Chapter 47

MADDISON

I mechanically get dressed while Jonathon has breakfast in the kitchen, all by himself.

His eyes were filled with anger when he left me. His voice echoed disappointment.

But I don’t care anymore.

Not after last night, when I realized he wasn’t the gentle soul I thought was hidden beneath his tough exterior.

It’s like my ability to judge men is faulty, always gravitating toward the wrong ones, hoping against hope that I might stumble upon a man who would treat me with the respect I’ve always yearned for.

A man who would love me unconditionally and deeply, who would protect me at all costs, even if it meant getting hurt himself.

But I’ve never met a man like that, except in the books I used to lose myself in.

I guess because of my past experiences, where men used me for their pleasure, my self-preservation instincts have been shattered, leaving me vulnerable to the many monsters that walk this earth.

My inner beliefs no longer match up with reality.

The men around me seem to want only one thing—my body, using it for their pleasure while I stand by and let them, just like I have for most of my life.

And even though I say I want something different, it seems my body craves what it’s used to.

Yes, I find pleasure in some of the things they do, but that doesn’t mean I want to; it doesn’t mean I don’t resist the pleasures these men offer me.

And I guess I was willing to accept Jonathon’s ultimatum of not finding pleasure with anyone but him.

Having someone to answer to gives me a reason to listen.

I think my mind is so twisted that, sadly, this is who I am now.

I dress without feeling, mechanically pulling on my clothes as I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Bruises mar my skin everywhere.

My face, chest, arms, and breasts are a patchwork of colors.

My neck is lined with scabs, dark red streaks marking my throat, evidence of the wounds that bled while I lay in silence.

I should be repulsed by my reflection. I should feel sadness and other emotions, but I feel nothing; I’ve become numb to any pain that can hurt me now.

I quickly cover up the marks on my body, but the ones on my neck and face are harder to hide, and unfortunately, I don’t have any makeup or any other clothes than the ones I wore yesterday.

My Starbucks uniform is just a pair of pants and a top.

“Good, you’re ready. It’s time to go home, Hopey,” Jonathon announces, his voice so deep and sharp, it feels like his knife is cutting through my skin again.

“I’m not going home with you, Jonathon,” I tell him firmly, but my voice doesn’t seem to affect him. I can tell just by the way he looks at me.

He won’t let me go; he’ll resist until he’s blue in the face, no doubt. But his words catch me off guard.

“Then you’ll have to earn your freedom, kitten,” he tells me, a cruel smile on his face that both terrifies and excites me.

Earn my freedom?

Earn…

“How?” I ask, disbelief clear in my voice as I consider his offer.

Is it really that simple, the chance to leave just a sexual favor away? Because if that’s the case, then of course I’ll fucking submit to him again.

I’d do anything he wants if it meant I could come and go as I please. But then again, where would I go if I didn’t have him?

There’s no way my Starbucks salary could afford even a cardboard box, let alone a small apartment for me and some of the girls. The girls with Asher.

Because, let’s be honest, I’d get them out of there as soon as I could. I’d happily live in a tiny one-bedroom apartment with all the girls if it were possible.

Sleeping piled on top of each other has never sounded so appealing; if only they were safe, I could ensure they were never used again. But I can’t, and that leaves me wondering if earning my freedom would be fair to the others.

Without me there, they would have no one to take their place. There would be no one to sleep with the men Fennick assigned them to.

I wouldn’t be there to distract these vile men away from the barely legal girls. A wave of guilt washes over me, but it’s fleeting.

It’s quickly replaced by the memory of my reflection, the life I’ve lived, and the horrors these men have subjected me to.

The images play in my mind like a never-ending horror movie.

I’ve had my fair share of men.

Whether they were inside me, on me, or around me.

Whether it was one, two, or five at a time.

Whether it was my own kin or a random patron of the clubs.

It’s only when I confront these ugly truths that I decide to do something for myself.

I move toward him, my steps light as I reach for the back of his neck.

I press my lips to his in a kiss that’s desperate for the freedom he promised.

The kiss is filled with a yearning for liberation.

He keeps it PG—like something out of a fairytale.

But this is far from a fairytale, especially with the knowledge that my actions in the next few moments could grant me the freedoms I’ve never known.

My hand snakes around his neck, my fingers grazing his throat.

A dark thought crosses my mind, a fleeting fantasy of choking him for all the wrongs he’s done to me.

But I push it away, along with the part of me that wants to run.

My hands toy with his shirt lapels, slipping beneath the fabric to explore the firm muscles underneath.

To the naked eye, Jonathon is perfect.

But my mama always said not to judge a book by its cover, and I think I understand that better than anyone now.