Page 146 of Captive Audience
My dress.
The one Rook had given me with a listening bug stitched inside. If it still worked, he’d be able to hear me.
“Rook,” I whispered hoarsely. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can, I’m not going to waste time telling you not to come. We both know you’re too damn stubborn for that. Just in case the microphone didn’t catch it, Baranov admitted to being the Soul Collector. I doubt he plans on letting either of us live, so don’t eventhink about showing up on your own. Bring everyone and annihilate these assholes. I’ll give you what information I can. Pay attention.”
I glanced around the room, not confident that describing it offered anything to help Rook plan. “I’m taped to a chair in a locked room. There’s only one door in. It has windows, but I can’t see much through them from here. Hold on a second.”
I leaned forward and stood awkwardly with the chair stuck to me like a tortoise shell. Hunched over, I made my way to the windows and sat again. The effort left my wrists raw where the tape cut into my skin.
The glass was nearly opaque with decades of grime. I lifted one leg and dragged a bare toe across it, marking a crookedX.
“There,” I murmured, breath fogging in the cool night air. “I marked anXon the dirty window. That should help you find me.”
I leaned as close to the window as the tape allowed, peering through the thin streaks where moonlight broke through.
“I’m up high. Third floor maybe. I can see the river. There’s a train bridge going over it.”
Shadows moved below. I squinted, counting shapes pacing the perimeter.
“There are guards outside. At least six carrying automatic weapons, and that’s only on the side I can see. There are more guys inside. I can hear boots moving around and people talking. Can’t be sure, but it seems like ten or more. I’ve heard radio chatter from above, too. I’m guessing they have snipers on the roof.”
I licked my dry lips. “That’s all I can tell you. I hope it helps. Don’t you dare die coming for me, Rook. Please.”
I steeled myself. The rest of what I had to say was much harder.
“There are some other things I need you to hear in case this goes sideways.”
My chest ached, not from fear, but from everything I’d left unsaid. I’d been too afraid to face my feelings. Too proud to admit that maybe I didn’t want to be alone anymore. And too damn confused that I had feelings for a ruler of the Philly underworld.
Nothing like the threat of imminent death to make you realize what was really important.
“I forgive you for everything. I mean, there’s a lot, and you’ve got years of groveling ahead of you, but I can get past everything that’s happened these last two weeks.” I looked at the massive emerald on my ring finger. It didn’t represent a prison anymore. It felt like a safe haven. “I even forgive you for not telling me about Sierra. That one’s hard, but you’ve caught me at a vulnerable moment, so it’s your lucky day, gangster.” My strained laugh got cut off by a sob.
“There’s plenty I’m thankful for, too. Thank you for the fancy studio and for understanding how much the podcast means to me. Thank you for ridding the world ofGreg fucking Holbrook. You’ll never know how grateful I am for that. But most of all, thank you for loving me.” I shook my head as my vision blurred. “God, you love just as fiercely as you do everything else.” A sad smile formed on my lips. “When you told me how you feel, I wanted to stay mad at you. I really did. The problem is, I think I might be a little bit in love with you, too, you crazy Irish bastard.”
A tear slid down my face, stinging the fresh cut. “If we survive this, I want us to try to be together for real. And if you feel the same, we need ground rules. No manipulating me to get your way, and no more hiding things from me, either. Even if you don’t like how I’ll react.” My breath hitched. “Just promise me we’ll figure things out, okay? We have to.”
The door banged open, and I flinched.
Blondie strode in, then Baranov, with a blade glinting in his hand. Their expressions were flat and businesslike, as if mutilating women were no different from signing a contract.
“Your husband has made his choice,” Baranov said, his tone almost bored. “Now we make another video.”
He crossed the room, and my heart pumped overtime with a kick of adrenaline. Cold dread sank through me as he reached for my hand and pried at my fingers.
“No.” My voice trembled. I shook my head frantically. “Please?—”
The window exploded inward in a spray of glass. Baranov’s skull snapped back, and crimson mist sprayed across my lap. His body crumpled at my feet; his knife clattered to the concrete. Then came the delayed crack of the sniper rifle that had fired the shot.
Blondie cursed and turned, but the next shot punched through his skull, dropping him like a puppet with its string cut.
Chaos erupted outside. Automatic bursts rattled the air, men yelling, orders barked in Russian. Somewhere nearby, an explosion shook the floor and walls. A cloud of dirt and rust rained from above.
Rook was here. And it sounded like he’d brought an army.
My heart surged, then dropped in terror. The Russians had their own legion. What if the Beasts were outnumbered? Outgunned?
The building became a war zone. Bullets pinged into walls. Screams abruptly ended with gunfire. Footsteps raced down the hallway.
