Chapter 91

MADDISON

The journey from the bus stop to the building that’s starting to feel like a prison is both too long and too short. I find myself glancing over my shoulder repeatedly, my gaze sweeping the pavement behind me as if I’m expecting an attack. I keep telling myself that I can handle this, that everything is fine.

After all, this is my life, and I shouldn’t expect anything more or less than what I’ve been dealt.

The lights are all on when I step through the front doors. The bar is fully stocked, and the place is spotless, ready for the night’s shenanigans.

I’d forgotten how eerily quiet this place can be during the day when only a few private members are around. I tread softly, aware that my brief respite is almost over, and head straight to the back.

I punch in the code to get in, not having my key card with me.

Of course, Mr. Fennick is already there, just inside. That’s his usual spot before the private dances begin.

His eyes lock onto mine almost immediately, and with his laptop open in front of him, I know he’s been watching me since I stepped off the sidewalk and into the club.

“Ah!” He grins wickedly. “There’s our pet. Didn’t you bring dear little Asher with you?” he asks.

I shake my head, puzzled as to why he would assume such a thing when he saw me enter his building alone. But I’ve learned that questioning him is pointless.

“Asher’s not here,” I confess.

“Very well,” he replies, rising to approach me.

I cringe as his hand makes contact with my neck. He squeezes tightly, then circles me without breaking contact.

He takes in a full 360-degree view of me, then stops behind me. His breath fans my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

“I heard you weren’t very well?” he whispers.

“I wasn’t…”

“But you’re better now?” he probes, his hands exploring my body, encircling my waist, pulling me back against his firm form.

“Much…” I lie.

I’m not fully recovered, and I should still be resting. But here I am, back at work, fully aware of what’s expected of me.

“The club has missed its little pet,” he murmurs lowly. The sound resonates through me.

His pet name for me makes me submit in ways I wish I didn’t.

“Of course, sir,” I mumble to fill the silence he leaves hanging like a guillotine. I can feel it looming over me, swinging with the intent to harm.

“Are you home, or are you only here to see me as I requested?”

“Home…sir.”

His lips curve into a smile against my shoulder, making my skin crawl.

“Get a pot.” He orders, his hands leaving my body, his warmth leaving me feeling empty despite never wanting it in the first place.

“Let’s make sure you’re clean before I—or anyone else for that matter—fucks you.”

I nod, taking my first deep breath since I walked in here. I shuffle out into the hallway toward the cupboard where we keep our supplies.

I do exactly as he’s asked, peeing in the pot right there in the cupboard. I know that if I excuse myself to the bathroom, he might find it unacceptable.

I grab the test strips on my way out, presenting him with my sample and the tests.

My heart pounds in my chest as I hand everything over. Will the pregnancy test still be positive?

He dips both strips into my urine for five seconds each, then lays them out on the table in front of him to develop.

I stand there, anxiety gnawing at me, praying that one strip will be negative.

How will I explain that it’s a false positive because I already had the baby and my tube removed at the hospital?

Will he let me explain? Will he be angry that I got pregnant when that was the one rule I was supposed to follow?

My heart races with uncertainty as I watch him watch the strips.

“Good, negative,” he confirms, my heart skipping a beat as I search his face for any sign of emotion.

So many questions flood my mind. Is it really negative? Am I okay? Have the hormones left my body that quickly?

Does that mean I can work? Can fuck? Be fucked? Am I okay to go back to being the girl who takes one for the team every day?

I keep my words to myself, letting them stay unspoken as Mr. Fennick grins to himself.

“Get comfortable, Hope. You know the drill,” he says.

“Sure thing, Mr. Fennick,” I reply.

Just as I’m about to retreat back into the hallway and head to my room, he calls out, “Hope?”

“What is it, Mr. Fennick?” I respond, my tone flat, not bothering to turn around.

“Stay in your room until I come for you. I wouldn’t want Jonathon to see you before I’m ready for him,” he instructs.

“All right,” I agree, nodding even though he can’t see me.

I sprint down the hallway, heading for the last door that leads downstairs to our rooms.

Our rooms, as in the girls’. Each room is just big enough for a single bed and a dresser.

There are no doors, leaving us exposed for Jonathon and Mr. Fennick to walk right in.

We share a bathroom and a small room to do our makeup before the club opens.

That’s how Mr. Fennick likes it, constantly reminding us that we have no privacy and that we belong to him and Jonathon, even when we’re loaned out.

The other girls greet me warmly as I walk past their rooms.

My room is the last one on the left side of the long hallway, right before the bathroom and makeup room.

Luckily, my room has a curtain for privacy—a privilege I earned according to Jonathon.

He believes that others seeing what they can aspire to in terms of privacy is a good thing.

I walk straight into my room, pulling the curtain closed behind me with a shaky breath.

The white brick walls seem to be closing in on me, and I can’t stand it.

But I know there’s nothing I can do except make myself comfortable and get ready for my shift tonight.

I take twenty minutes to myself, letting my anxiety attack run its course as I survey the space I call my room.

Once I decide I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself, I shake it off.

“Time to help these girls get out of here, Maddy!”