Chapter 69

ASHER

I’m standing by my car, silently pleading for some kind of guidance I’m obviously missing. I want to just drive away, disappear into the horizon and never look back, but I can’t shake this sense of responsibility for the girls I’ve rescued. Sure, I’m not a cop, and I’m definitely not a trained special agent like my dad’s crew, but I’ve managed to do in weeks what he’s been doing for months.

I never realized how similar we actually are. The ironic part? I’d love to be trained by my dad, to become the person I’ve been pretending to be these past few weeks.

The idea of joining Sense, of leading operations to save people who can’t save themselves, has never been more appealing. I’d stand next to Callum in a heartbeat, eager to learn everything he could teach me about this work that’s ignited a passion in me.

But Callum doesn’t think I’m up to it. He’d rather train some random guy off the street than his own son.

I must have been lost in thought, sitting on the hood of my car, because now Ella’s approaching with the girls, her smile as gentle and warm as ever, and I see the girls mirroring her, following her willingly. They’ve clearly won over my sister, which is a good thing.

In this family, you need Ella’s approval to get anywhere.

“Coming? Dinner’s ready,” Ella calls over her shoulder, not breaking stride as she heads for the house.

“You’re going to love Catherine’s cooking; it’s amazing,” she tells the girls.

I watch them disappear into the house before I follow, hopping off the hood just as my dad and Daniel emerge from Sense. I don’t wait for them, heading straight for the house, still too angry to deal with them.

Dinner is ready, the table laden with dishes of vegetables, a leg of lamb, and all the other fixings you’d expect with a Sunday roast, even though it’s a day early. My mom’s having a hard time with my little sisters, who are putting up a fight as she tries to get them into their high chairs, so I step in to take Indi from her.

“Are you giving Mama a hard time today, Indi?” I ask.

“Asher,” she wraps her tiny arms around me.

My attempt to help quickly backfires. Lorelei starts screaming because she wants to be held too, and my mom looks ready to throw in the towel.

“I’ll get them in the chairs,” I tell her, seeing how close she is to losing it.

I guess Atty was right when he said the girls have been acting up lately.

Holding both of them close for a few minutes, I then use my sternest voice to tell them they need to sit in their chairs if they want dinner. They obey, taking one look at my serious face before climbing into the chairs that have been around since Ella was a baby.

My mom takes her usual seat, looking both worn out and impressed by my ability to handle the girls’ rebellion. I notice my dads watching me too.

I see that Tal isn’t here; her seat is taken by Ebony, and Atty’s seat is filled by Maddison. That leaves me sandwiched between them.

It shouldn’t be a problem, but something about it makes me uneasy. Being a guy, though, I take my seat, albeit uncomfortably, and ask them both if they’re okay.

They both nod, but I can see they’re not okay. Their cheeks are flushed, and they look uncomfortable, clearly out of their element at a table full of strangers.

Meanwhile, Addison seems perfectly at ease next to Ebony and Ella, chatting quietly about Ella’s photography business and how she loved her photography class in school. I can see a strong bond forming between them.

Zach says Grace, a quick, simple prayer, and then we’re free to fill our plates.

Maddison hesitates, looking overwhelmed by the array of dishes. I think the prayer or the choices might have triggered her, and Ebony doesn’t move at all. She doesn’t put any food on her plate, so once mine is full, I fill hers too.

“Eat,” I tell her quietly.

~What has she been eating this past week?~ Probably not much, if my gut feeling is right.

She picks up her fork with a trembling hand, her gaze fixed on the half-filled plate I’ve served her. She’s never been one for big meals, that much I’ve figured out, but the heroin withdrawal has her flat-out refusing to eat.

The dinner table is unusually quiet as we all eat, a stark contrast to our usual lively chatter. I find the silence comforting, allowing me to eat without the pressure of sharing stories or avoiding certain topics.

But like all good things, the silence eventually breaks. Zach is the one to initiate the conversation, directing his attention to Maddison first.

“So, Maddison,” he begins, “who are you? Where do you come from?”

She swallows audibly, her anxiety bubbling just beneath the surface, and I can’t help but think she might explode at any moment.

I keep an eye on her from the corner of my eye, ready to intervene if she decides to throw anything at my parents from across the table. But she doesn’t react as I expect her to.

Instead, she shrugs her shoulders and gives the most noncommittal answer possible.

“I’m nobody, Mr. Henderson…”

That’s all she says.

My parents exchange worried glances before turning their attention to Ebony.

Once again, Zach poses the same question to her as he did to Maddison.

“Hello, Ebony. Who are you, and where do you come from?”

Ebony’s hand finds mine under the table, her nails digging into my palm as she clings to me.

“I grew up in Germany, but we’ve been living in Manhattan for a few years now. I’m still a student, so there’s not much to tell.”

That’s more than Ebony has ever shared with me. I mean, it took her days just to tell me her nickname, Eb.

I squeeze her hand reassuringly. She lets out a sigh of relief when Zach turns his attention to Addison.

“You don’t owe them anything, Ebony. You don’t have to talk,” I whisper to her.

“And Addison. What about you?” Zach asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Henderson. You seem to know our names already. Perhaps you already know who we are…” she replies, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

That certainly gets my family’s attention.

“She has a point, Dad, even I didn’t know her name,” Ella chimes in.

“Maybe Asher told us?” Callum suggests.

“Why would he do that?” Addison retorts. “After all, it would be incriminating for him to share information that points in the direction of him aiding in our trafficking.”

The room fills with gasps, and my heart drops.

“What?” Ella asks, her fork clattering against her plate.

I glance at her, feeling like a cat caught in a bathtub, with no idea how to recover from Addison’s statement.

~What the hell is Addison trying to do?~

“Please tell me you didn’t,” Daniel murmurs from beside her.

“Calm down; he’s done nothing of the sort,” Callum interjects.

“Well, actually, I think I can confirm that he did pay to have me as his sex toy…”

“~Addison~,” Maddison warns.

“What, Hope? Are you going to sit here and pretend everything’s fine when these people seem perfectly normal, unlike their son?”

“Addison,” I say, my cheeks burning.

“He paid two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for Ebony and me, and even more for Hope…”

“Shut up!” Ebony squeals.

“Damn… I knew something was off with you earlier,” Daniel accuses me.

“It’s not true. Well, it is. But I didn’t pay for them like that—” I start to explain.

“Asher, please tell me you didn’t pay for these girls?” Ella stands up, her fist clenched in anger.

“I did, but only to save them, Ella. Jesus Christ, who do you think I am?”

“Sit down, Ella. Asher’s done nothing wrong. He’s helping me with a case the feds have taken sense on for. Yes, money changed hands for these girls. But it’s an inside job,” Callum jumps to my defense.

I turn to him, my eyes wide in surprise.

His face warns me to play along, so I do.

“Mm-hmm, exactly,” I agree.

“I knew there was something our souls connected over outside,” Mama adds.

The table falls silent again, everyone’s attention now on Mama.

Her words, though whispered, carry a weight of pain. It’s a profound, all-encompassing agony that seems to radiate from her very being.

Zach and Callum both instinctively reach for her beneath the table.

We all witness it, this protective barrier they’re constructing around her.

Addison’s voice cuts through the silence, her tone devoid of any humor. “You were trafficked?”

“Essentially,” Mama responds, her voice barely above a whisper.