Page 69 of Declan

A video of me.

Of me back when I was young, dumb, and desperate.

“Where did you get that?”

“What does that matter?”

He has a point, but that doesn’t change the fact I want to know, so I ask again, “Who the fuck gave that to you?”

He presses the button on the side of the phone, and the screen goes black, then he puts it back in his pocket as he replies, “I think you have bigger things to worry about right now, babe. Like how you’re going to keep me from posting that video all over the internet.”

“As if preventing you from being a slimy douchebag is even a remote possibility,” I mutter, going back to stuffing papers into my briefcase.

He slams his fist down on the top of my desk, and I jump, then look up at him as he yells, “That fucking mouth is gonna get you in trouble, you stupid bitch.”

I give him a bland look, refusing to be cowed by him, but then he says, “I’m not going to let you get in the way of me keeping Issa, not after all I’ve done to make sure she can never leave me.”

I narrow my eyes at him, the implications behind his words clear.

“So, you’ve been blackmailing Issa this entire time?” I ask quietly, rage boiling up inside me at the thought of Issa staying with this dirtbag because of me. “She only stayed with you because she thought she needed to protect me?”

He smirks at me but says nothing, and I inhale deeply through my nose, then reply clearly, “Go ahead and release it. I don’t care.”

He frowns, obviously surprised by my response, so I add, “You can leave the same way you came in.”

His eyes narrow, his expression turning ugly, and he snarls, “I don’t fucking think so. One way or another, you’re going to fix this.”

“Not a fucking chance,” I sneer. “You can go right to hell.”

No sooner than the words are out of my mouth then he’s over the desk, his hands gripping my head viciously as he attempts to pull me up onto the desk.

It takes me a second to respond, my initial shock that he so quickly opted for violence delaying my fight response, but then I react, using gravity to my advantage as I let my body go limp.

He scrambles to keep his grip on my head, but he lacks the leverage from his position across my desk, and I manage to yank my long hair free, scurrying away as he lunges for me.

I get my feet under me, and I’m halfway to the door before my legs are taken out by a crushing weight, and then I’m pressed face-first into the carpet with his body sprawled over me.

I buck beneath him, attempting to throw him off, but it’s to no avail, so I lie under him motionless, waiting for him to say or do something.

He stretches out on top of me, his hot breath against my neck, and I shiver in disgust as he brushes his nose along my neck. I refuse to respond; instead, choosing to lie there like a limp rag, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of giving him the fight he obviously wants.

He presses his hips into me, and I feel his cock poking me in the ass, and this time, I shiver in revulsion, swallowing down the bile that automatically rises in my throat as he taunts, “You like that, don’t you?”

I jerk my head back, catching him in a glancing blow on his cheek, and he curses, then slaps the side of my face awkwardly. It stings, and my eyes water slightly, but I blink it away and hiss, “You even hit like a pussy.”

He stills over me, and I momentarily rethink my impulsive decision to antagonize him, but then I remember what a spineless piece of shit he is, and I add, “I bet the only way you get your dick wet is by coercion and force. No woman in her right mind would touch your limp dick otherwise.”

He grabs the hair at the back of my head, yanking my head up and shoving his fingers into my mouth as he shouts, “Shut your fucking mouth, you dumb cunt.”

I allow him to gag me for a few moments, and then I bite down as hard as I can, enjoying the feel of his joints grinding beneath my teeth. I’m disappointed when he manages to yank them free before I can do any real damage.

He shakes his hand, his focus momentarily distracted, and I use the opening to thrash beneath him, finally managing to set him off balance so he goes toppling to the side.

I roll onto my back, kicking out at him, but I’m a moment too slow, and he jumps on me again, this time straddling my chest. I kick my legs and buck my hips up, but he doesn’t budge, so once again, I stop fighting and lie there, breathing heavily.

“Get off me, asshole,” I spit out, my chest heaving from fighting him.

His hand grabs onto my neck, and I barely have time to take in a breath before he squeezes. My hands come up to pull at his wrists. He doesn’t let up, and I buck my hips in an attempt to throw him off, scratching at his hand and then his face, but he doesn’t flinch.

---