Chapter 16

ASHER

I’m drained as I make my way home. I’m no closer to finding these girls than I was yesterday, despite pouring my heart and soul into the search.

This is my struggle. The ambition my father so desperately wants me to possess is nearly nonexistent, especially when things don’t go my way.

Even the idea of helping innocent girls who might be victims seems to have lost its appeal quickly. At least, that’s how it feels right now.

So, I head inside, tossing the envelope on the table as I pass by, and make my way to bed. I kick off my shoes, crawl under the covers, and fall asleep within minutes.

My head hits the pillow, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. Sleep calls to me, a welcome relief from the fatigue of staying up all night.

***

I jolt awake, a disturbing dream yanking me back to reality. A dream where a girl lies beneath a man, naked, shattered, and violated as he uses her repeatedly.

This is not a dream I enjoy having, but it’s a recurring nightmare that haunts me. And I’m not entirely sure why.

I don’t find that type of sex appealing. I’ve never watched “forced” porn, so there’s no reason for me to be dreaming about it.

Yet, this is the dream that’s been tormenting me on and off for years. A man dominating a woman, the woman lying bruised and bloody on the bed as the man takes her repeatedly while she cries. Ugh!

I run my hand down my face and glance at the clock, hoping to distract myself from the horrors of my mind. It’s four in the afternoon, which makes sense. I did stay up all night waiting to talk to that girl.

I guess it’s time to get up and have some afternoon coffee. Prepare myself for… What am I going to do today?

It’s Sunday, usually my day off, but I haven’t enjoyed myself all weekend. I didn’t get high. I didn’t go out. And I sure as hell didn’t bring anyone to my bed.

Everything feels off-kilter. My routine is completely disrupted. I roll my eyes at myself; I’m starting to sound like Atty. Today is for rest; tomorrow is for sex… blah, blah, blah.

I sip my coffee, gazing down at the streets below, and my thoughts drift to the girl, Hope, from last night. She’s attractive, the type I’d usually go for, and she seems outgoing.

But there’s something off about her demeanor. More importantly, something tells me she knows more than she’s letting on.

Something deep in my gut urges me to question her again. To press her harder for the information I feel she’s withholding. That settles it; I’ll go tonight because my gut is rarely wrong, at least when I listen to it.

I move away from the window and back into the kitchen. I reach for the folder I had carelessly tossed on the table earlier. I start flipping through the pictures I printed out.

I study each one, but something doesn’t add up. Three photos.

Anastasia, Charlotte, and Jet. But… Madison’s is missing.

My first thought is that it’s in the car, so I rush down to the parking lot and search my car, only to realize that, damn, it’s gone. Only one other person has touched the four photos I decided to print.

That’s when I decide to check my laptop, pulling up the missing photo. A girl named Madison. Nineteen, brunette…

She looks exactly like Hope.

“Oh, shit! No way!”

How did I manage to stumble upon one of the girls so easily? My heart pounds in my chest, practically leaping out as I realize how close I was to her. That I could have taken her to safety instead of another job.

She was in my car; she was safe with me, yet I let her go. I’m starting to feel less like a failure and more like I’m making progress.

There’s a dangerous thrill in my gut that feels like it could become addictive. No wonder she was so quick with her answers, practically leaping out of my car to get to Starbucks.

I’m half tempted to drive back to Starbucks right now, confront her about the lie she told me. But I don’t know how long her shift is.

I don’t want to make a pointless trip to Starbucks.

No, I’ll wait.

She’ll be at the club tonight. I’m certain of it; my gut is practically screaming it at me. I’ll find her there, wait for her in the hallway like I did last night.

I’ll confront her, corner her so she can’t spin any more lies.

Her family’s looking for her; they miss her, probably scared out of their minds. And yet, here she is, alive and well.

At least, she seems well.

But what if she’s not?

What if they’re holding her against her will, and she’s barely surviving? My mind starts to race, anxiety gripping me as I think about the girl I now know as Maddison. That’s how I spend my afternoon, sitting on the couch, mulling over how I should approach her—how I should tell her that I know who she really is.

That her name isn’t Hope, but Maddison. That she’s not even old enough to be in the damn club where I found her, let alone working there.

I’m at a loss. I can imagine a hundred different conversations, but I have no idea how she’ll react. I can’t predict how this will go. I’ll just have to wait and see and hope she doesn’t lose it.

There’s a part of me that hopes she’s just a runaway, that she’s happy and making her own way in life.

That her parents’ fears are unfounded, that she’s not being forced into sex work, made to do God knows what every night.

Her appearance gives me some comfort. She doesn’t look like someone who’s being used for…well, who knows what.

No, Hope… Maddison, whatever she wants to be called, she looks healthy. No bruises, no odd behavior.

I mean, she has a second job, for Christ’s sake.

That’s got to be proof that she’s free to come and go as she pleases, right?

I hate this overthinking, and I hate not knowing if she’s really okay. I just want tonight to get here already.