Chapter 100

MADDISON

I never got around to bringing my own clothes here, so I’m stuck wearing the same bra again. It’s a black lace one, at least, and I have a bunch of matching thongs.

The night shift was a parade of men, all here to pick their girl from the new batch arriving today.

Mr. Fennick had me show the catalogue to every man I escorted back, and I had to watch them drool over the drugged girls’ naked pictures.

By the end of the night, deposits were made for each man’s chosen girl, and then I had to take one of the clients back to room eight for my shift as a call girl.

My stomach was in knots all night, seeing the girls in the catalogue looking younger and younger.

I don’t know their actual ages—I don’t see the paperwork—but there’s no mistaking that this group is younger than the last.

I guess it’s some sort of taboo that men want, and Sanctum is more than happy to provide.

It’s sick, disgusting, vile…

Anyway, Mr. Fennick has me up at an ungodly hour—a three a.m. wake-up call—for a meeting I really don’t want to attend.

I’m sure Callum’s heard about it by now, and I’m hoping he’s arranged to be there to put a stop to this meeting.

I’m filled with anxiety, but I have no choice but to get dressed and get ready to go.

“Get up, girl; we have to be somewhere in an hour,” he says loudly.

I open my eyes to see him standing over me, holding out clothes for me to wear.

“You’ve got ten minutes to make yourself look like a respectable businesswoman. We need to leave,” he grumbles.

He’s clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed, probably because he’s just found out exactly where we’re meeting my father.

I’m ready in nine minutes, pulling on the fitted black dress over the underwear I wore to bed last night after my shower.

I thought it would be a good idea to keep on the wired bra in case Callum could pick up anything useful while I was asleep.

I leave the powder room with thirty seconds to spare, and Mr. Fennick pulls me by the wrist through the building, probably to the Land Rover waiting to take us to our meeting.

I’m slipping in my heels, sighing with every step.

I even twist my ankle, but he’s in too much of a hurry to notice.

I don’t know why, but I thought Jonathon would be coming with us, and I’m a little disappointed when Mr. Fennick pushes me into the back seat and I see that it’s just his driver in the car with us.

Actually, I’ve been expecting to see Jonathon ever since I got back, but he’s been nowhere to be found, and that makes me sad.

I’ve gotten used to having him around, and it’s been a while since we had any private time together.

Actually, I think the last time was that night at Asher’s hotel… But whatever, it doesn’t matter.

I’m sure he’ll show up eventually.

The drive to the docks is silent and chilly, the car’s air conditioning giving me goosebumps.

But that could also be because of the heavy silence hanging between the three of us, like someone’s just been killed.

And in that silence, I think about what’s happened this morning.

It’s unusual for us to meet this early, but it’s not unheard of.

Mr. Fennick and my father have always switched up the places and times for handing off the girls.

They’ve also always dealt in cash, not bank transfers, which has always annoyed my father.

He likes to see the digital proof that the money’s come in and his accounts are full.

But Mr. Fennick prefers physical cash.

He likes to have the bills in his hands or laid out in front of him.

My heart’s pounding when Mr. Fennick gets out of the car and snaps his fingers for me to follow.

I slide across the backseat and follow him out into the dark morning.

The cold is just as biting out here in the open as it was in the car that’s now disappearing, probably being parked somewhere out of sight until we’re finished.

I glance at Mr. Fennick, standing exposed with no place to hide, but he’s busy checking his watch, ready to move on.

“Let’s go,” he rumbles in a low voice.

I nod, understanding that silence is golden right now. He wouldn’t want us to draw attention, especially at such a crucial moment.

We navigate through the dock and down the path leading to the storage containers.

My stomach is doing flips the entire way, and I feel like I might throw up, but I manage to keep it together.

We halt outside container 1282. Mr. Fennick’s hand raps on it exactly six times.

“Remember, Hope, we need to evaluate each girl before we agree to purchase them. I don’t want damaged goods,” he says, thrusting the folder he’s been clutching into my hands.

I accept it, not daring to peek inside because I know what it contains.

The first few pages will be profiles of girls who can start working immediately, who have been sexually active before.

The middle section will contain profiles of girls with limited experience, or rather, experience only with my father and his team back home.

And the last twenty or so profiles will be of virgins who look far too young to be involved in this lifestyle.

These are the girls that Mr. Fennick will be particularly interested in evaluating.

The storage container door creaks open with a loud protest from the metal, revealing my father.

I try to avoid looking at him, but it’s as if my body isn’t under my control when he’s around.

His eyes light up when they meet mine, and that familiar, disgusting smile spreads across his face.

“Fennick, Filly…come in,” he says.

Thankfully, business always takes precedence for my father, so we step inside quickly.

A henchman shuts the door behind us, and we find the girls divided into groups, all chained together.

Callum and Violet could really use pictures of this scene, but I’m not sure if it’s worth the risk.

Still, when I get the chance, I subtly scratch my chest and manage to retrieve the small device.

Despite my doubts about the image quality, I take a few shots of the first group of girls while Mr. Fennick and my father are engaged in a private conversation.

I distance myself from them, looking down at the girls who are either asleep or heavily drugged.

With the device concealed under the folder, I snap picture after picture as I walk past them.

I’m just praying to God that the photos turn out clear.

“Hope?” Mr. Fennick’s voice startles me, causing me to drop the device and the folder.

As I bend down to pick them up, I mumble a response, all the while reminding myself to act normal. “Yes, Mr. Fennick?”

“How are they? Can we put them to work immediately?”

He asks as if my opinion actually matters. I play along, stating that only a few are too severely injured and traumatized, meaning we can’t use them right away.

To my surprise, he takes my advice and refuses to buy them.

However, my father manages to negotiate the price down by half, which Mr. Fennick further reduces by seven percent, ending up buying them for only forty-three percent of the original price.

I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but either way, we move on to the next group of girls.

They were virgins, probably until a few weeks ago when my father had his way with them.

Once again, my father and Mr. Fennick discuss each girl and their temperament privately while I try to take pictures of them as well.

They’re either sleeping or drugged, but they’re in better shape than the previous group.