Declan's Demand

I remember kneeling on the carpet shoulder to shoulder, my joints aching in fear with my best friend as we took an oath to our fathers—and again when his shot mine.

LeHavre is fucking with me.

The asshole has been my rival since grammar school. We competed in everything—booze, school, girls—and now that we’ve both taken over our father’s rival businesses, the rivalry continues. This gesture, this trussed-up carpet, is a complication I tried to rid myself of several times already.

Sydney Meadows simply will not go away. The girl is unable to take a strong hint. She has this steely and admirable if not pain-in-the-ass resolve. Maybe next time I need to work out a deal, I’ll call her to negotiate—because I’m wrapped around her little finger by her wet pussy, blue eyes, and sweet lips.

Who am I kidding? She’s been mine since the moment she walked into my club and the second I finger-fucked her into subspace before cruelly kicking her to the curb unwanted. In hindsight, I might have taken back the kicking her out part and just fucked her to my devilish heart’s content. She’s been in my system like a virus. This rolled-up carpet is a Trojan horse and I know I’m going to regret ignoring my gut instinct. LeHavre doesn’t do anything without a cross purpose, and the fucker is sicker than I am, with a certifiable diagnosis.

“You can’t take it back?” Turning to my second in command, the question falls on deaf ears and rain picks up its tempo on the concrete. I exhale the burdens sitting heavy on my shoulders, looking at Neil, who shrugs. The water from an overflowing puddle rushes into the end of the carpet. I can’t imagine it’s at all comfortable, especially if she’s conscious inside there. If the water collects much more, she’ll drown inside the damn thing or have hypothermia.

Neil kneels down into the puddle, pushing at the rolled-up body. It doesn’t move and it doesn’t make a sound.

“It was a gift. The boys found it at the warehouse gate and brought it up here thinking you’d want to check it out before tossing it back.”

My curiosity gets the better of me. Does she hate me for what I did? Does she hate that I rejected her? I guess there is only one way to find out.

If I give back whatever is inside, I’m giving her a death sentence. Rejected gifts go to the broken toy pile, no longer worthy of consideration. LeHavre doesn’t play well with others. Whatever this little present did to end up on my doorstep in a final act of mercy, its fate now rests on me.

“All right, let’s unwrap this thing and get it over with.” I pull the gun out from my holster and cock it. I don’t need any more strays begging for leniency they don’t deserve, but I also don’t need surprises or loose ends.

“Seriously, Dec?” Neil motions to my gun and I shrug.

“Hurry up,” I tell him.

Neil kicks the ends of the carpet hard, and it rolls out several feet with the inner tube getting thinner and thinner. It stops with a thwap-thwap-thwap sound in the rain, revealing Sydney.

The cop’s daughter.

His very naked and unconscious daughter.

“Shit.” Neil leans down, checking Sidney’s pulse.

Whatever happened between us, she didn’t deserve this. It’s one thing for me to strip away her dignity in a crude lesson, but for Andre to do this infuriates me. He has no right to her, even if he holds her father’s debts.

“Is she…?” If it’s bad, it’s my fault, but really how much worse could it be?

“Steady pulse, could be drugs.” He continues brushing hair off her neck, exposing more delicate skin marred with bruises. The girl needed more vitamins or a bloody steak the way she bruised so easily.

“Could be?”

“A doctor would have to confirm it.”

I nod. “All right, we’ll call one.” I haven’t moved from the stoop. Her stillness keeps me frozen in place as the rain begins to fall harder, slapping her bare skin.

“Jesus Christ, Dec.”

Neil g

ives her body a cursory check, running his hands down her limbs, and I’m about to jump down and tackle my brother to stop him from touching her. The only thing that stops me from giving into the overprotective wave of irrational emotions is that I can’t be seen giving in to the impulse. I don’t know who is watching us, and I will not have some slip of a girl suddenly becoming my Achilles’ heel, no matter how I feel about her.

“Her skin is cold to the touch.”

I grumble, “No shit Sherlock.”

Her pale, luminescent, wet, and nearly blue skin begs to be rubbed pink with warmth. A war within me rages. I want to spank her, caress her. Most of all I want her blue eyes to look at me with defiance, to give me a reason to keep going.

Neil shakes his head and continues his unnecessary appraisal of Sydney.