Page 25 of Corrupt: XXX Vadim 2
Maxim falters, his body deflating as shock disrupts his furious features. He blinks, looking from Vadim, to Magda, and then me.
“You sick son of a bitch,” he says incredulously. “You think this is a family? Where did you find her, huh?” He jerks his chin at Magda. “Off the fucking street? Did you kidnap her too—” He breaks off, and I have a sinking suspicion why. Magda, from the safety of Vadim’s arms, glanced at him fearfully, turning far enough that he could see her face. A near mirror image ofVadim’sface.
I can’t describe the expression that befalls him next. As if struck, he staggers back a step, his massive body swaying before he manages to right himself, his gaze puzzled.
“Get out,” Vadim snarls. “Now, so help me God. Don’t make me resort to other methods.Leave.”
Maxim’s nostrils flare as his lips open and close wordlessly. Then, without so much as a parting threat, he turns and barrels through the remains of the door.
“Ena,” Vadim calls the second his brother disappears from view.
The stout bodyguard enters the foyer as if conjured from thin air, his expression gruff. “NowI secure perimeter?” he asks in his halting drawl. Simmering anger laces his tone, and I suspect I’m witnessing the tail end of an argument. Something to do with the property and securing it. Maxim had been able to waltz right through the front door—because Vadim had intentionally kept his security at bay?
Whatever his reasons for doing so, I assume they’ve quickly changed. “Yes,” he says with a nod. “No one comes close without you handling them personally.”
Ena nods and puffs up, satisfied. He crosses over to the remains of the door and inspects the damage. The confidence with which he does so makes me suspect that intervening after a violent situation isn’t exactly an unusual occurrence for him.
Vadim steps back, moving toward the kitchen. His voice reaches me, a soothing, persistent hum that chokes my heart.
“Chut, ma douce fille,” he murmurs, stroking Magda’s dark hair. “Tout va bien. Tu es en sécurité…”
He rocks her against him with such a gentle motion that I doubt he’s even aware of it. She clings to him, her face in his chest, her tiny hands gripping him so tightly her knuckles are white.
He continues to speak to her in French until she finally draws back and wiggles free of his grasp. Her face is beet red, I notice as she turns and marches past me, storming up the stairs. A second later, presumably, her bedroom door slams shut, the thud resonating throughout the house.
“I’ll kill him,” Vadim says, but his tone is far too serious. He means it.
Thinking quickly, I approach him and lace my fingers through his hair, planting my lips against his collar. “No, you won’t.” I smooth my hands down his front and finger the very end of his tie. “You’re going to help me make lunch for Magda. Then you’re going to have Ena secure the property, hmm? And later, you will think of ahumaneway to confront your brother.”
He stiffens. Cautiously, I feel his fingers sink through my hair as his arm encircles my waist, holding me close.
“Oui—yes,” he says, his accent thick. I file away another quirk of his for later reflection—he switches to French when overwhelmed, or protective, which gives a greater semblance to the words he murmured to me the other night.Tell me you’ll stay with me. That I can give you what you need, oui?
Overwhelmed, I draw back and turn my attention to the freezer. “Nuggets, or broccoli and cheese shaped like dinosaurs? Which do you think she’d like?”
He makes a low sound in his throat as he inspects his options. “I never was a fan of food crafted to look like other forms of food,” he says skeptically.
“Nuggets, it is!” I hand him the container to heat up while I head for the stairs, skirting Ena, who found a set of tools from somewhere and is working on the door with vigor.
My heart skips as I approach Magda’s room though I’m not sure why. Perhaps because I’m breaking another one of my impromptu rules—stay out of this. Let Vadim get to know his daughter in peace, no matter how awkward a process it might turn out to be.
So much for that.
“Magda?” I gather the nerve to knock on her door and gingerly push it open.
A sweet, soft melody drifts out. Halting. A song? The foreign words are uttered with meticulous care. French? It has to be. Every syllable is pronounced in an accent fitting enough to match Vadim’s—but overly careful as if parroted rather than fluent mastery of the language. Lost in concentration, she’s standing on the window seat, her hands braced against the window while her bear sits propped against her feet. She sings mindlessly while scanning the horizon with such an inquisitive expression I stop short.
She goes rigid and whips around to face me, her eyes narrowing. The song dies mid-phrase, and she crosses her arms once more.
“Can I help you?” she asks, her tone shrill but polite.
“Are you settling in okay?” I warily step inside the room. Her suitcase is open, various items strewn across the bed. A few pieces of clothing, a worn looking leather-bound book, and another stuffed animal, though one lacking the signs of surgery that It sports. Beside the lot is a small pink carrying case that looks as though it’s seen better days.
The moment my eyes settle on it, Magda jumps from the window seat and crosses to the bed. Meeting my gaze, she deliberately grabs her belongings and shoves them back into the suitcase, slamming it shut.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Thanks.”
“Okay.” I force a smile and turn for the door. “We’ll be just downstairs, and we made lunch—”
