Page 112 of Captive Audience
Every woman who thought being noticed by him was a compliment. Every intern who assumed his mentoring was a boon. The thought of him doing to them what he’d done to me had bile rising up my throat.
I folded my arms and forced my voice to stay steady. “I’m sure the world would love to know all about that.”
He only laughed at my threat. “You think I’m intimidated by some washed-up has-been? No, Asha. Your name is mud.” He stared me down. “And hasn’t anyone told you?Me Toois dead. No one cares what happened to you in that motel room, and no one’s going to do anything about it.”
My skin crawled. He was right about one thing. The system hadn’t cared then, and it sure as hell didn’t care now. That familiar helplessness rose like prickles underneath my skin, the same panic I’d buried years ago.
But I wasn’t that girl anymore.
My lip curled. “You disgust me. Fuck off before I make you regret we ever crossed paths.”
I turned to leave.
“Cunt,” Greg barked, and grabbed my wrist. His fingers dug into my skin as he spun me to face him. “Don’t turn your back on me.”
“Take your hand off my wife or lose your fucking arm.”
Rook’s voice cut through the air behind me, low and lethal. The moment I felt his warmth at my back, the panic in my chest loosened its grip.
It wasn’t just fury in Rook’s tone. It was devotion. A vow that I wasn’t alone in this anymore.
And, God help me, I’d never been happier to have an Irish mobster for a husband.
“Wife?” Greg’s eyes went wide, aimed high at the wall of wrathbehind me. He let go of my wrist as if it’d burned him. “I didn’t know.”
Rook’s arm curled around my waist, palm splayed over my stomach. “I can see that. Not that it should matter. What gives you the right to touchanywoman like that?”
“You’re right. My mistake. I think it’s best I leave.”
“Aye, you will.” Rook’s voice turned ice-cold. “My cousin here will help you with that.”
Aidan appeared behind Greg like a vengeful shadow, a full head taller and twice as broad. He clasped the back of Greg’s neck with one tattooed hand in a way that could almost look friendly if it weren’t for my abuser’s terrified expression.
“Red.” Aidan nodded and gave me a smile that was equal parts serial killer and panty melting. “Thanks for giving me a friend to play with. I was getting bored.”
“Before you take him away, he has an apology to make,” Rook said.
“If we can just talk about this. There’s been a misunder—” Greg’s face twisted in pain, and Aidan grinned. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” he sputtered.
Rook bristled behind me, and his chest expanded against me with the deep breath he inhaled. “Not to me, you fucking prick. To my wife.”
Greg didn’t even have the decency to look me in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Asha?—”
“That’s Mrs. O’Connell to you, asshole,” I snapped. “Show my husband and me some respect.”
Rook’s hand tightened on my belly in approval.
I’d never thought I’d wear that name with pride. But if it made Greg piss himself, I’d wear it like a crown.
Greg’s hands shook. “I’m sorry, Mrs. O’Connell. It won’t happen again.”
“Get him out of here,” Rook said. “I’ll be with you soon.”
Aidan winked at me, looking far too entertained by what was about to happen, then led Greg off the terrace.
Rook turned me gently and cupped my face in his palm while one thumb traced a path over my cheek.
Without thinking, I wrapped myarms around his waist, craving him nearer. The weight of his support undid me. I’d never felt safer, more protected.
