Living with my PORNSTAR sisters-Chapter 25: Hold On to Me

The apartment felt colder than it should have that day.

Sasha had been gone since breakfast.

No note. No text. Just her phone going straight to voicemail after the tenth call. Leo had paced the living room so many times the carpet was starting to wear under his sneakers. Raven kept refreshing her location—nothing. Lana sat on the arm of the couch hugging her knees, eyes red. Blair stood by the window chewing her thumbnails.

They’d called the police at 2 p.m.

The officer on the phone had been polite. Adult woman, no signs of abduction, probably just needed space after a fight. They’d "put out a description" and "keep an eye out." Leo had wanted to scream. He didn’t.

Instead he grabbed Raven’s Mercedes key off the hook—black GLC, and ran.

He drove like someone chasing a ghost.

First the little park three blocks over where Sasha liked to smoke when she was stressed—empty benches, just a couple teenagers on swings. Then the coffee shop on 7th with the outdoor seating she always claimed was "her spot"—closed early, chairs stacked. Then the pier where they’d all gone that one night last summer, the four of them drunk on cheap rosé and stupid dares—nobody there but a fisherman packing up.

Every place came up empty.

His phone buzzed. Raven.

"Come home, Leo. She’s here."

He almost rear-ended a Prius turning around too fast.

The drive back felt longer than the search. He parked crooked in the guest spot, didn’t care, sprinted up the stairs two at a time.

The door was unlocked.

He burst in.

Sasha sat dead center of the sofa—curled into herself, knees to chest, hair plastered dark and dripping down her back. Her white tank top clung transparent to her skin, nipples dark shadows underneath, shorts soaked through. Water pooled on the cushion beneath her. She looked like she’d walked straight out of a rainstorm fully dressed.

Or like she’d stood under the shower in her clothes until the water ran out.

Leo’s heart slammed against his ribs.

"Sash—"

She looked up. Eyes swollen, mascara tracks down both cheeks. The second she saw him her face crumpled.

He crossed the room in three strides, dropped to his knees in front of her, pulled her into his arms.

She broke.

Sobs—ugly, wrenching, the kind that hurt to hear—shook her whole body. She buried her face in his neck, fingers clawing at his shirt like she’d fall apart if she let go.

Leo held her tighter. Didn’t say anything stupid like "it’s okay." It wasn’t.

Blair stood by the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight. Raven sat on the arm of the couch, hand over her mouth. Lana hovered near the coffee table, eyes wet.

After what felt like forever Sasha’s sobs slowed to hiccups.

Leo pulled back just enough to see her face.

"What happened?"

Sasha shook her head. Tried to speak. Couldn’t. Fresh tears spilled.

Leo looked up at Blair.

"What’s the company’s name?" he asked quietly. "Who’s the boss? Give me the address."

Blair hesitated—mouth opened, closed. Looked at Sasha.

Sasha gave the tiniest nod.

"Vivid Edge Productions," Blair said. "Boss is Derek Voss. Main office is on Ventura, near the 101. Suite 400."

Leo nodded once.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket—still holding Sasha with his free arm—scrolled contacts, hit call.

It rang twice.

A deep, accented voice answered.

"Leo? Shit, man, long time."

"Hey Kurasaki." Leo’s voice was calm. Too calm. "Listen. I need a favor. A big one."

He explained—quiet, precise. The contract. The blackmail. The threats. The names. The address.

Kurasaki listened without interrupting.

When Leo finished there was a short silence.

Then Kurasaki said, "Consider it done."

Leo exhaled.

"Thanks."

He hung up.

Sasha had gone still in his arms. She lifted her head, eyes searching his face.

"What... what did you just do?"

Leo brushed wet hair off her forehead with his thumb.

"What if your contract ends," he said slowly, "but on one condition—that boss of yours... and his whole company... just disappear?"

Sasha blinked. Once. Twice.

"Wh-what?"

Leo smiled—small.

"Don’t worry about it." He petted her head—gentle strokes, like she was something fragile and precious. "Everything’s gonna be alright."

Sasha stared at him for a long second.

Then she buried her face in his neck again—arms wrapping tight around him.

Nobody else spoke.

The room stayed quiet except for the soft drip-drip of water from Sasha’s clothes onto the couch.

Outside, the sun dipped lower.

In a few hours, somewhere in a glass-walled office on Ventura Boulevard, a man named Derek Voss would receive a very polite knock on his door.

He would open it.

And nothing would ever be the same.

But right now, in this living room, Leo just held Sasha while she cried herself empty.

And the other four women moved closer—slow, careful—until they were all touching somehow.