Chapter 20 Asha
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.
Their alleged 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 at The 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—”
“It’ll only take a moment. I just need some information.”
“Asha, I really can’t—”
“You owe me.” Boy, did this motherfucker owe me. “We both know your career only took off when I handed you the biggest story of your life on a silver platter. I let you slap your name on my research because I felt sorry for you. So don’t act like you’re too good to talk to me now.”
Gleeson exhaled loudly. “What do you need?”
Yes! “What can you tell me about the Beasts of Belfast that I won’t find on Google?”
Silence. “Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“They’re dangerous, Asha. You shouldn’t poke around in their business.”
“I know that, but this is important.”
“You don’t understand. I’m trying to protect you.”
“I can look out for myself. Does the name Rook O’Connell mean anything to you?”
He took so long to answer that I had to check the screen to make sure we were still connected.
“I…I can’t help with that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
More silence. Something didn’t sit right. Andrew’s reluctance went beyond any instruction by The Inquirer not to associate with me, somewhere far darker. “One last question. How long have the Beasts been paying you off?”
The son of a bitch hung up on me.
I growled into my phone before slamming it face down on the sofa.
A golden glint caught my eye. I stared at the wedding ring, at my knuckle red from trying to yank it off in the Uber. All my efforts had only caused my finger to swell, making it even more difficult to remove.
I went to the sink, squirted dish soap on the band, and tried working it off. It still didn’t budge. At this point, it might be worth losing a finger to be rid of the damn thing.
There was a knock at the door. Probably a neighbor since the street-level buzzer hadn’t gone off. I looked through the peephole and reared back.
Two uniformed cops. A small Asian woman and a tall Black man.
Another knock, followed by a woman’s voice. “Ms. Sparks, this is the police. Open the door.”
I did as she asked, trying not to jump to rash conclusions. “Can I help you?”
The woman held a folded piece of paper in her hand. “Ms. Sparks, we have a warrant to search your premises.”
I took the warrant, my fingers clumsy, and choked out a laugh. “This is a joke, right?”
“Afraid not. Please stand in the middle of the room with Officer Briggs while I conduct the search.”
“A search for what?”
She didn’t answer. All I could do was watch her walk into my bedroom while the big cop stood beside me with thumbs hooked through his belt. His presence wasn’t aggressive, but having such a large uniformed officer in my tiny apartment made it feel like the walls were closing in.
I had a bad feeling about this, and my gut was rarely wrong. Except for the last twenty-four hours.
Sweat coated my palms. A dispatcher came through Briggs’s radio. Drawers opened and closed in my bedroom. I tried reading the warrant, but the frantic pounding in my skull made it almost impossible. I managed to catch a couple of details: the words stolen property and a photo of a man’s gold watch.
“Found it,” called out the female officer. She came out of my room with a plastic evidence bag containing the gold watch from the photo. “Is there anything you want to tell us about this?” She shook the bag with a raised brow.
“That’s not mine. I’ve never seen it before in my life.” I had the urge to face-palm for sounding like every guilty thief who’d ever lived.
Rook. This bullshit stunt had his manipulative fingerprints all over it. When he’d planted the watch, I didn’t know, but that son of a bitch had known I’d run home as soon as I could. He’d been one step ahead of me this entire time.
Idiot. I should’ve fled somewhere he couldn’t find me.
“Ms. Sparks, you’re under arrest,” said Briggs, who proceeded to cuff me and lead me to the door.
“Did Rook put you up to this?” It had to be him. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know who I’m talking about.”
Neither officer answered as they carted me down three flights of stairs, past a half dozen nosy neighbors, and into the squad car waiting out front.
I’d never experienced a walk of shame quite like this.
But shame was only the beginning of my problems.