Page 156 of Captive Audience

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ROOK

Another week had passed, and Asha was stronger by the day. She could sit up without wincing and shuffle short distances unassisted, and her sharp tongue had returned in full force.

But in my eyes, she was still breakable. Still the woman I’d carried into the hospital as she’d bled out in my arms.

Still the one thing I couldn’t lose.

I hadn’t let myself forget it for a second.

The phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from Asha.

Wildfire

Need your help, gangster.

I pushed away from my desk and strode to her room. She was propped against the pillows, green eyes wide and innocent. Too innocent.

“My water’s low.” She held up the glass.

I refilled it from the jug on the dresser and set it within reach. “Anything else?”

“Nope.” She didn’t even take a sip.

I narrowed my eyes but left.

Back in my study, the phone buzzed again.

Wildfire

Can you come back?

I returned and stood in the open doorway, my fingers thrumming on the frame.

“Could you open the curtains a little more?”

I crossed the room to do that. “Good?”

She smiled, nodded, then picked up a book from the side table.

The cycle repeated. She wanted an extra blanket, a pair of socks, her pillows adjusted.

On the sixth summons, I stalked into her room, my patience worn thin. “What are you playing at?”

She blinked up at me, all faux cluelessness. “I don’t know what you mean?”

“You don’t need my help with these things.”

Her lips curved. “Exactly.”

I folded my arms and waited.

“I’m much better, Rook. It’s time you stopped treating me like an invalid.” She rose from the bed without so much as a twinge of discomfort. Then she twisted the knife. “It also means you can touch me now.”

Every muscle in my body went rigid. Shite. I wanted to. More than wanted—I ached for it. To hold her, kiss her, bury myself inside her and prove she was still here, still mine.

But the memory of her collapsing in my arms and her blood soaking my shirt gutted me all over again.