she was hooked to an IV, she made the assumption that she was in a hospital but it only took a second later to realize she wasn’t in a hospital, but rather in a stranger’s house.

And more specifically, in a stranger’s bed.

“Careful, you’ll rip out your IV,” a low voice instructed with authority, the sound at once familiar yet foreign and sending sparks of awareness though her abused body. She swung her gaze in the direction of the sound and she realized a man sat in the shadows of the room, watching her. She didn’t know why she knew the man was Vince Buchanan but she did. She worked to swallow, her dry throat resisting the movement until she fumbled for the water cup at her left and gulped the liquid with little grace or finesse but she didn’t care. Why was she tucked into Vince Buchanan’s bed? After what’d happened, she should’ve been hospitalized. Her question must’ve echoed in her expression for Vince rose from the chair, unfolding his solid muscular frame like a predator stalking his prey. Good God, he was terrifying. Emma had never been one for the pretty boys or the ones who’d arrogantly taken from the pick of the ladies. She’d always found the bookish, smart guy with the oddly endearing quirks more attractive, if not a little on the predictable side. Vince Buchanan was the antithesis of every man she’d ever dated and even if she’d known that intellectually, watching him stalk toward her with twin eyes burning with something she couldn’t quite define, made her realize her research had completely failed to prepare her for the reality. She shifted in the bed, trying to put as much distance between them as possible but he didn’t seem to care and stopped close enough to smell his aftershave. “Where am I?” she asked, her voice hoarse and small sounding. She cleared her throat and tried again with more confidence but she was at an obvious disadvantage. “Where am I ?”

“You’re in my penthouse. I brought you here to recover so as to afford some privacy. You’ve been out for two days,” he answered, his gaze traveling from the top of her head to the length of her body beneath the sheets as if he could see that was fairly naked beneath the covers.  “I will have suitable replacement clothes brought to you,” he said, reminding her of that night. Her cheeks burned with the knowledge that she’d been brutalized and left hanging like a slab of beef for anyone to find.

She wanted to tell him not to bother but that posed a bit of a problem as she couldn’t very well walk from his penthouse wearing nothing but his oversized shirt. She took a surreptitious sniff. Yes, definitely his shirt. Her nose tingled from the faint scent clinging to the collar. Her cheeks burned at the realization that he’d likely peeled the shirt from his own body that night and put it on her. “Thank you,” she replied stiffly, nearly unable to form the words. Her bottom lip was still sore from where that asshole had clocked her and as she darted her tongue along the bruised flesh, she winced when the pain reminded her not to touch.

“Who are you?” he asked, his gaze as hard as each bicep straining beneath the fine cotton of his shirt. “What is your real name and why were you in the club the other night?”

Straight to the point with no detouring down Niceville for appearances sake. She supposed she could expect nothing less from the Buchanan known for his vicious temper when crossed and downright cruelty to those who thought to best him. “I don’t have to answer you,” she said, lifting her chin. “I want to talk to the police. I have rights.”

At that his brow lifted as if amused and he leaned further into her space, sending her heartrate to skitter like a jackrabbit trying to evade a hawk. “You will answer me and you’ll be quick about it,” he said in a steely voice that brooked no argument.

“Or what?” she asked, holding his stare, though in truth she wanted to hide from that intense gaze. She didn’t believe in a lot of woo-woo stuff but at that moment she wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t something entirely inhuman. He was scarily mesmerizing. “There are rules that even you have to follow,” she said.

“I break rules for fun.” He stepped away abruptly and stalked away from her, saying with a silky warning his shoulder. “Mind your unruly tongue, little dove, or I might just rip it out.”

#

Vince had to get away from the woman before he did something he regretted. There was something about her that twisted him in knots unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Well, that was not entirely true, a voice whispered, reminding him of a past he wanted to forget.

It was the blonde hair, he argued, irritated with himself and his body’s reaction to her. He doubted she would reach his chest and yet she fairly vibrated with spirit. He’d expected her to be cowed, frightened and traumatized by what’d happened to her but instead, she’d quickly assessed her situation and fired back with questions of her own. If he weren’t so focused on protecting the club he might’ve enjoyed learning every inch of her exquisite body, teaching her carnal delights that were likely illegal in the Bible Belt states, but he didn’t have time for distractions. Especially pretty blonde ones.

He didn’t even know her name. He detoured to the kitchen and put together a tray of food that he’d ordered in. Time to switch tactics. Calm down and think, he told himself when his blood refused to chill. It was as if his body had gone into hyper-drive and everything was ramped up —
 
hunger, anger, lust, impatience —
 
because he wanted to do things that even he knew in his chaotic state of mind were unwise. Vince drew a deep breath and blew it out with deliberate purpose, then grabbed the tray and returned to the bedroom. She had to be ravenous after everything she’d been through. Her body would be weak with only IV fluids.

“What is this?” she asked, suspicious.

“What does it look like?”

“I don’t want you to feed me. I need clothes so I can leave.”

He ignored her and placed the breakfast tray over her legs. “I hope you like chicken breast with wild rice and fresh green beans. I thought something mild given your ordeal,” he said, grabbing a chair to pull it beside her. He gestured at her when all she did was stare at him as if he’d grown another head. “Go on, eat.” When she failed to do so, he sighed in irritation. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who is shy about basic needs, such as food?”

“I wouldn’t know what kind of girl you’re accustomed to but I can safely say I am nothing like a girl who would have anything to do with you.”

“Strong words. And what have I done to earn such a low opinion?” he asked, curious.

“You own Malvagio and you threatened to rip my tongue out. Need I say more?”

He laughed. “I’ve done far worse than own a stake in a club and apologize for my brash words earlier. But surely I haven’t earned your low opinion on such flimsy points. What do you think I’ve done that’s so inexcusable? Need I remind you that I took you from a bad situation —
 
a situation
you
put yourself into by sneaking into my club where you plainly don’t belong —
 
and I’m currently seeing to your care. I know I’m a little rusty in the good guy department but last I heard those are hardly the actions of someone deserving of your disdain.”

“Spare me,” she said, pushing away the food, even though she looked hungry enough to eat her blankets. “I know all about you Vince Buchanan. The Internet is a wonderful thing and you haven’t been exactly covert in your actions. I always thought you had a certain arrogance and now I know I wasn’t wrong. You think the world revolves around you and you don’t want to listen to anyone who says otherwise.”

He chuckled, but his amusement was only surface deep. Generally speaking, he didn’t care if someone labeled him a devil because in his experience, he was far more suited to reign in hell than serve in heaven. But her venom surprised him. Clearly, she wanted to punish him for something. Not that he hadn’t done enough to warrant such bile but he’d at least like to know from which direction the ire was spitting. “I’m flattered,” he said, enjoying how his control caused her to get carelessly brash. Usually, that was his M.O. Watching someone else suffer from the same driving emotion was enlightening. Now he knew why Nolan was always telling him to calm down. “What’s your name?” he asked. She glared at him, buttoning her lip. He shrugged. “Okay, play hard to get but you’re not the only one with Google fu, little dove. Better yet, I pay people to find me answers. I’ll have your name, your social security number, your address, and if you currently owe any parking tickets within a day and your little show of defiance will get you nothing but my irritation for wasting my time.”

“Let me go. You can’t legally hold me.” He grinned and she startled, openly wary. “What’s so funny? Not even you are above the law.”

Vince dropped his smile. “You’d be surprised what I find myself above
and
below these days. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, you’ll find a marked difference in my hospitality. Pray you don’t push me beyond my limits of control.”

Her eyes widened and he realized they were a deep shade of blue. “Are you holding me hostage?” she gasped.

“Depends on how you look at it,” he replied. “I prefer to consider you a guest while we sort out this mess you’ve put yourself into.”

“A guest who can’t leave,” she added and he shrugged again. “That’s a prisoner.”

“Well, as cages go, I’d say this is more uptown than the usual fare.”

“A cage no matter how gilded, remains a cage.”

Vince allowed his mouth to curve and his stare to linger on the faint rounded swell of her breasts, knowing she would find his perusal discomforting. But as soon as her cheeks whitened and her fingers tightened with fear and uncertainty, he backed down, though he didn’t know why. This was the time when he ought to use her fear against her to get the answers he sought. But the idea left a bitter taste and he discarded it quickly. He didn’t need to use fear. He had other weapons at his disposal. He gestured to the food. “You should eat. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal and need your strength. If you’d prefer something else, name it and I’ll have it delivered.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Liar. You’re practically eyeball-fucking that piece of chicken. Swallow your pride and eat for Christ’s sake. The last thing I need is you keeling over in a faint like a Victorian lady with her stays too tight.”

“And why do you care so much about me?” she asked, regarding him as one would a predator with wary caution. Vince swallowed a laugh. She was smart to give him a wide berth. He was known to bite. “You don’t even know me.”

“True enough but you’re going to help me find who did this to you because no one pulls this shit in my club.
No one
.”

She shivered and lifted her chin. “And why would I help you?”

“Beyond the common thread of human kindness?” He laughed when she graced him with a sour look. “Well, can’t fault a guy for asking. But to answer your question, you’re going to help me because I’m going to make it worth your while. I will pay you for your assistance.”

“Do you Buchanans throw money at
every
problem?” she asked, disgust leaching into her tone from an unknown source. Did she hold a personal bias against wealth? It wasn’t uncommon but Vince couldn’t imagine how breaking into his club would’ve assuaged her bias in some way. “I hate to break it to you, not everyone can be bought.”

Vince stepped forward and gripped her chin firmly, eliciting a shocked gasp from her gently parted lips. His cock stirred at the most inopportune moment and he had to shove all indecent thoughts from his brain before he did something he regretted more than he regretted purchasing a bar in Philly for sentimental reasons. “Darling, everyone has a price…even you. And I shall enjoy discovering what it will take to bend you to my will.”

She held his stare but her eyes watered as she hissed, “Go. To. Hell.”

He released her chin and walked away. “Already there, little dove. Already there.”

Emma stared at the chicken and her mouth watered, betraying her hunger but she wouldn’t eat
his
food. She might’ve totally failed in her mission but that didn’t mean she had to play the happy, coddled prisoner, slurping up his supposed generosity like a lapcat sucking up milk. She plucked at the fine linens, wondering how many women he’d bedded on this very mattress and shuddered in disgust, hating him and men like him who thought they could have whatever they wanted by throwing money at it. Tears burned behind her eyes and she clenched her fists into tight balls to keep from bawling in despair. What was she going to do? First, she needed to get out of this place, which meant, the IV had to go. She carefully pulled the tape securing the IV line from her wrist and then squeezed her eyes shut as she slid the needle free from her vein. A spurt of blood followed and she quickly pressed down on the vein, grimacing as a brief flash of pain followed. Her body protested with sharp agony as she climbed from the bed but she breathed against the onslaught, determined to find a way out of this place. Vince Buchanan could not keep her if she didn’t want to stay. And she planned to walk right out that front door, whether she was dressed or not.

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 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?”

“I can think of a few things,” Laird said, his voice lowering with suggestion and she grimaced. He shrugged. “Can’t fault a guy for trying. Unlike Vince, I prefer my women a little less prickly. Besides, you seem the type who has their legs screwed tight at the knee.”

Her cheeks flared. “That was rude,” she said, lifting her chin. “And you seem the kind of man who will die of a raging STD before you’re thirty-five.”

“I did catch gonorrhea once,” he admitted as if it were no big deal to admit such a thing when Emma would’ve been horrified and taken that information to her grave if it were her. “But that’s the beauty of doctors and their meds. Cleared it right up. I did learn a valuable lesson —
 
no glove, no love. And I stick to it.”