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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.
* * *
CHAPTERFOUR
Charleigh
Something touches me in my sleep, jarring me awake. I haven’t slept well since… Dimitri… and any sound or movement puts me on the defense. I ball my hand into a fist, ready to punch the throat of who or whatever touched me, when I realize it’s Evie.
I fall back onto my pillow, horrified I nearly hit my sister. What the hell is wrong with me that I’m so on edge I’m ready to fight at any moment?
My self-defense classes are designed to give me the confidence to do my best, should I ever be faced with danger again. The instructors made it clear their objective is not to turn me into a one-woman killing machine, but to give me the basic skills to get out of trouble if I’m ever facing a dangerous situation again. The physical part is only one component, aside from awareness and verbal skills, but that’s what has been occupying my thoughts around the clock.
Daydreaming about beating the shit out of someone is not what a person ought to have on their mind day and night, and yet the thought of tearing someone limb from limb is so… satisfying. It’s like I’ve turned into an animal, that some sort of instinctual trigger switch has been turned on in me that I need to adjust.
If only I could figure out how.
I’m not supposed to come out of this an automatic punching machine. That’s not how it works.
And yet here I am, my heart racing, grateful didn’t punch out my sister like some kind of fighting machine, my sister whose foot simply brushed mine in bed.
Since my attack, and Evie coming to live in the compound, the poor kid wants to sleep with me every night, just like she did when our mother was murdered. She has her own room down the hall from mine, but damn if I can get her to spend any time there. As it is, she’s either glued to me or in the kitchen with Gloria the housekeeper, who’s been helping with her schoolwork, something we just got permission for her to do remotely.
She does need to go back to school eventually and be around other kids her age, but the guys and I are still thinking through all the options. Do we want to send her to a private school? What will offer the most security and safety, since she’s essentially now associated with the Alekseev clan? Or is it better for her to just remain on the compound and be homeschooled? How healthy would that be for a teenager? I’m not sure it’s all that healthy for me, to be stuck here in this gilded cage.
I need to spend more time sorting this out, but I can’t. All I can think about is hurting someone. Badly.
Niko says I have PTSD. He’s probably right.
A sound comes from the other side of my bed. “Mmmm. Stop fidgeting. I’m trying to sleep,” Evie mumbles.
If she slept in her own bed, my fidgeting wouldn’t be a problem. But I don’t go there. If this is one way I can comfort her, I’ll suck it up.
I nudge her. “Time to get up anyway. You have schoolwork.”
She groans and pulls the covers over her head. “Noooo,” she whines. “I can do my schoolwork whenever.”
I get up and head to my bathroom. “Get up and get readyas ifyou are going to school. You know we are keeping to a schedule, and that Gloria is downstairs waiting for you already.”
She grumbles but climbs out of bed, her hair sticking in every direction, and heads to her own room, which she uses pretty much just for showering and changing her clothes.
In spite of her contrary nature, being here in the compound has been good for her. Her sassiness has decreased considerably, which, considering where we started might not be that big of an accomplishment, but it’s something. And, I saw her in the guys’ library the other day, picking out a couple books to read. Never thought I’d see that day.
Many of their books are special collector editions I assume should remain untouched, but no one—and I meanno one—is going to discourage Evie from reading a book. I don’t care how priceless a volume it is, if she’s interested in it, she has full access.
When it comes down to it, she’s been a good distraction from my concerning one-track mind, where I’m coldly focused on turning myself into some sort of one-woman killing machine. The guys have noticed. Which is not a good thing.
A couple days ago, Niko suggested he and I practice sparring. While that’s nice and all, sparring is not what protects you in an attack situation, I’ve learned. It’s useless for street fighting. But I went along since he said it’s good for endurance and strength building. It didn’t bother my sore shoulder too much, not that he knows it still hurts. I keep that to myself.
Problem was, at the end of our practice, he leaned over to kiss me. And I punched him right in the chest.
When I did it, there was no thinking. It was as if my arm had a mind of its own, entirely independent from me, andbam, hit him like a well-honed reflex. Naturally, my small fist was no match for his muscular chest, and after his initial shock, he laughed it off.
