Chapter 25

ASHER

I’m already out of the car, locking it behind me as I stride across the street. Who does she think she is, telling me not to go in there? I’m my own person, free to do as I please, and she’s about to get a reality check.

Whether she likes it or not, she has no right to throw her weight around, especially when it’s not her place. I easily make my way into the building; the doorman doesn’t even give me a second glance, holding the door open for me to enter.

Once inside, he closes the door behind me. I navigate through the brightly lit club toward the bar, where a bartender is waiting with a glass of whiskey already poured. It’s suspicious, and I have no intention of drinking it, but I accept it anyway, extending my arm and flashing a dimpled smile that should convince him I’m at ease.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Henderson. Some whiskey?” he asks as the glass passes from his hand to mine.

“Thank you, that sounds great,” I reply, pulling out a bar stool for myself. But I don’t need the stool.

The sound of Maddison’s heels alerts me to her presence before she even comes to fetch me. The rhythm of her steps matches the beat of my heart. I guess it’s time to see what’s behind that door.

What will I find there? Will it be something horrifying, or will it be similar to my father’s club, which caught me off guard?

“Mr.…Henderson,” Maddison purrs, batting her eyelashes at me from the other end of the bar. She’s no longer dressed like a typical girl her age. Instead, she’s wearing a leather skirt and a corset top.

Her hair, which was in a bun when she approached my car, now falls in loose curls. I can’t believe how different she looks in such a short time, but then again, her hair might have been curled already, or it might naturally be that way, like my mom and sister.

“Come this way. They’re waiting for you,” she instructs in a professional tone.

“Of course, M—Hope.”

She shoots me a glare that all women seem to possess, her “I despise you” look, before turning on her heel and leading me down the ominous hallway. My shoes echo hers, tapping against the floor. The sound reverberates around us like a song begging us to join in.

“Maddison,” I murmur as we pass between two cameras. I pull her toward me, halting her steps before she can open the door. “Why?” I ask. “What don’t you want me to see?”

Her eyes widen in panic, and she pushes away from me, stumbling toward the door. She’s been caught on camera now, and I have no choice but to follow her as she opens the door to another hallway leading to a lone elevator.

There are cameras everywhere in this hallway, and the door locks itself as it closes behind us. For a brief moment, I feel trapped and on the brink of my end, but I shake off the feeling and step into the elevator beside Maddison. She remains silent, standing next to me and staring at the door as it carries us to our destination.

I want to ask her again, but I know there’s surveillance in here, and it’s pointless to repeat the question when she clearly didn’t want to answer me the first time. The doors open to reveal a club. A small bar lines one wall, and tables and chairs fill the floor, surrounding a stage with stripper poles.

So Sanctum is a strip club?

“Sit,” Maddison commands, pointing to one of the plush armchairs positioned directly in front of the stage. I comply—not because she told me to, but because I choose to.

I settle into the chair, still holding the whiskey. “They’ll be out shortly,” she informs me before leaving me alone in the quiet room. I glance around, counting seven cameras, two of which are pointed directly at me.

The bar is deserted, and the lights are dimmed to create a low, intimate atmosphere. I swallow hard, allowing my emotions to settle within me.

“Asher Henderson. Delighted to meet you.” A man emerges from a hidden door behind the bar. He sweeps his arms wide, taking in the surroundings before turning back to me. “Mr. Fennick, the owner of this fine establishment.”

I’m taken aback when he addresses me by my full name. He’s a tall man, about the same age as my fathers, but unlike them, he’s not in the best shape. His potbelly is a clear sign of his indulgent lifestyle.

“I make it a point to know all potential clients, Asher. But that’s not how I know your name. I’m acquainted with your fathers. In fact, they inspired the concept of this private club. So, when I see their prodigal son, their heir, walk into my club, I can’t help but wonder why you’d need to come here to find a girl to sleep with when you live in a building full of them.” He chuckles, taking a seat next to me. He lights a cigarette, offering me one in silence.

“Care for one?” he asks.

“No, thank you. I’m good,” I reply.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs. “So, I’ve been pondering why you’d want to find a girl here, and it had me stumped. But then it hit me over the weekend. You’re into CNC. It makes sense, and it’s a direct violation of your father’s cardinal rule.”

“CNC?” I question.

“Consensual non-consensual. The act of forcing yourself onto a woman with her prior consent, but having the freedom to ignore her pleas to stop. No safe words to interrupt a good scene, unlike what your fathers advocate.”

My eyes widen, and I fight the urge to let my jaw drop. I nod once, as if he’s just revealed my deepest, darkest secret.

He laughs, a deep, ominous sound, and slaps me on the shoulder. “Well, son, I’ve gathered some of my best girls. Enjoy the dances they’ve prepared for you, and perhaps you’ll find the one you’d like to…violate tonight.”

The word ~rape~ lingers on my tongue, leaving a bitter taste. Is that what men come here for? A legal loophole to rape women without facing any consequences? The thought makes me nauseous.

Every instinct tells me to flee, but I’m committed. I made my choice the moment I stepped out of my car. So, as the lights dim and the music starts, I brace myself for the first girl to dance for me, all the while battling the horrifying images of them being violated, just like in my nightmares.

The music blares, a spotlight illuminating the center of the stage. A blonde girl steps into the light. She’s clad in nothing but a red lace bra and thong, the fabric hugging her pale skin just the way I like.

There are no visible bruises. She’s not too skinny, and she doesn’t seem scared. I hate that she doesn’t seem scared.

Then, she begins to dance. I can’t help myself; she’s incredibly attractive.

She’s so hot that my body reacts, betraying me in a way no one else ever has. I hate it.

I watch her twirl around the pole, her leg supporting her weight as she executes some impressive moves. But she doesn’t stay on the pole for long, slithering on the floor like a temptress before she comes to give me a lap dance.

I feel uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because I find her attractive.

Uncomfortable because she’s so close that I can feel her body heat seeping into mine. Uncomfortable because I have to hide my true feelings and maintain a façade of indifference when all I want to do is flip her over and lose myself in her.

But that’s not why I’m here; that’s not my goal. I don’t want to sleep with this girl or pretend to assault her. I want to save her…

“That’s enough, Tiffany. NEXT,” Mr. Fennick commands in his deep voice.

Tiffany stands up and leaves immediately. I watch her exit through the door by the bar.

“If a young athletic blonde isn’t your thing, what is?” he asks me, a finger on his lips. I guess I manage to keep my face neutral; thank God.

“I don’t know, that’s the problem,” I lie. I don’t know why I said that, but I did, and I guess that’s the story I’m sticking to.

“Come on now, Asher. I’ve heard the rumors about the bad-boy prince who likes to break the rules. You know what you like. I’m not your father. Your dreams can come true here; you just have to embrace them,” he says, intrigued.

Another girl comes out, a short brunette who looks a bit like Maddison, though she’s curvier and already looks bored. She glances at me, surprise in her eyes, and begins a slow, sensual dance.

She doesn’t bother with the stage, and to my dismay, she removes her bra to reveal her large breasts. They’re a good size, double Ds with nipples big enough to fully suck, and she gets more of a reaction than Tiffany.

She’s cute, and under different circumstances, I might take her to bed, but that’s not why I’m here. And I won’t be taking her tonight.

Still, she tries her best to get a reaction. She straddles my lap and guides my hands to her breasts.

They’re clearly fake; I can feel the implants beneath the skin, and while that’s not a huge turn-off, it’s one reason I wouldn’t take her to bed. I prefer my women natural.

“Nope! NEXT,” Mr. Fennick orders, startling both of us as if we’ve been caught with our hands in the cookie jar. “That’s enough, Rachel. Thank you for your time.”

Rachel returns my hands to me, blowing kisses as she leaves. And like Tiffany, she doesn’t seem unhappy or like she doesn’t want to be here.

“Send out Alice,” Mr. Fennick bellows. “What’s your kink, boy?”

I shrug, relieved that I’ve managed to keep my arousal since Tiffany a secret.

“Don’t worry; I cater to all tastes. I’ll find your kink, boy. Let’s enlighten both of us.”

The next girl—or rather woman—enters the room. She’s clearly older, but she’s aged like fine wine. She must be in her late forties, with lines on her face in the usual places, but she’s still naturally beautiful.

But it’s not her looks that give her age away. Her hands show the most signs of age, as they do in most women, but more than that, she exudes a confidence the other girls lacked.

“Oh, we have a young one,” she observes as she approaches me in her corset, suspenders, and thong. She’s different from the other two, standing tall in heels that make her legs look like they go on forever.

“Do you enjoy being with older women? Are you into cougars?” she asks, her tone suggesting she genuinely enjoys her job.

Her question catches me off guard. She’s the third woman I’ve met tonight, not counting Maddison, and they all seem to be content with their line of work.

I nod in response because who wouldn’t appreciate the experience of an older woman? She laughs heartily, throwing her head back in a way that reminds me of my mother.

My mom does the same thing when my dad whispers something naughty in her ear. I’m relieved to find that the image effectively kills any arousal I might have felt.

“Stop!” I command when her hand ventures too close to my crotch. Her approach is more aggressive than the other women.

I grab her wrist, holding it away from me as if she’s something unpleasant. There’s something about her that I can’t get past, all because of that image of my mother laughing.

“So, not girls your own age, not older women who know their way around…” Mr. Fennick muses, watching us with a thoughtful smirk.

Alice snaps her fingers in front of my face, pulling my attention back to the room, back to her. She’s asking me to release her wrist, and I immediately regret holding her so roughly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you so hard,” I apologize, my voice uncertain.

“No problem. Maybe, Roger, you should try the younger ones,” she suggests. Her words hang in the air as she turns to leave, the music softening from a pounding beat to a gentle hum.

“Maybe she’s onto something. Is that your thing, Asher?”

“What thing?” I ask, shifting in my chair to find a more comfortable position.

“Younger girls,” he announces, clapping his hands as if he’s discovered the secret to getting a reaction out of me.

“Hope?” he calls out.

“HOPE!” he yells, his patience wearing thin.

She bursts into the room, her gaze fixed on me as if I’m her worst nightmare. It’s as if she knows exactly what he’s going to ask for.

The underage girls. The damn underage girls.

This must be why she didn’t want me to come in. She must have suspected that I would request the young girls trapped in this building.

The ones she claims aren’t here. Could it be that I’ve stumbled upon the jackpot in this one club, the first one I decide to visit?

Maddison’s voice trembles, revealing her anxiety. Her hands flutter nervously in front of her as she struggles to find something to do with them.

“Yes, Mr. Fennick?”

“Bring me a few of the underage girls, will you?” he orders.

Her face is a mask of fear as she absorbs his words. She moves away from us, her movements stiff and robotic, as if she needs to distance herself to hide her disgust.

“Actually, Hope, bring me Miracle and Spitfire,” he commands.

Maddison freezes, her anxiety filling the room, and Mr. Fennick clearly doesn’t appreciate it.

I can’t help but watch him as he watches her battle with herself.

“Now, Hope!”

“Of course,” she mumbles unhappily before walking away.