Chapter 32: Chapter 32

Charleigh

I never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to be back in the club’s dressing room with its rickety lockers, stained makeup table, and burned-out light bulbs. Dumpy as it may be, there’s something comforting about it. I never would have expected positive feelings about this place, but when your life has been turned upside down so many times like mine has, so that you can no longer tell which side is up, the smallest bit of familiarity is a sanctuary. I am at peace here.

It’s hard to say whether that’s good or bad. On one hand, how pathetic that this is what represents the little good in my life right now. And on the other, at least I have someplace to go.

This is the place where I met Stacey, and we became friends. We were in each other’s lives for only a short period of time, but I’ll never forget how kind she was to me when I first arrived. She made me believe I might just survive. The fact that I did, at least so far, I owe in great part to her. She showed me respect when no one else did. That made me feel human. It gave me hope.

I wish we could have been friends for years to come.

We don’t appreciate what we have until it’s gone. Life has taught me that more than once. I took for granted she’d be here at the club for the foreseeable future, and that I could always have a chat with her when I popped in. I wanted to hear about her little boy growing up, and her stories about making it even when the odds were stacked against her. She was amazing, making shit happen when others would have given up.

I open her locker, full of her things, untouched since the day of the car explosion.

I just spent the last two weeks holed up at the compound with my sister. The guys felt that, for the time being, it was the one place they could have absolute control over our safety. They quadrupled their security team and we could barely go to the bathroom without a guard following us. It seemed a little overkill to me, but if it made them feel better, I was happy to comply. After everything that happened, and considering I was still healing, I had no burning desire to do anything other than hunker down at home anyway, go on little walks with Evie, and explore the property.

Funny, I just called the compound home. I didn’t see that one coming.

But what other home do I have at this point? Same with Evie. Our father wasn’t capable of keeping her safe, just like he couldn’t or wouldn’t protect me, so this had to become her new home. Our new home.

This is probably not what our mother had in mind for us when she passed ten years ago, but under the circumstances, I want to believe she’d approve of how I’ve kept my sister with me, doing my best to keep her on the right track. I’m not always successful—in fact, I often am not. But at least I’m trying. That’s more than anyone else is doing for the kid.

My arm is out of its sling, and while my shoulder is still sore, I’m able to reach the upper shelf of Stacey’s locker. I asked the guys shortly after we lost her if they would leave her things alone, so I could go through them when I felt well enough. They were happy to oblige. It’s not like anyone else was clamoring to go through what she left behind. Not even Dominika, who was more annoyed at having to find a new stripper than she was upset about the poor woman burning to death in a car explosion.

She’s a gem, that one.

I go through a bag of makeup and remember how carefully Stacey would ‘apply her face,’ as she called it, every time she worked. She took such care with her appearance, saying that the better she looked, the better her tips were, and that she needed them for her boy.

Everything was for her boy.

The guys have said Stacey’s mother and son would be looked after for the duration of their lives. I guess that means they’re getting a whole pile of money, and I’m sure that will be a big help to them, on one level. But on the other, I’m sure they’d rather Stacey were still here.

I know that’s what I’d prefer, given the choice.

After sorting through Stacey’s makeup, trying to decide what to do with it, I pull her tote bag from the locker. In it, I find a couple women’s magazines and a tattered copy of Fifty Shades of Grey that looks like she was carrying it around for quite some time. A page is dog eared about a quarter of the way in, so I guess she never got too far into it.

I pull the book to my chest and close my eyes, hoping to feel her presence. And let her know how sorry I am she’s gone. That it’s my fault.

The guys don’t know how long the explosive device was in the car, but it was just a matter of time before I drove it, and the big rig got me. They could have attacked me on my way to the club that morning, but instead waited for me to leave. Then they made the mistake of thinking I was driving when it was Stacey.

Who died instead of me. This ties my stomach into unrelenting knots every time I think about it, and doubly so since I’m now looking at the unremarkable remnants of her life. She didn’t even see the truck coming, if she were indeed waving at Evie in the rearview mirror when she was hit.

The guys wouldn’t tell me any more than that, except that the truck driver ‘got what he had coming to him’ as they said. And I don’t really need to know more than that.

I slowly finger Stacey’s belongings, showing them the respect she deserved but never got. I lay her things in neat piles on the makeup table and pull out the fake fur jacket she loved so much. I pull it on and twirl in front of the mirror. It smells like her and for a second I even look like her. I pop my hands in the pockets just like she used to when she came bouncing in, and I find a lipstick in one and what feels like money in the other. I pull it out and see it’s the two hundred dollar bills I gave her.

This is when the lump in my throat is too much to bear. I sink into a cracked plastic chair and let big, fat tears run down my cheeks while I fold and unfold the money I’d meant to help her. I want to think it would have eventually been put to good use, and that she hadn’t needed it just yet.

Another way life cheated this woman.

And then, the dressing room door flies open. It’s Dominika.

Of course.

The last person I want to see at this moment.

“You’re finally going through Stacey’s crap, are you?” she huffs, propping her ass on the end of the makeup table like we’re old girlfriends ready for a chat.

Since she’s finally accepted I’m going to be around for a while, she’s gotten nicer to me.

Somewhat.

She picks up a couple tubes of Stacey’s lipstick and opens them to check their colors. I want to snatch them from her hands. She has no right to be touching Stacey’s things. She was never kind to her, not for a moment. She didn’t earn an entitlement to her memory. She was an affront to Stacey when she was alive. I won’t let her be now that Stacey is… dead.

How I hate that word.

She tosses the lipstick back on the makeup table like they’re trash. “You know, don’t waste your time with this stuff. Just throw it all away.”

Oh no. That was the wrong thing to say to me.

I rise to my feet, still wearing Stacey’s fake fur coat. Dominika looks me up and down with amusement, like I’m a kid playing dress up.

C’mon, I am dying to say to her. Make one more shitty remark. C’mon. Do it. I stretch to my full height but am still dwarfed by Dominika thanks to her giant platform boots. It doesn’t matter though, because my anger fills the room in a way I can’t. As if she can sense that, she finally shuts her big mouth. For the most part.

She gets to her feet, gesturing at the things spread out over the table. “Suit yourself. There’s nothing there of value,” she scoffs.

“How would you know?” I say in a low, growly voice.

I surprise us both. But I don’t care. It feels good to let loose some of my fury on this hideous excuse for a human being.

Unbothered, she shrugs me off. “Stacey didn’t have a pot to pee in. Of course, everything she left behind is junk,” she sniffs

I take a step closer to Dominika, closer than I really want to be to her. “You wouldn’t know if she had anything important, because you don’t know what is important,” I spit.

Her right eyebrow lifts and she chuckles at me with just as much disdain as she held for Stacey. “Okay. Okay, tough guy. Put me in my place, why don’t you?” she taunts.

“Look, bitch,” I say, inching closer. “I don’t care if you’re related to Niko. I don’t care if you’re related to the King of England. If you don’t stay away from me with your nasty comments and ugly attitude, I will make sure you’re as dead as Stacey.”

Holy shit. I did it. I told the bitch off.

For a moment, her eyes grow wide. But she’ll never let me get the better of her, so naturally has the last word. “Whatever. Whatever you say, Charleigh.”

She saunters away like she’s not bothered. But there’s no way she missed the vitriol in my voice.

When she’s gone, the room seems to refill with air and I take a deep breath. While I hope my standing up to her will keep her out of my hair for a while, I am also empowered. It feels good not to be afraid of her, to know I can call her out when I need to.

And I’m no longer afraid she’ll find out I was the one who found her photos, the ones where she scratched out Mrs. Alekseev. In fact, I pull open her locker door. No big surprise, the box labelled photos is gone.

While I pack Stacey’s things into grocery bags because that’s all I could find, I wonder if her mother might like them. I remember how happy I was Victoria saved some of my mother’s things for me.

As I finish, I see the corner of a photo wedged under the last locker in the row. I ease it out with a fingernail file and find it’s one of the Alekseevs.

With their mother scratched out.

I tuck this into my pocket. I am sure it will come in handy, hopefully sooner rather than later.