Page 152 of Captive Audience

“I can’t imagine what she’s been through.” I let out a deep exhale.

“There’s something I want to show you.” Rook grabbed his phone from the side table, found what he was looking for, and handed it to me.

On the screen were Sierra’s parents, Mark and EliseWitkowski, seated by the window of an airport terminal. Both looked tired, and Elise’s eyes were puffy.

I hit Play on the recorded message.

Elise’s voice trembled as she said, “Hi, Inferno. We’re on our way to Montana to see Sierra. The people there told us she’s safe.”

Mark’s arm came around his wife’s shoulders, steadying her when her composure broke. “We just want to say thank you,” he added quietly. “You were the only one who listened to us, the only one who tried to find her. You never gave up on our girl, and we’ll never forget that.”

They exchanged a tearful glance before the video ended, leaving a lump in my throat the size of my fist.

“I’m happy for them.” I handed the phone back to Rook. “They think I helped save her, but it wasn’t me. The Beasts killed Baranov and his men. Zulu rescued Sierra. I didn’t do anything.”

Rook shook his head. “You gave the Witkowskis something no one else could.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Hope.” His gaze held mine. “You fought for Sierra. You gave her parents a reason to believe she was still out there, and you showed them she hadn’t been forgotten. That must’ve helped them more than you know.”

“Thank you for saying that.” Rook’s words made me feel a little less like a failure. At the end of the day, Sierra was safe, and that was all that mattered. “Now that the Soul Collector’s dead, does that mean the trafficking ring is busted?”

“Aye, in Philly, at least. I can’t say for sure what the Russians are doing anywhere else. But we have to stay vigilant. As long as there’s demand, someone will find a way to make money from the skin trade. With Baranov and his crew gone, it won’t be happening in our backyard.”

“Did you know him?”

Rook nodded. “He waspakhanof the New York Bratva. The Russians were ousted from Philly decades ago. Guess they were trying to sneak back in and Niall learned about their trafficking ring. And when Aidan and I raided the docks last week, we got close again. I thought we’d kept our find under wraps, but Baranov must’ve been onto me. And that led him straight to you.”

His expression darkened, and I knew he was finding a way to blame himself for the actions of a depraved man. What Baranov had done to me wasn’t Rook’s fault.

I reached for his hand and squeezed. “Sierra is safe, and the Soul Collector is dead. It’s over now.”

“Aye.” He nodded, his features solemn. “It’s over.”

58

ASHA

Rook snapped like a rabid dog at anyone who caused me discomfort.

He got in an argument with a doctor when she suggested lowering my pain meds, shoved an intern up against the wall for staring at the wounds on my face, and barked at the lady who’d brought me broth that was too hot for lunch.

He mumbled often about needing more Russians to kill.

While my gangster was a menace to everyone, he doted on me. He gave me foot rubs, brushed my hair, and rarely left my side. He slept on the uncomfortable chair in the corner without complaint.

What he didn’t do was talk about us. Our argument at the bar. The things I’d said to him through the listening bug while in captivity. Our future.

Rook was taking my near-death experience hard, his guilt a constant shadow in the room, and the losses he’d already suffered magnified it. I wanted to give him time and space to work through his feelings, but we couldn’t ignore them forever. Still, the hospital wasn’t the best place to get into it, so I held off on bringing it up, even though it killed me.

Aidan and Orla visited with flowers. So did Catalina and Niall Jr.

Daisy and Beth were the MVPs, bringing me contraband candyI had to hide from Rook and my medical team. The bullet wound hadn’t finished me, but this doctor-enforced bland diet might.

I suspected my friends knew there was more to my “fake” marriage, but they didn’t press. Not with Rook brooding in the corner and his men standing guard at the door.

Five days after I’d woken in the hospital, a doctor came into my room—face pale, a tear in the lapel of his white coat—and announced I was being discharged early. Apparently, Rook had organized a top-notch medical team to supervise my recovery from home.