Chapter 60

ASHER

Zach turns to me after closing the door on Jonathon. “What’s up?” he asks. I wish I could say he escorted the jerk out of the building, but he simply said a quick goodbye before shutting the door. I know guys like Jonathon tend to hang around where they’re not wanted.

“I just came to say hi. I thought I’d wait until you were out of the office,” I tell him.

“I’m about to head out; it’s Friday,” he replies, tidying up his office and packing his laptop into its bag. I watch him, amused. The kid in me is relieved I wasn’t caught snooping.

But then he stops, closing the top drawer that holds his stationery. It was already closed when I walked in. Rule number one of not getting caught: leave everything as you found it.

I pretend not to notice, staring straight ahead but letting my eyes drift to the right side of my face. For a moment, I think he’s going to call me out, but he just closes the drawer and continues packing up.

Then, to my surprise, he turns on the CCTV system. The screens flicker to life, showing every corner of the hotel. There’s no sound, but I’m sure the cameras can pick up conversations.

The screens cycle through different areas: the empty hallway outside, the lobby and restaurant from various angles, the elevators and fire exits, the hallways leading to the hotel rooms. Then they switch to the off-limits areas—the club at the top, currently filled with people, including my brother.

I spot him right away, sitting at the bar with a grin on his face. He’s dressed in his work suit, sipping a glass of water. What’s unusual is that he’s talking to a woman.

She seems to be in her thirties, curvy, and wearing a simple green dress. She seems to be enjoying my brother’s attention. I can’t help myself; I rush toward the monitor. “Can you keep it on camera seven hundred and five?” I ask my father.

This place is huge, and there’s a ton of CCTV.

“Didn’t your mother teach you it’s not polite to snoop?” he asks.

“I’ve never seen Atty talk to a girl before. It’s a rarity,” I shrug.

Despite his teasing, he does as I ask, zooming in on the largest screen. They’re still there, chatting calmly despite the chaos of people having sex in the far right corner on an armchair or the woman being kissed by two men a little farther down the bar.

“Her name is Ashley. She’s twenty-eight. A law graduate. She’s his filter,” my father casually informs me.

I want to cheer. Finally, my brother has realized he’s got a pair of balls. I once thought he’d be celibate for life, or maybe he was gay and didn’t want to come out.

Not that he’d have any reason to hide it, given our parents’ unconventional relationship. But maybe I was wrong; maybe he does like women—just older ones?

“You vetted her?” I ask.

“I vet everyone who gets close to the people I love…” His voice trails off, and I glance at him.

Does he already know? Could I just blurt it out, and he’d know what to do? Maybe he’s already figured out what I need and how to help me.

Maybe it’s just a matter of saying the right words to end this nightmare and point me in the right direction to save these girls who are being trafficked.

“Dad. I…” But despite thinking he already knows, the words stick in my throat.

“Yes?” he asks, a knowing look in his eyes.

He knows something, and I’m about to spill my guts. I’m about to ask for forgiveness and help for these girls, but then the fire alarm goes off.

The piercing sound is so loud I can’t hear my own racing heartbeat. We’re both rooted to the spot, baffled.

It’s not a drill day. Those are reserved for the fourth Wednesday of every month, which means these damn alarms are blaring for a legitimate reason.

My dad quickly switches the screens to the kitchen view—one for the restaurant and one for the club.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but employees are leaving their stations, following the fire alarm protocol.

“What the hell is going on?” My father’s voice is laced with panic, but I can’t afford to stick around to help him figure it out, because all I can think about are the girls trapped in my apartment.

The girls, I’m certain, won’t leave unless they’re physically pulled out. They’re unfamiliar with the drill, and I’m damn sure they’re too frightened to leave on their own.

I sprint out the door, down the hall, and across the lobby, skidding into the elevator with a burn on my feet from the friction.

“Asher, you need to evacuate,” one of the security guards calls out, but I pay them no mind as I override the elevator controls and send it up to my floor.

The lights dim halfway up, and I realize the systems are trying to extinguish a potential fire. This only happens in case of a fire, which makes me even more desperate to reach the girls and get them to safety.

The elevator doors slide open to reveal a dimly lit hallway. The emergency lights are the only source of illumination, and the sprinklers are drenching the carpets.

I sprint toward my apartment, reaching the door in mere seconds. I fumble in my pocket for my key fob, in a rush to get inside, when suddenly an arm wraps around my throat.

I fight against the person, jabbing my elbow into their torso, but it doesn’t seem to faze them. Instead, they drag me like a ragdoll down the hall to the only other vacant apartment on this floor.

I let my body go limp, making it harder for them to drag me while I strategize my escape. They use a key fob to unlock the electronic door, then toss me inside.

I slide across the tile, my feet slick from the water in the hallway, and I barely manage to catch myself before I face-plant. I turn around to see the jerk who shoved me inside.

I should’ve known.