Page 67 of Captive Audience

“It’s nothing.”

“Is it drugged?”

I spun fast to face her. “No. Christ. Why would I do that?”

“Excuse me for being suspicious when I’m still pissed at you for slipping me a Xanny the other night.”

“Your food isn’t drugged.”

She dropped her fork, folded her arms across those perfect tits, and leaned back in the seat. “I’m not touching it until you tell me why your face looks like you served me dumpster sludge.”

I hesitated. The truth ached behind my clenched teeth, but I knew I’d have to tell her someday. Maybe not the whole story, not all at once. But this part? This part she deserved.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “It reminds me of the night Niall was murdered.”

She stared at me with the look of confusion I’d expected.

I didn’t want to explain myself, but I did it anyway. “I was at a Chinese restaurant in Belfast when I learned he’d been killed. That was the night everything changed.” That was the nightI’dchanged. “One minute, I was laughing and drinking with friends; the next, my world imploded.” I drained the next shot of whiskey, eager for its effects to spread through my veins.

Asha’s gaze softened. Her posture changed, shoulders losing their tension, as if she suddenly saw me differently. Not as a captor, but as something a little more human.

She pushed her plate to the side. “The smell makes you feel sick, doesn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Why did you order it for me, then?”

“It’s your favorite.”

“Rook, you should’ve said something.”

“I need to get over this nonsense. It’s weak. Pathetic.”

“It’s none of those things; it’s trauma. And having feelings isn’tweak or pathetic.” Asha rose from her seat, went to the trash, and scraped the food from her plate. Then she removed my salmon from the microwave and put in the lamb.

After setting the timer and hitting Start, she met me at the island, resting her hip against the counter. “I was in a nasty car accident when I was a kid. The sedan lay in a ditch on its roof. Mom was unconscious. I remember the smell of gas, and being terrified we’d burst into flames before help arrived. Still can’t fill up a car without wanting to vomit.” She sighed and reached for my glass of whiskey. She took a small sip and returned it to the counter with an appreciative moan. “That’s good. I almost feel bad about smashing that decanter.”

“I deserved it.”

“You did.” Asha slid the whiskey back to me. “I spent today going through the records you gave me and didn’t find anything suspicious. Is it all right if I ask you some questions about Niall now?”

I nodded. “Shoot.”

“What makes you think the Albanians didn’t order his hit?”

“One of their crew, Besnik Shehu, fled to Mexico and was interrogated recently by some associates. That’s when the Soul Collector came up.”

“So whoever had your brother killed must’ve known it’d trigger a war between the Beasts and the Albanians. Do you think that was their end goal?” Asha voiced the very question that’d been plaguing my mind.

“I don’t know.” I took a sip of whiskey, turning the glass so my lips met the spot where Asha’s had been.

“If they wanted to pick a fight with the Beasts, why target Niall? Why not Torin or Aidan?”

“Security is tight on Torin, so he’s hard to get at. And Aidan would be tough to bring down because he’s a wily bastard and can fight better than anyone I know. I’m guessing Niall was chosen since he was the easiest target and his loss would hurt us. Maybe even more than if Torin were assassinated.”

“How so?”

The microwave beeped, but we both ignored it.