Chapter 39

ASHER

I’m at a loss when she abruptly pulls away and departs after…whatever just happened. Part of me yearns to keep her here, like I’ve done with the other girls. To ensure she stays in this relative sanctuary, compared to what she must be facing out there.

But there’s another part of me, the part I seldom heed, whispering that she knows where to find me. That she’ll return when she needs me, and not a moment sooner. She comes across as determined, competent, and obstinate.

Reminiscent of someone else I know, and if she’s anything like me, I doubt she’ll come running unless the timing is perfect. So I remain seated on the couch, motionless, despite every fiber in my body urging me to chase after her immediately.

I hear the door shut and the elevator’s arrival chime. The doors undoubtedly open to let her in, to descend to the building’s exit, back to a reality she doesn’t want but sees no escape from. And then it hits me that she’s gone, and I’m left alone once more.

Alone to experience the tail end of my high, alone to overthink and question whether I’m actually aiding these girls or just prolonging their torment. I can’t sit here lost in thought any longer; I despise overthinking and obsessing, which is exactly why I resort to the damn drugs I do.

So I prepare breakfast for myself and the girls, small omelettes filled with spinach and chorizo—my current breakfast of choice.

When the food is ready and the omelettes are served, I arrange a tray for the girls, adding orange juice, apples, and grapes to the mix. I’m not certain about their food preferences.

They could be vegetarians for all I know, and I hadn’t thought to inquire, hence the apples on the tray. A safety net in case they don’t consume meat and eggs.

I knock on the door three times, standing there like an idiot, waiting for the girls to invite me into my own room in my apartment. I don’t dwell on the lack of control. I don’t let those thoughts take root in my mind because they would trigger that urge in me to seize control, and I vowed not to cross their boundaries, expecting the same courtesy in return.

Addison answers the door in nothing but a towel, her eyes wide and beautiful as she looks up at me.

“Breakfast,” I say, gesturing to the tray in front of me.

She automatically glances down at the food, and I think I see a flicker of disgust in her eyes, but she conceals it well and nods.

“Thanks. Can you bring it to the bed?” she requests softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she retreats into the room toward the bed.

Her gaze shifts to the impeccably made bed, suggesting it wasn’t slept in last night, but I know better.

As I set the tray down, I quickly scan the room for the other girl, but she’s not here, which means she can only be in one other place—the en-suite bathroom.

I guess that’s a good sign. She made it through last night okay, and I hate to admit it, but my internal guilt will cause her pain.

I can’t do it. I can’t give her any more drugs. It’s wrong, so terribly wrong, and that’s a big realization for me.

If she wants to get high, she’ll have to find a dealer, and I doubt she’ll have the money or determination to do that when she believes I own her.

“When you two are ready, come to the kitchen. We have some things to discuss and purchase,” I inform Addison, leaving no room for debate.

I can see her fight-or-flight response kicking in—a moment of indecision about whether to follow my instructions or lay down another rule like she did last night.

She doesn’t, surprisingly defying her own defiance to nod just once.

With that nod, I turn to leave, heading back out into the apartment.

I have my breakfast at the counter, sipping my coffee from the same mug I use every day—my favorite blue mug that I’ve had for quite some time.

It takes the girls forty minutes to appear.

Addison looks refreshed, with damp hair cascading down her back, dressed in the plain T-shirt and joggers I gave her, and the other girl, the blonde, is wearing the pink pajama set I bought.

Her legs are exposed, her arms are exposed…

Damn, there’s a lot of her exposed, but she doesn’t seem to feel the discomfort that brings.

She strolls past me, her ass enticingly round and tempting before she settles down on the floor to gaze out the window.

My body reacts, and I find myself needing to avert my eyes.

Living with two girls is proving to be more challenging than I anticipated, especially considering I’ve been living alone for the past few years.

I clear my throat, finishing off the last of my coffee. I turn to Addison, who’s perched on the bar stool on the other side of the counter.

“She’s still having a hard time. Do you have any more…E’s?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” I respond, perhaps a bit too eagerly. The word comes out sharp, maybe even a bit harsh. “I can’t,” I murmur, rubbing my face with my hand.

“Listen,” I whisper again. “She’s young, and I’m an adult. There are consequences for supplying drugs like that. She needs to get off them anyway; let’s start as we mean to go on,” I tell her.

“I agree, but there’s no way she’s going cold turkey,” Addison counters, her body trembling slightly.

“You’ve used. I thought you said—” I start to ask.

“Six months clean… I lied, okay?” she snaps back.

“I thought you’d said—” I begin again.

But I can’t finish my sentence because she cuts me off—her anger directed at me as if this is all my fault.

“It’s a common thing for them to do with any new girl, but you have the choice to come off with good behavior. She hadn’t been with us long enough to make that decision, and she’s a fighter. A hot-headed fucking fighter, so they drugged her up to the gills. She was still being initiated.” Her words trail off as if she’s just realized she’s revealed more than she should have.

I try to suppress a smile as she stares past me, berating herself.

Time—that’s all this girl in front of me needs to spill every last detail. And I have time, plenty of it…