Page 66 of Forbidden Daddy
Fear burned into fury. These weren’t just Roman’s men—they were good people. Loyal people. And Declan had slaughtered them like they meant nothing.
I counted his steps behind me. Seventeen paces from Joey’s body to the main entrance. The gun never wavered from the center of my back, but I could hear the subtle change in his breathing. He was getting excited now, anticipating the endgame.
My bare feet found the marble tiles of the foyer, and I saw two more bodies near the front doors. Security guards who’d probably never had a chance to draw their weapons. The metallic smell of blood mixed with something else—something chemical and sharp that made my nostrils burn.
Gasoline.
"You’re going to burn it down," I said, the realization hitting me like ice water.
"This should’ve been mine," Declan said, his voice carrying fifteen years of poisoned resentment. "All of it. The house, the business, the respect. Patrick promised me everything, and his golden boy son threw it away chasing legitimacy."
We stopped near the entrance, and I could see the dark stains on the marble where gasoline had already been splashed across the walls and furniture. Declan had been planning this for hours, methodically soaking the mansion in accelerant while Roman was away.
"If I can’t have it," he continued, "no one can."
This was my chance. He was distracted, lost in his twisted justifications. I counted backward from three in my head, then spun around and raked my nails across his face.
Declan screamed as my fingernails found his eyes, drawing blood that ran down his cheek like crimson tears. The gun wavered for just a second, and I bolted toward the staircase.
I made it exactly seven steps before his hand closed around my hair.
The pain was instant and vicious as he yanked me backward, my scalp screaming in protest. I fought like a wildcat, clawing and kicking, but Declan was bigger, stronger, and absolutely furious.
"You little bitch," he snarled, and then the gun butt connected with my temple.
The world exploded into stars and static. My knees buckled, and I felt myself falling toward the marble floor like a stone dropped from a great height.
Blackness closed in around the edges of my vision, and the last thing I heard was Declan’s voice, cold and satisfied: "Sweet dreams, princess."
I woketo the sharp sting of gasoline fumes burning my nostrils.
My head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and when I tried to move, my wrists scraped against rough rope. I was tied to one of the dining room chairs, the same chairs where I’d sat through strategy meetings and family dinners, watching Roman command his empire with quiet authority.
Now this room, too, reeked of accelerant, and Declan moved through it like a ghost, methodically splashing gasoline across the mahogany table, the expensive artwork, the hand-carved Celtic symbols that spoke of generations of Creed family history.
"You’re awake," he said without turning around. "Good. I want you to be conscious for this."
My tongue felt thick in my mouth, and it took three tries to form words. "Roman will kill you for this."
"Roman will watch everything he loves burn," Declan corrected, setting down the empty gas can with deliberate care. "Then he’ll beg me for mercy while I put a bullet in his head."
He pulled out his phone, and I watched him scroll through the contacts with the casual efficiency of a man making dinner reservations. When he found Roman’s number, he pressed the speaker and set the device on the table in front of me.
It rang twice before Roman’s voice filled the room, tight with tension and barely controlled rage.
"Declan."
"Hello, Roman." Declan’s tone was pleasant, conversational. "I have something that belongs to you. I trust you’re on your way."
Silence stretched across the connection, and I could picture Roman’s face—the way his jaw would clench, the cold calculation that would settle into his blue eyes.
"Let me talk to her," Roman said finally.
Declan gestured to the phone. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Tell your fiancé how much you’ve missed him."
"Roman." My voice came out cracked and raw, but I forced strength into it. "I’m okay. Don’t?—"
"That’s enough." Declan pulled the phone back. "You for her, Roman. No games. No negotiations. No backup. Just you, alone, or I turn this place into a bonfire with her inside it."
