Page 37 of Captive Audience
“Stay away.” One step. Another. I could almost taste the freedom waiting for me beyond the elevator doors.
“Fine. Run if you want, pet.” A nonchalant smile formed on his lips. “I’ll always catch you.”
It was now or never.
19
ROOK
Ilunged for Asha, but her slender arm slipped through my grip. Her feet slapped against the marble floor as she raced toward the elevator. I followed her calmly.
She reached the doors and stabbed her finger at the Down button. “Come on, come on.” Her eyes volleyed frantically between me and the floor-indicator panel above the shiny steel door.
“That won’t work.” I held my palm up and wriggled my fingers. “You’ll have to cut my hand off and hold it against the scanner.”
Her eyes narrowed like she found my suggestion appealing. She gave up on the elevator button and snatched an antique vase from the console table behind her. She pitched it at my head, but I dodged it easily.
I advanced on her once more, and with a burst of speed, Asha rushed past me and across the living room. Where the bloody hell was she off to?
“Get away from me, you psycho!” Reaching the bookshelf, she plucked out a hardcover and threw it at me. Missed again. Then came another, followed by a heavy bookend.
Next, she set her sights on the buffet unit, the one laden with my favorite whiskeys.
Shite. Time to put an end to this.
Asha picked up a near-full crystal decanter.
“Stop!” I warned. “That’s seventy-two-year-old Macallan in there.” Two hundred grand’s worth of exceptionally rare and exquisite liquor.
“What, this?” She balanced the decanter precariously on one palm.
I tensed. “Put it down.”
“And you’ll let me go?”
“Afraid not, pet. But I’ll be less mad if no whiskey gets harmed and you surrender peacefully.”
“Surrender?” She scoffed. “You’re delusional.” Her eyes sparkled with reckless glee the moment the decanter left her hands.
I caught it, but the stopper flew free, and about twenty grand’s worth of whiskey splashed over my shirt.
Before I could rest it somewhere safe, Asha had another of my treasures in her hands, ready to launch.
No. Not the Dalmore.
It sailed past my head and smashed against the tiles behind me.
With the death knell looming for the remaining decanters, I had no choice but to hastily set down the one under my arm and rush Asha.
She squealed and made for the kitchen, but I caught her from behind and hauled her back against my chest. One earsplitting scream left her throat, then another. She thrashed, bucked, and kicked out. I let her deplete her energy while holding her in an unrelenting bear hug.
Even now, fury radiating off her like a furnace, she felt fucking perfect in my arms. Christ, what was wrong with me?
Eventually, she exhausted herself enough for my words to get through. “Scream and yell all you want, but this place is soundproof. Have you heard the neighbors above or below?”
Breathing hard, she snarled. “What do you want with me?”
“Jesus Christ, woman. Are you going to stop fighting long enough for me to explain?”
