Chapter 82

ASHER

Maddison has been in the hospital for three days. We’ve been waiting for her tests to come back normal so she can finally come home and rest. I’ve been by her side the whole time, terrified that if I leave her alone, she might bolt.

If she runs now, everything could be ruined. I’ve noticed the way she glances at the door, the desperate need to escape flashing across her face. Then again, when she looks at the nurse.

It’s as if she’s on the verge of spilling all her life’s misery, hoping for help from someone other than me. But maybe I’m reading too much into it. They’ve given me a reclining chair to sleep on.

It’s far from comfortable. In fact, it’s the worst sleep I’ve ever had. But I’m here to make sure Maddison stays long enough to come home.

Home is a relative term, though. Where is her home? What does she consider home? I wish I knew the answer to that.

I wish I knew more about her life, her likes, dislikes, and passions. The real Maddison that I suspect I’ve never truly known. That’s the problem with her—and the other two as well.

They’re so guarded that I’m constantly guessing what they’re thinking, wanting…doing. It drives me crazy. And then I find myself second-guessing my own reactions.

But then again, Mama says that’s because they’re in the midst of the most traumatic experience a girl could ever face. I suppose she would know.

There’s a small part of me that wants to ask her about her own experience, about how she coped and how I can help the girls. But then I remember she’s my mother—and knowing would scar me for life.

Sometimes less is more, and I think that’s exactly what I need in this case. Anyway, I walk into Maddison’s room after signing her discharge papers and giving my address for the bill.

She’s standing there, looking out the window. Her hair is a greasy mess, her clothes are clinging to her, and her bags are all packed. She’s staring at the ground, and for a terrifying moment, I wonder if she’s fantasizing about jumping.

“Maddison,” I say softly. She doesn’t turn around.

“Are you ready to go home?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

She finally looks at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and relief. “Yes,” she whispers.

I nod, picking up her bags. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She follows me silently, and I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. I wish I could do more for her, but for now, getting her home is the best I can do.

Does she feel that way? Is she suicidal? If she is, then maybe I should ask Tilly to talk to her. After all, Tilly’s an expert at overcoming such thoughts.

My spine stiffens, and I swallow down the lump in my throat at the thought of her being so deeply hurt. But then again, what she told the officer about her father selling her to the club and the men she “services” or drugs to protect the other girls must be triggering.

I decide to talk to Tilly, to invite her home to our parents and ask her to speak to Maddison gently. That seems like the best approach.

“Are you ready?” I ask her, picking up the small rucksack from the bed and slinging it over my shoulder.

She jumps, clearly not having heard me approach, but she nods immediately.

“Yes,” she says quietly.

“Good, my dad’s downstairs with the car. I’ve signed your discharge paperwork…”

“The nurses were asking me about my prior medical history and said they couldn’t find anything under my name…” she mumbles.

She turns to me then, dark circles under her eyes. She looks tired. In pain. Exhausted.

“I know, they asked me too. Callum said they won’t be able to find anything for legal reasons. So maybe we should scram before they decide to investigate further…” I joke.

She doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even react. Instead, she just moves toward the hospital room door, ready to escape as I suggested.

Maybe she doesn’t get my dry sense of humor. I grab the medication bag and check that nothing is left behind before following her lead.

We walk through the ward, out the door to freedom. She grabs my hand—well, more like my wrist—but holds on as we walk through the hallways connecting the wards.

She’s practically running, her true feelings of entrapment showing as she heads for the exit. I hadn’t realized how deeply trapped she had felt over the last three days, but I guess I’m learning now.

It’s like she’s coming up for air as we walk out into the open car park. Her mouth opens, and she gasps. Her breath comes in deep, ragged gasps as she breathes freely for the first time in days.

“Are you okay?” I venture to ask, trying to fill the silence between us as we walk side by side.

“Does it matter?” she retorts.

“Of course it does—to me,” I respond, gently steering her toward Tyler’s car waiting in the drop-off zone.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs.

I don’t buy it, not for a second, but I decide not to push her. I don’t want to add to her stress.

Especially not with what Callum and the officer are planning to make her do as soon as she’s well enough—to serve as bait.

I’m not comfortable with it, not in the least, but I can see their point of view. Without her, we won’t be able to get the evidence we need to dismantle Fennick’s illicit operation.

The worst part is my mom; she’s livid at my dad for wanting to use Maddison in this way. She’s convinced it will hinder her recovery, but my dad is standing firm.

Maddison will contribute, just like Addison is doing; they’re key to taking down the syndicate my dad believes is operating in Fennick. And then they can return to their families.

But he doesn’t think Maddison should go back home. Not after she confessed what her father did and hinted at other things he might have done.

She’s been pretty tight-lipped about her home situation, though. I assist her into the back seat of my dad’s car, fastening her seatbelt for her before sliding in beside her.

I feel it then—that prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I glance around, but there’s no one in sight. But I know they’re there.

And I’m certain it’s either Fennick or Jonathon, acting on his behalf. My second check-in is coming up soon—the one where Callum hopes Maddison can provide intel on the next shipment of trafficked girls.

I’m dreading it.