Page 40 of Captive Audience
She cackled like someone on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
“My number is in your phone when you’re ready to talk, Wildfire.”
Asha froze, turned on her heel, and stormed right up to me until we were toe-to-toe. Many a man had pissed himself in my presence, but not this firecracker.
Green eyes blazing, she poked me in the chest with her pointer finger. “Don’t call me that. You know what? Don’t call meanything. I never want to see or talk to you again. Got it?”
I only grinned, because Christ, she was stunning when she was all worked up.
Her lip curled. My smile grew.
With an adorable growl, she stomped to the elevator and jabbed the Down button. “Fuck,” she muttered when she remembered she couldn’t call the lift without me. “Do the handprint thing.” Asha pointed to the palm scanner.
“What was that, pet? Do you need your husband already?”
She huffed. “Put your stupid hand on the stupid screen so I can go.”
I took my time getting to Asha and placed myself between her and the steel doors. “Things will be much easier for you once you start behaving like a good wife.” I pressed my hand to the scanner and only moved out of the way when the doors opened behind me.
Asha stepped inside and spun to deliver me a breathtakingfuck youscowl. “Have the life you deserve, asshole.” Just as the doors started to close, she flipped me the bird.
Once she was gone, I stood there staring at the elevator like a fucking eejit, palm pressed to my pounding heart. “Mother have mercy. I think I’m in love.”
20
ASHA
Istarted the Uber ride home trying to yank this godforsaken ring from my finger while debating whether to tell Daisy and Beth what a monumental mistake I’d made with Rook. I decided that first, I needed to do some investigating to find out who my one-night stand really was. I didn’t want to endanger my friends by dragging them into this mess.
Giving up on the ring, I dove headfirst into a Google search of Rook’s real name: Ryan O’Connell. Lots of those, but nothing that fit the gangster I’d just spent the night with. No socials, news articles, photos, or mentions. The man had zero digital footprint. Huge red flag.
Next, I searched for Rook’s brother, Niall O’Connell. There were plenty of articles about his murder, although no mention of Rook. Niall’s was a cut-and-dried underworld hit. It hadn’t taken long for the Irish to avenge him by taking out the prime suspect: Albanian henchman Altin Zeqiri. That triggered a war between the clans, which ended with the Irish decimating the Albanians. By all appearances, the score had been settled. I wasn’t sure why Rook wanted me to look into it.
The Beasts of Belfast were less of a mystery. They’d been operating in Philly for decades but had been a smaller player until a few years ago when their Italian rivals, the Wolf Street Mafia, had been ousted and they had taken control. Theiralleged leader, billionaire businessman and property mogul Torin Lynch, presented a civilized front for the corrupt gang of criminals. He attended gala openings and headed philanthropic foundations, keeping his hands clean while directing others to do his dirty work—not that anyone had been able to scrounge up proof of that. Funny how the insanely rich managed to get away with murder.
My head still spinning, I walked into my modest apartment and tossed my purse onto the counter of my tiny kitchen. After spending time at Rook’s, this place felt woefully underwhelming.
Since moving in a year ago, not long after getting fired from my dream job, I hadn’t added many personal touches. A few houseplants so it didn’t feel entirely soulless, but that was about it. Why bother when it was just a stepping stone until I got back on my feet? But the longer I worked on the podcast, the more I realized how hard it would be to make a decent living from it. Building an audience was tough, and I had a long way to go before making a comfortable income from my new career.
Damn Rook with his huge apartment, fancy kitchen, and designer furnishings. Damn him and his handsome face, perfect abs, and stupidly talented dick. And damn my own idiocy for not realizing I was walking right into the trap of a beautiful monster.
With a loud groan, I slumped onto the sofa and dragged my hands over my face. “Asha, you fool. What have you gotten yourself into?”
Because something told me Rook hadn’t given up on getting his way.
I needed more intel on him, and the fastest way to get it was to reach out to an ex-colleague atThe Inquirer. Andrew Gleeson had spent years reporting on organized crime, and he was my best chance at getting an inside scoop on the Beasts. But I hadn’t spoken to anyone from my former workplace since being fired. The journalism community had shunned me after my fall from grace.
I swallowed my pride and made the call.
He answered on the third ring. “Gleeson.”
“Hi, Andrew. It’s Asha. Asha Sparks.”
“Asha? Wow. Hi.” I winced at the awkwardness in his tone. “It’s been a while. How are you?”
“I’m”—at the lowest point in my entire life—“just peachy. Sorry to bother you, but I have a favor to ask.”
“I don’t know. I’m not supposed to?—”
