“Then she should have stayed home to wash her hair tonight.” I straighten my shoulders and stalk toward the stage, my eyes never leaving my prey caught under my spell. Her hips sway in time to the music and her body reveals slim lines barely covered in garish red silk and lace that reveal far more than it possibly conceals. A blood-red corseted bustier cups small breasts, not quite a handful for me, but sufficient to get the job done. Breasts are still breasts, and her nipples peeking between taught floral lace beg for my attention. A scrap of pathetic silk covers her mound, visible under the sheer skirt that’s nothing more than a joke. Matching garters in red complete her ensemble, with heeled navy patent pumps that buckle at her delicate ankles. The contrast between red and navy make me think of a schoolgirl at detention. I rub my thumb across my lips to stop myself from speaking and wanting to touch the indentation of her ankle.
God, I dream of fucking her raw in those shoes until she cries for mercy that will never come.
Yes, Sydney Meadows is in a shitload of trouble with me, and nothing—not even God—can save her from my wrath. My cock presses against my suit pants and I run a tired hand through my hair and over my face and chin, deciding her fate.
I ask her the most obvious question: “Just what am I to do with you, Miss Meadows?” The song continues to play and I take a dangerous step toward her, ready to pull her down into a hell of my own creation.
She leans in and uses her hand to tap my chest. “Knock, knock, Declan.”
I smell the faint odor of alcohol and sweet mint. I think she’s drunk, maybe buzzed by the pupils in her eyes. Yeah, she’s light years away from heaven’s door as her lips pout, same shade of fuck-me red as her lace, and I haul her ass off the stage, angry with myself more than her at this point.
“Infuriating little imp.” I pick up her jacket from the floor, letting it whip and hit my thigh, castigating myself. I grab her by the arm, marching Sydney off the stage and right down a hallway that leads deeper into the club. Men jeer and boo as I steal their entertainment for the evening.
Too fucking bad for them.
“Oww! You’re hurting me.” She struggles to break free, hopping after me.
“Good—it’s no less than you deserve, showing up here painted like a little whore fresh from the corner,” I grit between my pressed lips, attempting to keep my cool until we’re out of sight of the club floor.
She snorts and I turn so fast she bumps into my chest, almost falling back until I catch her.
“I’m not a whore,” she mumbles, but the shame of being here is in her eyes and stains her cheeks.
“No? You’re certainly drunk,” I muse. If I’m hurting her, that will be the least of her worries tonight, because her luck has run out.
She gasps, pulling away and knocking into the wall. “I’m not drunk. I had one shot.”
I grab her by the back of her neck, squeezing none too gently. “You play in my house, Sydney, you play by my rules.”
Her legs tangle, nearly tripping her as I throw her over my shoulder, stopping her struggles with a swift spank to her virtually bare ass. Her ass is aimed at the room for all the salivating dogs to admire, pissing me off when it’s mine. I toss Sidney into my office, slamming the door behind us and blocking out the catcalls still coming from the stage. My heart pounds in my chest. I’m out of breath from the excitement of the chase hunting her down. Her jacket lands against the wall, falling to the floor in a heap like her dignity will be when I’m finished with it. She might have won this round, but I will win the war.
Chapter Four
Sydney
I stumble back from Declan’s iron grip. He’s laser focused, staring me down, and I gulp back a smartass reply. I’m nothing but a newborn deer trying to get away from the predator on weak legs while my brain short circuits from his crisp masculine smell. I feebly attempt to cover my bits, barely covered by lace, as I gain my footing. My ankle turns and I wince, righting myself. Clearly this is a mistake, but I’m here and with no options left.
“What the hell did you think was going to happen?” he whisper-shouts, gritting his teeth, fists clenching.
I wait for him to slam his hand against something, but he doesn’t. If he were an animal, I imagine him tearing into me, ripping flesh with each word that cuts me deep. He’s stunning in his anger, and despite my mixture of fear and desire I bite back my smile of admiration, which he won’t appreciate in the heat of the moment.
“Answer me Sydney,” he growls.
“I-I…” I stutter, having nothing of substance to say beyond getting his undivided attention—which, now that I have it, I have no idea what to do with. I’m hopeless. I try to think what Selma would do, but I can’t because this is completely out of my element. The shot of alcohol I drank earlier for courage bubbles in my stomach.
“Nothing to say?” Declan paces his office, running both hands through his hair—maybe so he doesn’t touch me instead.
I left Dad’s house after checking up on him to come here when a group of guys showed up wanting money. They banged on the door, demanding a down payment that neither of us had. Foolishly, I helped Dad lumber out the back door and I hid inside the house. Crouching down in my old bedroom closet isn’t the way I pictured my life going, sweat dripping between my breasts and staining the borrowed silk outfit I wore as my chest heaved in the dark with worry. They trashed the house, luckily not finding me. I barely escaped before shoving a handful of miniature tequila bottles in my purse.
“Please don’t hurt me.” I don’t know where those words come from, except that the men from the house frightened me—not that I expected sympathy or Declan to care.
“I’m going to do more than hurt you, pretty girl. What the fuck were you thinking coming in here in that getup, dancing on my stage in my club full of men eager to drill you into the wall?” His chest heaves as he takes a step closer.
His heat emanates through his crisp black dress shirt barely open at the collar. My mouth waters, cleansing the taste of tequila from my mouth in a burning desire to taste him. His chest is covered by a three-buttoned suit vest like armor, but I know Declan Natas is no shining white knight come to save me. He is the all-consuming darkness ready to decimate and corrupt what’s left of me. My legs rub together, feeling the slip of silk between my legs, and shamefully I’m turned on by his rough voice and disappointment in me. I’m so tired of being good, always good, and for what?
Nothing.
I had no idea what I thought beyond saving my only remaining family member from certain death or dismemberment.