Page 114 of Captive Audience

Aidan fished a wallet from Weasel Face’s back pocket. “Greg Holbrook,” he read from the license. “Local. Still employed atThe Inquirer.” He held up the press card between two fingers.

“Not for long.”

Holbrook rolled onto his back, coughing and wiping blood from his mouth. “I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

I crouched beside him. “I want you to feel whatshe felt. That panic. That helplessness. That goddamn fear when someone stronger decides they won’t listen to your pleas.”

His brow creased. He still didn’t get it.

“You know, I was going to offer you a choice—jump from the roof or take your punishment like a man. But then I learned tonight wasn’t the first time you touched my wife.”

His eyes widened. “Wait. No. You’ve got it wrong. I never hurt her.”

I stood slowly. “You calling Asha a liar?”

“She wanted it.” He crawled backward but ran into a pillar.

Aidan made a low sound in his throat. “Gobshite didnotjust say that.”

White-hot fury boiled through me. My fist cracked across his face. Once, twice. I yanked him up by the collar and slammed him against the pillar, my forearm to his throat.

He gasped and clawed at my arm. His face turned red, then purple. Right before he lost consciousness, I eased off.

“I have money,” he rasped. “I can pay you.”

Aidan and I shared a laugh.

“That’s grand, mate, but I don’t want or need your money. I want your confession.” I tilted my head. “Are you a religious man, Greg? Do you pray to God? Beg him for mercy?”

He shook his head.

“Now might be a good time to start.”

I pinned his forearm to the edge of the pillar and pressed down hard. “You praying yet?”

“No, no. Wait?—”

Snap.

The crack of bone and the howl that followed were fucking glorious.

“Not going for the classic stabby-stabby tonight, cuz?” Aidan asked casually, miming a knife jab.

“This way’s more satisfying. Do you think they can hear him wailing from the party?”

“With the music? Nah.”

“Good. I want to hear his pain. Are you ready to confess now, Greg?”

“Don’t hurt me, please,” he sobbed.

Aidan scratched his jaw. “Not real bright, this one, is he?”

“Hey, wanker.” I grabbed Holbrook’s elbow and waved the floppy part of his broken arm about. Fresh screams erupted. “This is a not-so-friendly reminder that you have three unbroken limbs at my disposal. Tell me what you did to her, or I’ll get to work on them.”

“I fucked her. I did it. Three years ago.”

I leaned in close. “Because she wanted it?”