Chapter 14

ASHER

I never get the chance to sleep with her, but she does share her name—Penelope. I make a mental note of her apartment number, just in case.

I have a hunch that Penelope could be useful to me.

She seems to know her way around town, and she mentions a few places she frequents. I can’t help but wonder if she could help me find the group I am searching for.

The pimps, as I’ve taken to calling them.

But something holds me back from asking her for help so soon after meeting. My fathers always advise me not to dive in headfirst without knowing how deep the water is.

Penelope speaks warmly of my fathers, knows them personally, and even refuses to sleep with me out of respect for them. I figure it’s time to heed their advice.

Clearly, she knows my fathers to some extent, but the depth of their relationship is beyond me.

I don’t want to spoil the good vibes between us by asking such a trivial question. Who gives a damn, anyway?

So, I leave her and return to my apartment to carry on with my day—doing laundry, getting dressed, eating.

You know, the usual humdrum tasks of life while I wait for nightfall. My mind keeps drifting to sex workers, a term that feels wrong to use if these girls are being forced into this line of work.

Mostly, they work at night, or so I assume.

I mean, I don’t really know. I’ve never hired a sex worker before, but maybe it is time to consider it, purely for investigative purposes.

So, that is my plan, and here I am at one of the most upscale clubs in town, The Dark Night. Quite the name for a club, if you ask me.

The music is thumping, the lights are dimmed. Strobe lights flash in sync with the beat, and I am sandwiched between people, all of us dancing.

The one upside of being a single guy in a club is the attention, and I am getting plenty of it.

I would be enjoying it if I weren’t here on a mission. I’ve made no progress in finding the missing girl, and I’ve spent another full week working under Daniel.

I can almost feel his thumb hovering over me, ready to squash me like a disobedient ant. I know he is the big shot who owns everything, but damn, he is irritating.

At least Ella hasn’t visited his office since the day I caught them kissing. I am beginning to suspect that Daniel called her and that she doesn’t really want to spend time with me.

I’ll be the first to admit that since I moved out, my relationships have become distant and strained.

I prefer to keep to myself, stay in my apartment, get high or drink until I pass out.

I enjoy sleeping with girls and then moving on.

My life is a neat little box that I’ve created, and I like it that way. I gave up trying to fit in a long time ago.

I found that being different makes me happiest. Ignoring trends, people, and social media is good for my soul.

But tonight, I’m ignoring the girls throwing themselves at me in favor of not sleeping with a willing participant. Damn, that sounds all kinds of wrong when I say it out loud.

I weave my way through the dancing crowd, sidle up to the bar, and order a water. I can’t afford to get drunk tonight.

No, I’m here to observe—to see if anyone is selling girls.

At first, for the first few hours, I think I am getting nowhere. The club seems completely above board; there are no women with sad faces being groped.

That’s how I imagine I’d spot something amiss.

But I am being narrow-minded because the longer I sit at the bar, the more I notice middle-aged men sitting alone.

They order a drink or two, glance at the young crowd dancing, and then vanish before I can blink.

How have I missed this before?

That’s when I zero in on one man in particular. He can’t be more than thirty, sporting a pricey suit, nursing his second drink, and sitting just a few stools away from me.

I’m sipping on my dad’s favorite whiskey, my gaze fixed on him. Then, as expected, a young brunette, dressed like she’s straight out of a secretarial pool, comes to fetch him.

As the night wears on, three more men I’ve been watching vanish in the same way.

Curious about where they’re going?

Well, I trail the last one, right down the club’s exterior, along the corridor leading to the restrooms. I observe as the woman escorts him through a door that appears to be locked, swiping a card on the left side.

The door swings open, and they’re gone. I bide my time, waiting a solid thirty minutes before the woman emerges alone.

She exits the door, her gaze lowered until she spots me lurking beneath the lone camera aimed at the suspicious entrance. I’m concealed, and I think that throws her off.

She keeps walking as if she hasn’t noticed me until I seize her arm.

“I’m in search of something,” I murmur under my breath.

“The drugs are sold at the back of the room, by the red-haired guy with tattoos,” she informs me.

“I don’t need drugs; got plenty of those,” I smirk. “I need a woman, someone to help me get off,” I tell her, pulling her against the wall before we step out of the hallway’s shadows.

There’s another hidden camera just around the bend.

“Let go of me,” she hisses.

“Can you help me find what I’m looking for?”

“No. You need money and lots of it. You’re way out of your league, kid.”

She wrenches free from my grip, nearly stumbling but catching herself on the wall before she walks away without another word.

I glance back at the door.

Bingo. This is exactly where I need to be, but how do I score an invite inside?

The girl is the only obstacle between what I want and how I can get it.

I take a moment to relieve myself before reclaiming my spot at the bar. It’s one in the morning, the club is still in full swing, and I watch the girl continue her routine, escorting men back every half hour.

And that’s the clincher for me. I’ll wait for her, confront her after her shift.

She’s the only thing worth looking into right now—the only lead I’ve stumbled upon in nearly two weeks.