Chapter 27

ASHER

As I wait for the girls Roger ordered Maddison to bring, time seems to freeze. The room grows quiet as I anticipate their arrival, not because Roger thinks I’ll want them, but because of Maddison’s reaction when she heard their names.

The real story here is her reluctance to fetch them. Her internal struggle not to refuse gave me the most intense goosebumps I’ve ever experienced.

Time, which had been standing still, suddenly rushes forward as Maddison enters through the bar doors with two young girls. They’re holding hands, looking more frightened than the others. Their eyes are cast down, and they’re clinging to each other tightly.

They’re dressed a bit more modestly, but their short shorts and tight tank tops leave little to the imagination. I feel a wave of disgust wash over me.

It’s the first emotion that hits me, and I have to move. If I stay seated, I might punch Mr. Fennick for exploiting these girls who barely look of age. So, I stand up, shooting Maddison a look of disappointment as I approach them.

I reach out, gently lifting both girls’ chins.

Two pairs of terrified eyes meet mine.

One pair, a vivid green, holds a world of pain and sorrow. The girl’s blonde hair falls like a halo, hiding her face, shoulders, and chest.

The other girl’s deep blue eyes, like the sea, drown me in their sadness, her brown hair obscuring her neck and shoulders.

I glance back and forth between the two girls, noting minor bruises on their arms, legs, and ankles. The bile rises in my throat.

I turn my attention back to the blonde girl.

Blonde, green-eyed, young…

She fits several profiles from memory, but something tells me there’s one in particular she might match. And that’s when I do it.

I do the most repulsive thing I’ve ever done.

“This…” I say, walking around the girls, inspecting them with a burning rage. “Is more like it.” I announce, my voice laced with anger I hope goes unnoticed.

“I told you, didn’t I? Everyone finds their something here at Sanctum. Which one is it?” Mr. Fennick asks, lighting another cigarette.

He stands and approaches us, a lazy smirk on his face as he looks between the two girls, calculating.

He’s trying to figure out which one I prefer. I have to give him credit for even considering it, given how many signals he’s missed from me.

“You want me to choose?” I ask, feigning surprise.

I draw on every drama and etiquette lesson my fathers have given me. I channel the times I’ve seen my sisters stand up to someone because of their beliefs and roll it all into a performance.

I could never choose between these two girls, not with the bruises marring their skin. I plan to leave here with both of them, I hope.

“Oh, the sickness that lives within,” Mr. Fennick laughs.

It’s a sinister laugh, one that seems to come from the depths of his soul.

“I approve,” he tells me.

His hands rest on my shoulders as I keep my gaze fixed on the girls. “The sicknesses that must run through your brain…”

“I want them tonight,” I interrupt him. The urgency in my voice is clear, but not for the reasons he suspects, I’m sure.

“Oh, now, now. Don’t be hasty. You know the drill at your parents’ place. Tests need to be done, contracts signed. You’ll have to wait until the weekend, at least.”

“I’m clean,” I admit. “I’ll pay whatever you want.”

“I can’t risk their health. The tests will be done today, and the deposit taken. You’ll have them, son…on the weekend.”

I want to scream, plead, beg him to change his mind, but I know it’s pointless. Any outburst would only draw attention to my desperation.

So, I sigh, leaning forward to gently stroke each girl’s cheek.

They both flinch, and that seals the deal for me.

I can’t make them fear me.

I have to stop, take a step back, and evaluate my own reactions.

Why is this so difficult for me to navigate?

“All right, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. I have some points I want to go over.”

“Sounds good. Girls, head back to your rooms. Get ready for tonight.”

“Hold on,” I interject. “I don’t want them with anyone else before they’re with me. Let’s talk about what it’ll cost to ensure that.”

He arches an eyebrow, swiveling quickly to face Maddison. “Fetch the necessary documents. And don’t waste my time, Hope. I have other appointments to keep.”

I don’t particularly appreciate the way he brushes Maddison off, but I let it go, making my way to the bar.

“Do you have a bartender, or is it self-serve?”

“Hope usually handles the bar. Give her a minute, and I’ll have her whip up another drink for you. Was the whisky not to your liking?” he inquires.

“No, it was fine. I just didn’t see it being poured. You know, club safety and all that. My folks would be upset if I drank something I hadn’t seen poured.”

“Fair point. My bartender’s manners are lacking. I’ll be sure to address his oversight.”

“So the girls. Miracle and Spitfire. Do they have real names?”

“They do, but for their protection, we use pseudonyms. They are, after all, under twenty-one,” he grins.

“Are they here willingly?” I ask, my tone firm.

“Absolutely, this place is their sanctuary—a stepping stone to a better future. These girls earn a good wage, which they save for their future—well, most of them do—and they understand what they’re providing. When they age out of their group, they can choose to stay on for the next, and the one after that. We cater to a variety of fantasies here, and the girls participate in the ones they enjoy.”

“So, they’re into CNC?” I question.

“Yes, they enjoy being dominated just as much as you enjoy dominating them. It’s a mutual agreement.”

“That’s good to know,” I murmur, reaching for the whisky bottle. I snap the seal, pop the cap, and grab a fresh glass. After pouring myself a drink, I down it and pour another.

“So, what’s the price tag?” I ask.

“The girls are charged by the night.”

“And if I want them for a longer period in the future? A long-term arrangement?” I suggest.

“We don’t typically do that with these girls. It’s usually just a few nights at most.”

“Why’s that, Roger?”

“For their safety,” he replies casually.

“I want to play out a kidnapping fantasy. Keep them confined in my apartment. Use them until I tire of them. Can’t you accommodate that?” I ask.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s coming out of his shell.”

“And your response is?”

“It’ll cost you,” he grins lasciviously.

“I’m willing to pay.”

“Then let’s work out a price. Hope, Hope. HOPE!” he bellows impatiently.

My heart pounds, and then she’s there, and I notice her tear-streaked face and flushed cheeks.

Something’s upset her, and it pisses me off that I can’t fucking ask her what it is.