Chapter 102

MADDISON

Fear has a funny way of steering the course of things, especially your thoughts. As we approach Sanctum, my heart pounds in my chest and sweat starts to bead on my skin.

I’m sure Mr. Fennick can see the sweat pooling and dripping off me, but it doesn’t matter. I had hoped to be greeted by a swarm of police cars and Asher’s parents, but all we find is the wired gate that leads us into the underground parking garage.

You’d think an underground garage wouldn’t accommodate large vehicles like a bus, but it seems Mr. Fennick had this all figured out to transport his precious cargo. We descend and park in the usual spot where his cars are always parked, and the buses follow suit.

Regrettably, that means my Papa and his henchman are also here. The worst part is being rushed upstairs into the club, which is prepared for the arrival of the girls rather than a night of dancing and close, sweaty fun.

This has been my job for months, and I can’t say I’m fond of it. There’s a camera waiting for me, and paperwork to fill out detailing each girl’s condition, characteristics, unique marks, and tattoos.

Mr. Fennick gives me just ten minutes to get settled before he calls for the first twenty or so girls to be brought up. They’re led in, one by one, each held carelessly by a man, and I’m forced to watch as the henchman strips them bare in front of me.

I see a sea of naked flesh. Perky breasts, slim waists, slender legs. Long hair, short hair, pouty lips. Light skin, dark skin… They’re all the same.

Each one is a girl who doesn’t belong here, a girl with a family that’s missing her. A girl ripped from her life to serve men she’s never met.

If someone were to ask, I wouldn’t deny that I find it unsettling to look at these girls. I mean, I’m not turned off by women, but I hate myself for even thinking about these girls in that way.

“Stand,” Mr. Fennick growls at each of them.

And even in their fear, they recognize the voice of a dangerous man. They stand tall, facing us as his eyes roam over their naked bodies.

And then it’s my turn, the moment I’ve been dreading all day. I have to photograph them standing, sitting, crouching—even bent over to expose their most intimate areas.

Their faces, breasts, vaginas, bottoms, hands, and feet. These girls are the new faces of the club. Their pictures will be rushed into a new catalog for tomorrow.

I hate that I’m taking these nude photos, and I hate the appreciative hums from the men as I position each girl into degrading and explicit poses for each shot. But I have no choice; this is my role, my job.

After this, I’ll be their drug dealer and their boss. Their behavior is my responsibility. If they fail, I get punished after witnessing theirs.

There are too many this time for me to protect; there’s no way I can sleep with all these men to save all these girls. I can’t be in more than one place at once, and as I reach the twenty-ninth girl, I realize that Mr. Fennick has nearly doubled his “mutton” girls.

I’m allowed a bathroom break and a moment to gather my strength between the first and second batches of girls. Then, the grueling task starts all over again, and I have to photograph the girls intended for club and private use.

I say a silent prayer, pleading with God to forgive me for my sins as I take each girl’s portfolio. But all I can think about is how these girls will look by next week.

There will undoubtedly be thick bands of bruises on their arms, legs, hips, and maybe even their necks. It’s unbearable to think about these girls. But then the last ones arrive.

The special ones. The ones that upset me the most. And my anxiety makes me hesitate when they bring the first underage girl to me.

The men eagerly tear her clothes off while they leer at her. And that’s when I freeze.

I’m not keen on putting these young girls in inappropriate poses. At the snap of Mr. Fennick’s fingers, I find myself doing just that.

However, Mr. Fennick halts me as I’m about to position the innocent blonde girl standing before me. His hand on my shoulder freezes me in place, and his softly spoken words soothe my worries.

“No need to pose these ones. They’re virgins, after all. Let’s leave the rest to the imagination…or their first experience.” He chuckles.

The urge to vomit rises in my throat, but I suppress it. Instead, I stand up, signaling to the henchman to escort this girl out and bring in the next one.

Mr. Fennick doesn’t permit me to take any other photos of the young girls, except for their naked bodies from the front and back. Even that feels sickeningly perverse, and the worst part is that I’m the one taking these photos—a crime I’d confess to over and over if I had to.

After the last girl, I find some water to rinse my mouth, clutching the camera close so no one can access the images I’ve just captured. That’s when Mr. Fennick approaches me, patting the back of my head as if I were a pet.

His body presses against mine, and his lips find the side of my neck.

“What a good little pet you are. I know that must have been hard for you, but I’m proud of your tenacity and ability to push through,” he murmurs.

His hands slither around my front, both palms sliding down my midsection until both forefingers touch my vagina.

“I need you to upload those pretty pictures to my laptop, Hope,” he whispers. “Save them to four hard drives. Make sure I can easily access them tonight.”

“O-Okay,” I stutter.

“Be a good girl, and maybe I’ll deny your father the night he craves, Filly.”

I choke down that awful nickname, ignoring the constant circling of my clit through my clothes. I wish I could say he’s making me wanton with desire, but my nerves remain dormant and unresponsive.

As I’ve mentioned before, Asher is the only man I’ve ever felt those emotions for.

“Sit here at the bar; I need to make sure you don’t do anything…stupid,” he mutters while sliding his laptop down the bar to place it in front of me.

He logs in, allowing me to see the wealth of information at my disposal.

“Okay,” I mumble, but truth be told, I’m fucking thrilled.

I pray to God Callum’s been listening and is ready to download these revolting images to use against Mr. Fennick in court—and, honestly, against me too.

Because I deserve to go to jail for subjecting these girls to what I’ve just participated in.