Chapter 49

ASHER

The doorbell rings, interrupting my struggle to light a joint in bed. The drawer seems to be calling out to me, tempting me to reach in and grab what’s always been hidden inside. A distraction, just when I need it the most.

I can’t help but wonder if this is some divine intervention, but that would mean I’d have to fully believe in God, and I’m not ready for that. I put my internal struggle aside and head to the door, grateful for the unexpected company.

Maddison is standing there as I open the door, her eyes wide and her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She’s in her Starbucks uniform, and I can tell she’s not in the same shape as she was yesterday morning when she was sitting on my lap, chasing her dreams.

A wave of panic washes over me. I want to memorize every mark on her skin so I can teach the bastard who hurt her a lesson.

“What happened?” I ask as she pushes past me into my apartment as if she owns the place.

I step out into the hallway, looking both ways to see if she’s with anyone, but it’s empty. She’s come to me alone.

I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Eventually, I follow her inside and gently close the door behind me, careful not to disturb Addison and Eb, who went to bed early. Maddison is standing by the kitchen counter when I join her, her hands shaking at her sides, the kitchen lights illuminating every mark on her body.

There are red welts and scabs on her neck, bruises around her eye and the corner of her mouth. Her right eye is bloodshot, and her skin is flaky and dry with something I don’t want to think about.

“I need a shower,” she declares, heading toward my room without a second thought.

I follow her into my room and then into my bathroom, where she’s already made herself at home.

“Get out,” she snaps at me as I sit on the toilet seat, watching her with a protective gaze.

“Who did this?” I demand, ignoring her request for privacy.

She sighs, trying to hide her emotions, but I can tell she’s upset. It’s frustrating that she won’t open up to me, but what can I do?

She doesn’t trust me, and she’s still unsure of me, but even knowing that, I can’t bring myself to leave her alone. So, I sit there, watching her undress, taking in every inch of her bruised and battered skin.

She’s covered in marks, as if someone had violated her repeatedly and left their mark on her. The thought makes me sick and angry.

Who could do this to someone as beautiful and innocent as her? Why would they hurt her like this?

“Getting a good look?” she yells at me, her voice filled with anger.

“Who did this?” I ask again, my leg bouncing with the need to do something.

I can’t help but scan her body again, taking in all the marks and bruises, ignoring the parts that should be arousing me. I need to know she’s okay.

Without thinking, I walk toward the shower as she steps under the hot water. I don’t bother to take off my pajama bottoms before I join her under the stream.

Without a word, I pull her toward me, holding her against my body. She needs comfort right now, and I need to know she’s okay.

It only takes a few deep breaths before she starts crying into my chest, her hand resting against my pec. I hold her, allowing her to be vulnerable while my anger continues to build.

Could this be a warning? Did they send her to me, battered and bruised, as a cautionary tale of what could happen if I dare to defy them? Or is it something else entirely?

Maybe it’s a punishment for her, a consequence of her actions. I rack my brain, trying to understand how any man could justify such brutality, how anyone could inflict such harm without feeling a shred of guilt or self-loathing.

I’m at a loss. I could never. I would never harm a woman in this way.

But I’m aware that there are monsters out there—twisted individuals who walk among us, preying on girls like her and others—girls who can provide a unique kind of pleasure that can only be stolen once.

We linger in the shower for what feels like forever; her sobs gradually morph into shaky breaths and then silence. Her emotions are neatly tucked away again as she transforms from a vulnerable nymph into a rigid plank in my arms.

I run my fingers through her hair, hoping to soothe her, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. I feel helpless, as if my capacity to comfort her has been utterly swept away.

“Let me help you,” I plead, gently caressing her cheek between the two welts that now mar her face.

“You can’t help me, Asher, but you can help them. And the other girls. I beg you.” She implores, her voice trailing off as she turns her face away and rests her ear against my chest once more.

The sound of my heartbeat seems to calm her, sparking a desire to keep her in my arms.

“I beg you to help as many as you can until they stop you,” she murmurs so softly that her words could be drowned out by the shower’s spray.

“I’ll try, Maddison. But I need information, a strategy.”

“Do you have friends?” she inquires.

“Why?” I respond, puzzled.

“The only way to free them is to buy their services. Money has to exchange hands for their liberation.”

“I…” I ponder my friends, the people I’ve deliberately kept at a distance. Most would be of no help, perhaps even a hindrance, if they went to the police. But there are a few I can trust.

Some are even friends of my father.

“I have a few people I can trust,” I murmur into her hair, uncertainty creeping into my voice.

If I’m going to involve these people, I’ll have to disclose my plans, and I’m not sure I’m ready to do that yet. But I won’t tell her that. I won’t distress her any more than she already is.