Declan's Demand

“You should have gone out with me. Made it easier.” His lips curl and my stomach heaves. His persistence at the coffee shop makes sense.

“Jason, why are you doing this?”

Eyes rake down my body and I curl inward, clutching the silk between my sweaty palms. Oh, how I wish I could disappear into the steel frame of the car. He’s mad because I rejected him. I guess this is karma playing a cruel joke on me.

“My boss wants to talk to you. If you do what he says, maybe I can help you out of this mess.”

I snort. Great—another man who thinks he can help me. Jason raises his hand, aiming for me. I flinch, waiting for the h

it that doesn’t come.

“Lucky for you, we’re here.”

He stops the car in front of a brick townhouse and throws his keys to a thick guy in a suit waiting out front.

I turn, viewing the house with tall windows, black shutters, and iron scrollwork that looks imposing in the moonlight. The door swings open and he grabs me, pulling me out of the car. My legs scrape against pavement. Unable to give up, I kick and scream, clawing his arm as he drags me inside.

“No sense of self-preservation with this one?” the suit chuckles, ignoring my pleas.

“Nope. Good thing the boss likes a fight.” Jason hauls me up. This will be the second time I’ve been tossed over a shoulder, except this time leaves me fearful for my life. All Declan ever did was spank me and leave me limp with orgasms that ruined me. I’ve somehow justified his actions and forgiven him already. That was immensely preferable to what is happening now.

From upside down, I glance around the neighborhood worth millions of dollars, but nobody opens their door and nobody peeks through windows curtains with curiosity. It’s as if they all know it’s worse to get involved than it is to ignore it.

“Let’s go, bitch.” He carries me up the steps and into a the house.

My resistance means little when I see the thugs with concealed weapons under their jackets. He brings me to a study, dropping me to the floor. The fall jars me. I try to get up but he kicks at me, landing a good shot on my ankle and making me cry, and another on my ass, pushing me over to my shoulder and bruising that too.

“That’s enough, Jason. I’d like to meet with our guest privately.”

I glance up at a man who is handsome until he speaks. Cruelty lines his face. Jason—my kidnapper—leaves me alone.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I’m your worst nightmare if you don’t do exactly as I tell you to.”

He doesn’t bother answering my question.

“I’m Sydney,” I tell him, hoping it will humanize me in some way.

“I know who you are, Miss Meadows, and I don’t really give a shit, except I’m the one your father owes money.”

I swallow back my tears and forget begging or offering my body. I tried that once and was summarily rejected.

“I’m trying to get the money. I’m looking for another job. Please. I just need time. I need a little more time.”

He nods and rubs a finger along the smooth wood of his desk. I square my shoulders, hoping he won’t find a use for that desk like Declan would.

“I understand you went to visit my old friend Declan at his club.”

This is Andre LeHavre. Punishing. Unforgiving. Declan’s oldest friend and longest rival.

“Yes, sir.” My head hangs down and my eyes trace the pattern of red-and-navy spirals in the carpet underneath me.

“And did Declan Natas offer to help you?”

I swallow my words. “No. No he didn’t.”

LeHavre walks around me and taps his chin. He looks me up and down, eyes narrow. “Declan stole something from me.”