Chapter 17

ASHER

The night takes its sweet time to arrive, but it does eventually. I’m ready and waiting, prepared to step into the club just like I did the previous night.

This time, however, I’m not just in a smart shirt and decent jeans. I’m dressed to the nines in one of my priciest suits, a graduation gift from my father that’s worth a few grand.

I’ve got on my favorite watch, a pair of stylish shoes, and a dash of aftershave. I’ve slicked my hair back with gel and even taken the time to shave.

I’m hoping I look more like a wealthy man than a rich kid. Maddison is nowhere in sight for the first few hours.

There are men at the bar, but unlike last night, they don’t vanish. I’m feeling bolder tonight, striking up a conversation with a couple of them, drawing them in with my charm as I talk about the club and its top-notch services.

Zach taught me the art of charming someone by acting like you know it all, even when you’re clueless and just want them to spill their secrets. And that’s exactly what they do, enthusiastically sharing about their favorite girls and the amenities this club has been offering for almost a year now.

I manage to gather three crucial pieces of information. The girls don’t all “service” the men here; they usually meet here to make it easier when they rendezvous at their hotel rooms or apartments.

The girls are paid directly by these men in cash, leaving no trace, and the same goes for the men running these…extra activities. They prefer cash payments, under the table, untraceable.

The girls usually belong to one man at a time, serving as some sort of weekend plaything. At least, that’s the case for these two men.

One of them is in his early thirties, a fit young guy who claims he struggles to meet “people,” or more specifically, women. The other man is around my father’s age, probably just hit fifty or a couple of years into his fifth decade.

Both are well-off, and neither seems bothered by my age or my need for a “woman.” I’m relieved I decided to record this enlightening yet revolting conversation on my phone.

It could serve as evidence if I ever find enough reason to involve the police. That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

Anyway, it takes Maddison two and a half hours to finally approach the bar, heading straight for Mark, the fifty-year-old. Her stride falters ever so slightly when she spots me with the two men.

But I have to give her credit. She quickly recovers from the surprise and switches on her professional demeanor.

“Mark?” she inquires, looking directly at the man. She clearly knows who she’s looking for, and she doesn’t break her gaze as he bids us goodbye.

She doesn’t glance my way or Travis’s even once. She’s all business, and it’s impressive.

She’s the kind of girl my father would have admired when my mother wasn’t around. And yes, I’ve caught the great Zachary Henderson checking out more than one woman, though he’d deny it till he was blue in the face and six feet under.

Especially to Mama.

“I just love how they operate here. I find it really hard to meet people, but they make it so easy to form a natural connection. Who did you pick?” Travis asks me, taking a sip of his beer.

Shit.

“I haven’t decided. It’s my first time,” I lie.

That’s the only response I can come up with, but thankfully, he buys it. He even gives me two names. Just how many times has this guy been here?

“Lexie was a real catch, a stunning blonde who knew her way around the bedroom. After her, I was with a fiery redhead who went by the name Sugar. She never did share her real name, said it helped keep her personal life separate. I was bummed when she left. I was at a loss when she decided to end our arrangement,” he chuckles, a melancholy sound that doesn’t sit well with me.

“We were together for eight months, and then just like that, she said she wanted out and she was gone.”

“I thought this was a business deal, not a relationship?” I question, feeling a knot in my stomach at the thought of these men growing attached to these women.

“Sure, it is. But it’s not uncommon for a client to offer a large sum to make her his alone.”

“To buy her?”

“Exactly,” he says, shrugging and looking uncomfortable as my stomach twists. He glances around to ensure the young partygoers aren’t eavesdropping on our candid yet clearly private conversation.

“A hefty payment between the guys here and the girl to be your constant companion.”

“So, like a slave, then?” The words tumble out before I can stop them, and my usual disdain makes a loud appearance. Great, why can’t I keep my damn mouth shut?

“I think the younger generation calls it a situationship or something. Older folks might call it a sugar daddy situation. We provide for them, give them a place to live and spending money. We sleep with them when we want, and everyone’s happy. So no…not a slave,” he finishes just as Maddison comes to retrieve him.

“Well, my time is up. Catch you later, Asher.”

I watch as Travis follows Maddison, his steps eager as he crosses the room and disappears down the hallway. The wait is agonizing, knowing I have another thirty minutes before I’ll see her emerge from that door.

So I order another drink, a little liquid courage, I tell myself, but it’s just a distraction as I watch the clock—replaying the conversations from tonight over and over in my head.

Trying to make sense of all the information I’ve gathered. I can’t shake the feeling that some of the missing girls might be here.

After all, Maddison is. So why not the others? I need to review the other missing profiles and print out their pictures to add to my file.

Memorize their faces, just in case I run into one of them. I’d hate to walk right past one of them, unknowingly prolonging their suffering.

At twenty-five minutes, I head to the restroom, sticking close to the wall as I make my way down the hallway. The first camera probably catches me, but the second one is easy to fool.

I stick to the wall as I walk down the hallway, keeping my identity hidden. To the first camera, it’ll look like I just went to the restroom, and the second one won’t have a clue I’m hiding beneath it.

And I wait—passing the time by repeating her name in my head. Maddison. Maddison. Maddison.

Not Hope! The door creaks open, and there she is, her face expressionless as she walks toward me.

Until I stop her. I pull her to me once she’s past the camera, and I know she’s safely out of its view.