Page 111 of Captive Audience
ASHA
As soon as Torin left, I scanned the crowd for Rook.
Since my arrival, the crowd had grown, and I had to peer through gaps between people to spot him talking to Orla and Aidan near the bar.
“Well, if it isn’t little Miss Sparks,” a man called out behind me.
Every nerve ending screamed before my brain caught up. The scent of cigarette smoke and beer, the too-loud TV in the motel room next door, a faded duvet.
Greg Holbrook.
My blood turned to ice.
He stepped in front of me. “I don’t believe it. Of all the places to run into you.”
I hadn’t seen him in years, but my body remembered everything.
His rough, greedy hands shoving under my skirt and yanking at my panties, him forcing himself inside me.
I’d told him to stop. Tried to push him away. But he’d been too strong, and I’d panicked.
Once I’d realized I couldn’t escape, I’d just…quit fighting. Shut my eyes. Gone someplace else until he was done with me.
“What are you doing here?” I hated how scared I sounded. I needed to toughenthe fuck up.
He ran his tongue across his upper lip, and a shiver of revulsion crawled down my spine. “Used my connections to land an invite. I heard Torin Lynch himself is supposed to make an appearance. He’s a tough man to pin down for a quote.”
I chose not to throw Torin under the bus by telling Greg he’d missed him by twenty seconds. But if it would make Greg leave, maybe I should.
“Why areyouhere?” he asked, as if I were the last person who belonged on this rooftop.
All words left my already scrambled brain as I stumbled over what to say.
Greg carried on without waiting for an answer. “You’re not back in journalism, are you? I didn’t think anyone would touch you after you ruined your chances.”
This son of a bitch. How dare he?
Something snapped inside me.
“Ruined my chances?” I sneered. “You assaulted me.”
“Keep your voice down.” Greg’s expression turned menacing. “I gave you an opportunity, and you blew it. We could’ve been friends. I could’ve introduced you to the right people and boosted your career. All you had to do was spread your legs for five goddamn minutes. But no. You had to run away after and threaten to tattle like a little girl. A reporter needs to be made of stronger stuff than that.”
My stomach turned at his tone, his aggression. At his complete lack of remorse.
I hadn’t gone to the police. I’d already seen too many victims chewed up by the system. Their sex lives paraded through court. Their motives questioned. Their clothing blamed.
I’d planned to talk to HR. Instead, they’d hauled me in first and fired me. That bastard Holbrook had made me out to be a manipulator by telling HR I was going to accuse him of rape if he didn’t help me get a promotion.
No one believed me overThe Inquirer’ssuperstar reporter with a trophy case full of awards.
It sickened me to this day that he’d gotten away with it.
“Still targeting young female colleagues, Greg?”
He stepped closer, and I inched back, but not before his sourwhiskey breath slammed into me. “Only ones smart enough to keep their mouths shut.”
His words hit me like a punch. For years, I’d hoped I’d been his only victim, but deep down, I’d known that wasn’t the case. And now, I saw his behavior for what it was. A tested routine. A sickening hunt.
