Chapter 34 Asha
ASHA
Over the following days, Rook and I fell into an easy routine.
He stayed out late most nights, hunting for Los Cuervos members to interrogate about the Soul Collector. Sometimes, he came home with red knuckles and blood under his fingernails, smelling of other people’s sweat and filth. The weariness in his eyes never failed to make my chest ache.
I asked if it was dangerous talking to Los Cuervos. Wouldn’t they tell the Soul Collector he was on to them?
Rook said we didn’t need to worry. Dead men told no tales.
I kept busy poring over the details of Niall’s murder. I went through his room again. I spoke with Catalina. I trawled through more security footage, old financial records, phone logs, and any scrap of data that might help me uncover the identity of the Soul Collector.
I found nothing.
I notched out some time to work on Sierra’s case, but with little to fatten out a full episode of Captive Audience, I revisited a similar case I’d investigated a few years ago.
The runaway had been taken in by a cult, brainwashed, and abused.
She’d been pregnant by fourteen and dead at twenty.
I needed my listeners to understand why I hadn’t given up hope of finding Sierra.
She could still be alive and in desperate need of help.
When Rook and I went to bed each night, he stayed on his side of the mattress. He never touched me and was always gone when I woke the next day.
And, as my nemesis had annoyingly predicted, my period arrived, then finished four days later.
On the sixth night, Rook got home early enough to have dinner together. After we’d put away the dishes, he leaned against the kitchen counter. “Wanna watch a movie?”
I blinked. “Like, together?”
“No, love. Me on the helipad, you on the sofa. Of course, together.”
I eyed him skeptically. “What movie?”
“Your pick. You have until I get out of the shower to decide.” He left the room without waiting for my response.
Since it wouldn’t be a movie without snacks, I tossed a packet of popcorn into the microwave and poured M&M’s into a bowl.
My phone chimed with a text from Daisy. I was supposed to catch up with her and Beth, and I still hadn’t found the courage to tell them I couldn’t make it.
I’d already blown them off once, telling them I was busy with work.
There were only so many times I could use that excuse before they’d show up at my empty apartment and demand answers.
I flicked through the streaming options and landed on Pitch Perfect. Safe, funny, zero sex scenes. I didn’t need that awkwardness with Rook seated beside me.
If he hated my choice, too bad for him.
Rook emerged ten minutes later, barefoot, shirtless, and more tempting than a margarita after a hellish week. Seriously, where did he get muscles like that? He must go to a gym during the day, because the heaviest thing he’d lifted around here was me.
Water clung to his hair. A stray droplet slid past his navel, disappearing into the waistband of those low-slung gray sweats.
My gaze shot up to meet Rook’s. He caught me with a knowing smirk.
“Did you forget how clothes work?” I asked.
“You weren’t complaining the last time you saw me wearing less. In fact, if I remember right, your exact words were—”
“Stop right there.” I flung a piece of popcorn at him, and he laughed, a rare sound in this apartment.
“What did you decide on?”
“Pitch Perfect.”
“The Barden Bellas versus the Treblemakers. Good choice.”
My mouth fell open. “Who are you, and what have you done with my gangster?”
Shit.
My gangster.
He’d never let me live this down.
Slowly, Rook raised one brow, and I could’ve sworn he was about to say something that would make me want to stuff the remote control down his throat, but he didn’t.
Instead, he said, “I watched it last year with Neve. We do movie nights here when she’s home from boarding school.
” He tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“What?” He eyed me when I remained silent.
“You think all I watch is films with guns, tits, and car chases? I’ll have you know I have quite a diverse and cultured taste in film. ”
I snorted and folded my legs beneath me. “Now I know you’re—how do you Irish say it?—taking the piss.”
“Go on. Ask away, then.”
“Favorite movie of all time.”
“Easy. The Princess Bride.”
“Oh, shut up. It is not.”
It couldn’t be, because it was my favorite, too. I’d loved that movie since I was a kid. I used to watch it whenever I was home from school sick, just like the kid in the movie, and it had always cheered me up.
“I’m not winding you up, I promise. It’s got everything. Epic duels. A damsel in distress. Revenge.” He lowered his chin, and his voice dropped an octave. “True love.”
I rolled my eyes and faced the screen. “Whatever. Just hit Play already.”
He held up the remote and pressed a button. “As you wish.”
He did not just say that.
Slowly, I turned to face Rook. He met me with a shit-eating grin and a wink that threatened to set my panties and the entire room on fire.
“No, no, no.” I waggled my finger at him. “You’re no Farm Boy Westley.”
He shrugged. “Dread Pirate Roberts, then. We’re both ruthless criminals. Both wear a lot of black.”
“Wrong. Prince Humperdinck is more your vibe. Rich. Powerful. Forced marriage.” I popped an M&M in my mouth and gave him a pointed look.
“Humperdinck?” Rook clutched his pec. “Stick a dagger in my chest, why don’t you, woman. When did you get so mean?”
“Shh.” I threw a velvet throw pillow at him. “The movie’s starting.”
The opening credits played while the Treblemakers busted out their moves, giving an a cappella rendition of “Please Don’t Stop the Music.” I couldn’t focus. Not with the shirtless Irish mobster two feet away.
We laughed at the same scenes, and Rook tapped his toes along with the beat like he was genuinely enjoying the campy chaos.
Our hands brushed over the popcorn bowl, and a jolt shot up my arm.
Halfway through, Rook moved the empty bowl aside and tugged my feet into his lap.
I tensed. “What are you doing?”
“Relax, Wildfire,” he said, already kneading my arch with firm thumbs. “It’s just a foot massage. Don’t overthink it.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re absolutely overthinking it.”
“Okay, fine. Maybe I am. It’s a little hard not to.”
What with my fake husband slash captor short-circuiting my brain and forcing a whimper from my lips with his talented hands.
“Just answer me this. Does it feel good?” he asked.
I tried not to enjoy it. I really did, but his hands were magic. Strong and slow and devastatingly effective.
“Yes.”
He smiled as though he knew he’d won. “Then lie back and enjoy it like a good wife.”
His choice of words wasn’t lost on me. The night we’d met, Rook had ordered me to do the same thing—minus the wife part—then brought me to an epic, toe-curling orgasm.
I melted against the cushions, biting my lip. My body tingled, and my pebbled nipples rubbed against the soft fabric of my bra.
Suddenly, I wanted Rook to touch me everywhere. My calves, my thighs, at the pulsing place between my legs. He licked his lips, leaving them glistening, and all I could think about was his hot mouth lapping at me, sucking on my clit while I begged him to let me come.
The TV became background noise. My thoughts tangled, and heat coiled low in my belly as his thumbs pressed circles into the ball of my foot.
When Rook’s erection brushed against my foot, it only made my panties wetter. Any slicker and I’d slide off the sofa and leave a wet patch on the damn thing.
The end of the movie couldn’t arrive quickly enough. As soon as it did, I jerked upright, wiping my sweaty palms on my leggings. If I stayed a minute longer, I’d forget everything he’d done to get me here. And I wasn’t ready to forgive him. Not yet.
“I’m going to bed.” I stepped over Rook’s outstretched legs.
He caught my wrist and tugged me down, straight into his lap, straddling him.
My hands flew to his shoulders to break my fall. Rook’s skin felt warm and hard with muscle. I resisted the urge to let my palms travel farther, over the ink on his chest and down to those delicious abs.
He held me in place, one big hand at the back of my neck, the other clamped onto my hip.
I was trapped. Only this time, I wasn’t mad or panicky about it.
If that wasn’t a giant red flag waving in my face, I didn’t know what was.
I needed to extract myself from this situation. Fast.
“Rook,” I grumbled.
“Easy, Wildfire,” he said, voice low and soothing, while his thumb stroked my nape.
I licked my dry lips. “This is inappropriate.”
“No, pet. What I actually want to do to you is inappropriate. This”—the hand at my hip tightened—“isn’t.”
All moisture left my mouth and migrated to my hussy of a vagina.
I had the unfortunate urge to rock my pelvis against Rook’s, the way I’d done so many times on the night we’d met.
His body was familiar. I knew the way he moved, the way he felt thrusting between my thighs. So it wasn’t hard to imagine it now.
When was my body going to catch up with the news that this man was my enemy?
“What do you want?” I asked.
“I want to know why you went quiet as soon as I dragged your feet into my lap.”
As if the jerk didn’t already know. Because I liked it too much. Because you make me feel things I don’t want to feel.
But I could never voice that. If I softened even an inch toward this man, I’d be done for. “It was unnerving. Have you ever been given a foot rub by a gangster before?”
He frowned. “I sincerely hope that’s not a serious question.”
I pressed my lips together to stifle my grin when a ridiculous scene played out in my head.
“What?” Rook asked.
“It’s nothing.” A laugh bubbled out of me. “It’s just that now I can’t stop thinking about you and your scary Mob buddies giving each other foot massages.”
“Oh, aye.” Somehow, he kept a straight face. “That’s what we do during our meetings. Sit in a circle and play with one another’s toes while discussing important Mob business.”
“Must be why you’re so good at it. All that practice on big, hairy feet.”
“Is that right? Better give me another go, then, eh?” Rook tickled my foot, his other arm wrapped around me like a band of steel.
“No!” I cackled and squirmed in his lap. “No tickling, please!”
But he didn’t relent. He flipped me onto the sofa and pinned me beneath him while taking turns tickling my ribs and my feet.
“Do you surrender?” he asked with wicked glee.
“Yes,” I wheezed, swatting at his hands. “I surrender.”
Rook eased up until we were both staring at each other, breathing heavily.
His hands landed on the sofa on either side of my head. “Well, if I’d known you’d give in that easily, I’d have used tickle torture days ago.”
“Nobody’s that cruel. Not even you.”
He froze, and his smile faded into something softer. “Fuck me,” he whispered. “You’re breathtaking.”
I sighed and turned away. “Rook.”
“I know. You still hate me.”
I faced him again. “It’s not that. I mean, it is, but also—” I sighed deeply. “It’s complicated.”
“Are you unhappy?”
God, how did I answer that? “Not fundamentally. I’m frustrated because this marriage and investigation have been forced upon me.
I miss my autonomy. I hate lying to my friends and not being able to see them whenever I want.
Mostly, I’m struggling with the way my life is spinning out of control.
” I shook my head. “Have you ever felt that way before?”
Rook’s expression turned somber. “Aye. When Niall died. Everything spiraled after that. I was in a dark place until—” He glanced away, unwilling to meet my eyes.
“Until what?”
Slowly, his gaze came back to mine. “Until I found you.”
That was what had pulled him from despair?
Rook had found Captive Audience, developed an unhealthy interest in Inferno, and then learned everything he could about me.
He hadn’t stopped there.
He’d installed cameras in my apartment and followed me places. He’d learned my most intimate details, like what food I liked to eat and when my period was due.
He’d killed a man for me.
Was Rook’s obsession with me a way to distract himself from the pain of losing his brother? Did watching over me give him purpose? Make him feel useful? He felt he’d failed to protect Niall. Maybe that drove his infatuation with protecting me.
A phone rang. Rook’s.
Without letting me up, he snatched it from the arm of the sofa and answered. “Aidan?”
It was a brief, one-sided conversation. Whatever Aidan told Rook made his eyes darken.
“Aye. I’ll meet you in the basement.” He hung up and rose from the sofa, raking his hands through his unruly hair.
I sat up. “What is it?”
Rook swallowed deeply. “Aidan just got a tip-off about a container full of women at the docks.”