Chapter 40

MADDISON

His hand stays on my lower back, a silent declaration of possession, until I step out of the shop with his help. My heart pounds as he strides around the car, his long leather coat billowing in the wind. I watch, captivated and scared.

Jonathon doesn’t usually bother me outside our scheduled time together. Not here, and certainly not at the club.

“What’s our destination?” I ask as he slides into the car, grinning at me.

“A little dinner before your shift tonight. Don’t you want to spend some time together, Hope?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” I fib, mulling over the new name he’s given me. “I’m famished,” I admit, which isn’t a lie.

“Great, hop in.”

I obey, aware of the consequences of defiance. I sit quietly in the passenger seat as he starts the car and pulls away. No conversation begins, leaving my words unspoken and the silence heavy.

I despise silence. Silence leads to a dangerous state of mind, when memories come flooding back. But I can’t make a sound.

Jonathon prefers the quiet, and I know my chatter would provoke him. Provoke him how? He usually flies off the handle or gives me that emotionless stare. So I stay silent, gazing out the window, watching the world pass by as I bide my time and hold my tongue.

Who needs conversation anyway? It’s not like it would be meaningful. Jonathon isn’t the type to use words. He’s a react-first, think-later kind of guy.

He’s labeled a “bad boy,” but he’s far worse than that. He’s got his fingers in all sorts of pies, people on a leash who can get him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. He’s not afraid to exploit them.

Maybe that’s why I was drawn to him. Because, when all is said and done, that’s the type of man I’ve always been attracted to. I know it’s a toxic trait of mine, but they’re just like my dear old fucking dad.

I roll my eyes at myself for thinking of him, shaking my head to keep the tears at bay. But a few escape despite my efforts, and I instantly loathe myself for still letting him control me after everything he’s done.

For God’s sake, he sold me to these men who use me. Their use of me is more equal, as long as I behave to their liking. How do I always end up in situations like this, where I’m the one bearing the brunt of whatever the man is dealing with?

Do I have a neon sign above my head that only these men can see? Or am I just so pathetic that I crave the very things I despise in the moment?

Do I enjoy being violated? Do I enjoy being a toy for these men, stepping in for the younger girls? Is that why I went to Asher’s this morning? Hoping to get caught and punished?

It’s been a while, a few weeks at least, and Jonathon barely touches me. He’s “waiting” for me, he says. Consensual, non-consensual, he claims. That’s his thing—violating a girl without the consequences.

Many men from the club like that, and I just happen to be able to channel all that pent-up anger and anxiety from my past to play the perfect fucking victim. I guess my theatrics keep those men coming back for more until they don’t.

Until they tire of me and my routines and move on to the next girl who’s unwilling to do what I’m semi-willing to do.

And that’s the thing, I could never expose my dad or any of these men because, on some level, I’ve found pleasure in the wrongs done to me. Yes, you heard that right… I enjoyed some of the things done to me.

I discovered parts of myself I never would have with a sweet, vanilla boyfriend who fucked me missionary a couple of times a week. That’s why I’m so disgusted with myself, why I can’t accept myself as normal.

Because I’m fucking crazy, and that’s been nurtured all my fucking life. Tears dampen my cheeks, but I don’t dare wipe them away. Jonathon has made it clear he doesn’t want me thinking about my dad.

My mind was elsewhere during the drive, so I didn’t notice where we were going. But now, as I look at the massive hotel in front of me, my heart races.

It’s the same hotel I was at earlier today. I force myself to look indifferent, keeping my gaze straight ahead. If I look at Jonathon, I know I’ll give myself away.

“Ready to go?” he asks, his voice cheerful as he opens his car door.

He’s acting like this is a normal place for us, but it’s nothing like the fancy restaurants he usually frequents. He must know something, which means I’m in trouble.

What’s he planning? What’s he going to do to me? Will I enjoy it? There’s that twisted part of me surfacing again.

“Sure,” I reply, stepping out of the car and watching as Jonathon hands his keys to the valet.

“Let’s go. I have a room and a dress waiting for you. Dinner’s in thirty minutes,” he says.

I nod, avoiding eye contact as he leads me into the hotel. I pray, harder than I’ve prayed in years, that Asher isn’t here with his smug smile and arrogant demeanor.

And for now, it seems like luck is on my side as we walk through the lobby and up to the front desk. Jonathon quickly collects a key card and guides me to the same elevator I’ve already used twice today.

It’s an awkward moment as we stand side by side in the elevator. Instead of feeling excited, I’m filled with dread. I guess we’re having dinner downstairs, and while that’s not a problem, the thought of running into Asher is.

I know things are going to get messy tonight. Half of me is terrified, and the other half is thrilled. But first, I have to survive whatever Jonathon has planned.