Declan's Demand

“Oh my god.” Better than naked but not by much.

“God had nothing to do with it, dear girl. I dressed you, and let me say you have quite the offering.” He finishes his drink, letting the glass clink on the table. His brows wiggle over his fathomless dark eyes. “I think I’d like to renegotiate.”

Of course he would.

Declan is a devil.

“I don’t recall that being on the table.” I remind him how well that worked out, but he smiles with a grin that reaches from ear to ear like he’s holding onto some secret. “Last time you kicked me out of your club and then out of church.”

“Yes, a bit hasty, I’m afraid. You see, I wasn’t fully aware of everything you were offering, and let’s be honest: what happened in church was your fault.”

“My fault…” I lean up, prepared to jump out of the bed and leave wherever the heck it is that I am. If I get a good punch into his smug face first, I won’t say no to that, either.

“Mmm,” he intones, amused, with his arms crossed and leaning casually against the wall.

“And now what?” I slap a hand on the mattress.

“Well, now I’m interested.” He cocks his head in my direction. “Also—you’re in my bed.” He points at me.

I roll my eyes. I can’t deny I’m attracted to him, but I’m not sure I can stomach more of these mercurial mood swings of his.

“Well, I’m not offering.” I had stopped viewing it an offer when he threw it back in my face.

“Tsk, tsk,” he chides, shaking his head. “Lying doesn’t become you, pretty girl.”

No, it doesn’t. It also doesn’t explain how I ended up here in Declan’s house. My mouth opens to ask, but he answers for me.

“Seems a mutual friend left you on my doorstep giftwrapped. All you were missing was a pretty little bow.” He paces the room, waiting for an answer. “Care to explain how that happened?”

It comes back to me vividly.

Pounding on my door wakes me from a groggy sleep. On autopilot, I stick my arms in a short silky robe and answer the door. At some point I changed my clothes, but don’t remember when.

I crack the door open, leaning on it, keeping my half-clothed body from view. “Hi, what are you doing here? Is Selma okay?” I let him inside, relieved it’s not my dad, Puthe, or Declan.

Jason pushes me inside. “You need to stop asking about my boss, Sydney.”

“Y-your boss?” Jason’s no longer friendly or flirting. I’m filled with dread.

“Yeah, because now he’s asking about you. Says he wants to meet you, get a good look at the girl that’s got Natas acting like a fool. Let’s go.”

“I-I don’t think—”I try to shake and will myself away. It doesn’t work.

“That’s the problem. You didn’t think.” He jerks my arm, pulling me behind him and out of the building. My fingers grab his arm and my legs hop to keep up with his stride.

I back against the door in horror.

“Jason, what’s going on?”

Nobody comes outside to check on me, and nobody stops him when he pushes me inside his car. So much for the neighborhood watch.

“Time to pay up, Sydney.” He grabs me, propelling me forward by my loose hair. His fingers snarl in the strands and he smashes his open mouth against mine, shoving his cigarette-and-coffee-tasting tongue inside. I gag and bite back, earning a slap that makes my ears ring.

“No!”

Fooled by Jason’s once kind green eyes, I now see them as twisty and manipulating. He drives fast, cutting turns as I’m slammed against the doorframe. I may not have to worry about meeting his boss if I’m dead before then.

Jason turns up the music, a punk rock band that screams more than it sings, and he slaps his hand on the steering wheel.