Chapter 95

MADDISON

I wake up, not exactly thrilled about the day ahead, but I force myself out of bed anyway. After all, I’ve got a ticking clock—just three days to gather the information I need before everything goes to hell. The first thing on my list is to find out where my father’s meeting is taking place.

It’s a bit of a pain that Mr. Fennick keeps such crucial details hidden, but luckily, his laptop is right there on the table in his communal area, just outside his bedroom. I make my way downstairs, stepping into the same room I was in just last night. There it is, his laptop, just waiting for me to transfer all its secrets onto the flash drive Callum gave me.

Mr. Fennick is probably still in his bedroom, the door slightly open, soft snores drifting out. I should be terrified—messing with the one thing in this building that holds more secrets than anything else—but I’m not. Instead, I’m riding a wave of adrenaline like never before.

I pull out the flash drive from my bra, plug it into the USB port, and log in just as Callum taught me. The great thing about computers is that they can be hacked, and even though I’m not exactly a tech whiz, this flash drive gives Callum’s team the access they need to do their thing.

“Don’t take too long,” I whisper, just loud enough for the wire to pick up. “He’s an early riser.”

As I wait for the red light on the flash drive to turn green, I realize we’ve mirrored the computer, giving them control of the laptop whenever it’s on. I pull out the flash drive, a smirk playing on my lips as I stand a little taller. My back stings—the dried scabs protesting my movement.

I wish I could tell you that Mr. Fennick woke up and caught me snooping, but he didn’t. He’s still out cold, and with that, I head back upstairs to use the flash drive to take pictures of our living quarters. The morning goes surprisingly well, with tasks getting checked off one by one.

The flash drive lights up green every time I capture something they need. I take pictures of Mr. Fennick’s living area, the playroom I was in last night, our living quarters, the girls sleeping in their beds, probably high on Mr. Fennick’s special blend of ecstasy-laced heroin.

I snap photos of the bathroom, the powder room, and then I head up to the first floor. I take pictures of the back-room bar, the stage where we’re expected to perform for the clients, and the private rooms that Callum’s team has probably already photographed.

But with each room I pass, the flash drive lights up green—Callum’s way of communicating with me. By lunchtime, things slow down a bit. I tuck the flash drive back into my bra as Mr. Fennick finally emerges around eleven-twenty, which is pretty typical for him.

He stops in his tracks when he sees me waiting with his lunchtime sandwich and coffee. I stand next to his chair, just like I would on any other day when I’m not working at Starbucks. His eyes scan over me, seemingly pleased that I’m up and about after last night’s playroom session.

“Well, good morning, Hope,” he greets me.

“Sir,” I reply, setting down his coffee and sandwich just the way he likes.

“I didn’t expect you to be up and about today,” he comments, setting down the laptop I had been messing with earlier.

Even though I remember logging off and shutting it down, my heart starts to race at the thought that he might find it still on when he opens it.

“I’ve had worse,” I say, watching him closely.

Luckily, the screen is black, and he has to power it up.

“Oh, I know you have,” he chuckles.

“I’m a bit confused. Do we have any clients coming this afternoon?” I ask.

He hums, typing in his password that never changes. You’d think he’d want to keep it private, but it’s been the same since the day I arrived here.

“One client for Spice… I’m sure you can handle that. And then we have the usual evening clients,” he says.

“Of course. I’ll get Spice ready and have her wait in the room for her client.”

He nods, and I walk away as gracefully as I can, despite the pain radiating from the welts on my skin.

Spice is one of the older girls, about my age, and I’m not sure who her client is, but I have no doubt they’re into some pretty twisted stuff. I make my way back through the corridor and down to our quarters, finding her in the powder room already getting ready.

“Gabby?” I call out.

She looks at me and nods silently.

“So, you’ve got a client this afternoon?” I ask.

She nods.

“Let’s get you ready,” I say, taking the reins.

I start curling her hair while she finishes up her makeup. It’s a sight I can’t stand, and it’s even more heartbreaking knowing that I’m helping her prepare to be used.

It’s worse than the pain I felt last night when I was the one in her shoes. But that’s just me. I’ve always been the one to shield others, even at the expense of my own well-being.

In no time, Gabby is all dolled up. Her hair is neatly tucked away from her face, cascading down her back, and her makeup is flawless.

As we ascend the stairs to the room where it all happens, she speaks up.

“Maddison… I’m scared.”

“I know,” is all I manage to say.

I leave her in the room and head to the bar where her client is undoubtedly waiting. I straighten my back, the click of my heels setting the rhythm of my march.

But I stop in my tracks, and so does the rhythm of my heels, when I spot the old man at the bar. The same old man from Callum’s office… Dante, was it?

I push my discomfort aside and continue on, greeting him before the bartender can.

“Good afternoon, sir. Ready to return to paradise?” I ask.

He finishes his drink, thanks the bartender, and stands up without so much as a glance in my direction.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” he replies.