Vadim: Corrupt
A Club XXX Novel: Book Five
Lana Sky
Also by Lana Sky
The Ellie Gray Chronicles
Drain Me
Chain Me
Beautiful Monsters
Crescendo
Refrain
Mezzo
Allegro
XXX
Maxim: Submit
Maxim: Obey
Maxim: Surrender
Vadim: Control
Vadim: Corrupt
Vadim: Conquer
Savage Fall Duet
King’s Men
King’s Horses
The War of Roses
XV: (Fifteen)
VII: (Seven)
I: (One)
Painted Sin
A Touch of Dark
A Taste like Sin
Standalones
Pretty Perfect
Crossed Lines
Moth
Dragonfly
Moth
Rockstar Rebels
Dirty Lyrics
Corrupt
Corrupt By Lana Sky
Copyright © 2020 by Lana Sky
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design and Interior Formatting by Charity Chimni
Proofreading by Charity Chimni
Acknowledgments
Thanks so much to everyone who supported this draft along the way, including the many beta readers who provided encouragement along the way! Please keep in mind that this story includes dark, graphic, and explicit content matter that is not suitable for readers under the age of 18—or for readers who are uncomfortable with the following subject matter: explicit sex, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of child abuse, graphic depictions of violence, and mentions of self-harm.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
A Word from the Author
About the Author
Also by Lana Sky
Chapter One
There is a reason why, when most people climb from their rock bottom, they tend to promise themselves some variation of—never again. Never will they reach that low point again, and especially not at the whims of someone else.
Only a fool like me would promptly forget those internal vows the second they fall for a pretty face with a nice wallet. And incredible sex. That’s the hurtful part—in exchange for a few welcomed distractions, Vadim Gorgoshev made me disregard my list.
My creed.
And I fully deserve the reality bitch-slap coming my way. Ironically, said slap is delivered in the form of a child so beautiful it almost hurts to look at her head-on. With every passing second, I’m reminded of the man standing nearby who manipulated me into this position.
And deep down, I know that I can’t even truly be angry with him.
Not when I’m the idiot who failed myself.
“I’m so glad that you and Magdalene can finally meet in person,” a dark-haired woman standing in the doorway says warmly. I vaguely remember her name as being Ms. Anderson—the subject of one of Vadim’s so-called “business meetings.” Now, her real identity is painfully clear as she places her hand on the girl’s shoulder and urges her forward with a gentle nudge—social worker. “Say hello, Magda,” she prompts.
Magda. A creature so small, her limbs are more delicately shaped than even Vadim’s. Pale skin enhances her frailty—gosh, she really could be a living doll. A doll dressed in hand-me-downs. I recognize the ill-fitting shape of her simple black shirt and gray skirt—an anomaly I file away for later. Looking at her, it’s hard to focus on anything else but the unease setting my face on fire.
A thin headband restrains a mass of wayward curls, but stubborn strands have slipped through anyway to frame her cherub cheeks. Curls every bit as stubborn as her frown. It’s like looking at a mini-Vadim, scowling at the world, mistrustful and calculating. Even of her father, it seems. Her eyes flicker over him, devoid of recognition, and confusion mingles with the anger building beneath my skin.
“Magda…” Vadim’s voice is a rasp that tugs at something inside me, even as fury simmers hot. He takes a step forward and extends his hand only to let it fall when she crosses her arms—deliberately, I suspect. “Welcome,” he grates, letting his hands dangle uselessly at his sides. His eyes dart around the room as if hunting for anything he could direct the conversation to. Lost, he stammers. “Welcome home. I mean, welcome to—”
“It’s okay,” Ms. Anderson says gently, displaying the patience that I assume comes with her profession. “We hope this will be a great home for her, too. Care to show us around?”
“Of course.” Vadim lurches into motion, guiding them through the lower level. Like a sleepwalker, I find myself straggling behind them, watching. Lurking.
It’s selfish—I know it is—but my brain plays a horrible game. It takes the features of that beautiful little girl and taunts me with who her mother might be. What she looks like. Someone so alluring that a man as tormented as Vadim took an interest in her. He was careless with her. He trusted her with his child.
A child whom, as of five minutes ago, I didn’t even know existed.
I stare as they move in a stiff, awkward progression through this clinical, sterile mansion. Magda’s appearance alone creates a stark contrast that makes her absence from Vadim’s life painfully apparent. Nothing from the color scheme to the sleek architecture lends itself to the idea of a child visiting, let alone living here. But does she? I recall one word Ms. Anderson stated, and my perception is turned upside down for a second time—placement. As in adoption?
No one offers up any other explanation. As the small procession makes its way into the kitchen, Ms. Anderson abruptly turns back to the foyer. “I think I’ll step out for a minute,” she says with a small smile. “I’ll grab some paperwork from the car, and you three can use this time to get acquainted.”
She leaves, and “us three” take up various positions across the kitchen like opposing generals in a silent war. Vadim hovers near the dining table, his expression stricken. He can’t seem to take his eyes off her, Magda. She stands by the bar counter, her arms crossed, her eyes suspiciously narrow.
Gosh, seeing the two
