Chapter 21 Asha
ASHA
Upon arriving at the station, I’d had my fingerprints and mug shots taken, been searched and had my phone confiscated, then been tossed into a holding cell with a half dozen other women. In the two days since, the station police had given me the runaround.
I’d asked repeatedly to speak to my lawyer. Their response? Soon. The angrier I got, the more they ignored me.
My chances of accessing a phone were zero, and bail hadn’t even been set.
Even if I could call my friends, what would I say, anyway?
Hey, remember the hot guy I spent the night banging?
Turns out he’s in the Mob and thinks we’re married.
Please come bail me out of jail so I can murder him. I was utterly screwed.
“What are you in for?” asked the woman beside me, who might or might not be a sex worker.
I grunted. “Having terrible taste in men.”
She shook her head. “You and me both, girl.”
Figures.
What stung the most was that I’d never seen any of this coming.
Not once had I suspected Rook was playing me.
He’d made me feel beautiful, special, desired.
All the things I’d longed to feel. It was like he knew all the pretty words to make me temporarily forget men were a scourge that couldn’t be trusted.
My stomach rumbled. My head hurt. I smelled worse than a Survivor cast member. Mostly, I just wanted a warm bed where I could curl up and pretend the last couple of days never happened.
But the only way out of this situation was to do something unthinkable.
I had to call the devil himself. Which was exactly what Rook wanted and why he’d reminded me on my way out of his apartment that his contact details were in my phone.
The bastard knew I’d come skulking back with my tail between my legs.
Probably had every cop in here paid off to do his dirty work.
I approached the bars and called out to Officer Petty, “Hey.” The ornery old cop and I had become great pals, or whatever the opposite of that was. “I need to make a phone call.”
He didn’t even look up from the keyboard he stabbed at with his index fingers like some goddamn tech dinosaur. “I told you. You can call your lawyer soon.”
“Not my lawyer. I need to call”—I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the cool bars—“the owner of the watch I allegedly stole.” I almost dry heaved saying those words out loud.
But apparently they were the ones Officer Petty wanted, because he pulled my phone from a charger cable and brought it over.
“Aren’t I supposed to use the pay phone?” I asked.
He looked at me as though I were a dumbass. “Do you want to make the call or not?”
Sheesh. Cranky.
He held the phone up to my face, and it unlocked, which shocked me because I probably looked like an eighty-year-old crack addict right now.
I watched him pull up the contacts. “Name?”
“As if you don’t know.”
He gave me an impatient glare over the rim of his bifocals.
“Rook. R-O-O-K, in case you need help.”
I waited while he scrolled through my list of contacts instead of using the search panel. “Nope. Not here.”
“Try Ryan. Ryan O’Connell.”
Petty shook his head. “Anything else he might go by?”
Son of a bitch. I laughed because if I didn’t, I’d cry.
“Try—oh my God, I can’t believe I’m going to say this—husband.”
More scrolling. “There it is.” Petty smiled like his announcement might make me happy rather than cause my stomach to burn with the acid of a hundred stress ulcers.
He tapped the Call button and put the phone on speaker.
Rook answered on the second ring. “Hello, Wife.”
“You” was all I could growl while my vision misted red.
“Yes, me. How can I help?”
Except I couldn’t even utter a response. I was loath to ask this man for anything.
“Nothing to say?” Rook asked brightly. “Suit yourself.” Then the jerk of the century hung up.
“Trouble in paradise?” asked Petty.
My mouth wanted to say Go fuck yourself, but with superhuman effort I said, “Call him back.”
He dialed again. “Might want to try being nice this time.”
I’d have to remember to find a talented witch once I got out and have Petty cursed with kidney stones.
“Thanks for the advice. Just out of curiosity, how many times have you been divorced?”
His expression turned deadpan.
“Thought so.”
Rook answered. “I’m all ears.”
“Get me out of here.”
“I’m sorry, are you asking me to come rescue you? Because you’re not being very polite.”
No one in the history of humanity had needed the level of restraint and composure I was being forced to summon.
Slow breath in. Slow breath out. “Please, can you come to the station and get me out of here?”
“Please, who?”
I bit my lip to hold in my wrath.
“You know what I want to hear, Wife.”
“This is ridiculous. Husbands and wives don’t call each other that!” I snapped as my temper got the better of me.
“I know. I’m proving a point.”
“What point? That you can humiliate me whenever you feel like being a sadistic prick?”
“No,” he said firmly. “That you’re mine and the sooner you accept it, the sooner we can get to work.”
This fucking guy.
Fine. I could do it. I could get over my pride this one time so I could be free from jail and rain misery on Rook while he forced me to run his bullshit investigation. I’d make him regret the day he laid eyes on me.
I cleared my throat. “Please, Husband”—gag—“can you get me out of jail?”
The request scraped up my throat like a fistful of broken glass, but I forced it out anyway. Dignity was a luxury I couldn’t afford anymore.
“Of course, love. I’ll be there soon.” He hung up again.
Petty gave me his smuggest grin. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Ebola. The curse would also give him Ebola.
Twenty minutes later, Rook strutted toward the holding cell like he owned the whole damn station, which I figured he did. He clapped Officer Petty on the back, and the pair of them laughed about some mutual joke—probably me.
All the while, Rook’s gaze remained locked on mine. Arrogant. Satisfied. Triumphant.
I didn’t like losing. I especially didn’t like losing to a criminal. I’d dealt with injustice before, but staring into the face of the person who’d caused it made a fresh wave of fury surge within me.
The asshole came right up to where I stood by the bars. “Are you ready?”
“To commit a felony punishable with the death sentence? Yes.”
“You’re building quite the rap sheet, love.”
“You wanted a Mob wife. Looks like you’ve got one.”
He smiled in an oddly approving way. “Just ask me to take you home, and I will.”
“I’ll come home with you, sugar,” came a seductive voice from behind me.
“Me too,” sung out another.
Slowly, I looked over my shoulder and gave my traitorous cellmates a hard stare, then returned my glare to Rook. “Get me the fuck out of here.”
“My pleasure.” At Rook’s nod, Officer Petty stood and reached for his keys. “Smile, love. Your new life is about to begin.”