She didn’t respond, but she was listening to every word I had to say. That was more than I expected after everything she’d been through today.
“Club girls aren’t allowed up here at all,” I added. “This floor is private space. Every door locks from the inside,” I continued. “Nobody comes through without knocking. Not even me.”
That last bit earned me a side glance. A hint of suspicion jumped onto her face. After buying her the way I did, there was always going to be a trust issue. I hoped that we could overcome it eventually.
I took her to the supply closet upstairs to take a look at what we had in the way of clothing. The club had helped so many vulnerable women and children in the past that it made sense to keep a stash of things that people might need after they’d left a traumatic situation. Clean clothes did a huge amount to repair dignity when it’d been stripped away.
“The old ladies keep this closet stocked,” I told her. “Everyone who needs something to wear comes here and grabs what they need.”
“Are you sure no one will mind?” She asked, her voice quivering.
“Of course not. That’s what it’s here for.”
She quickly picked through the stacks, picking out a set of clothes from the inside out. Her fingers lingered over a gray sweater.
Unsure what she was waiting for, I encouraged her, “You can take whatever you need,” I said. “Come back as often as you need to. We’ll take you shopping soon and stock you up on clothing of your own.”
The next stop was her room where I explained, “The suites here are pretty simple. Each one has a private bathroom. It ain’t much to look at but it’s all yours,” I told her.
“Thank you again,” she said tightly.
“Lock the door behind you, take your time and when you’re finished, I’ll grab us some dinner. The prospects here have a grill set up twice a day, for breakfast and dinner.”
She moved inside without hesitation, saying over her shoulder, “I won’t be long.”
I took that to mean that she was hungry. The door closed between us, and a second later, I heard the lock snick into place. I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. The tension that had been riding me since the auction finally loosened enough to breathe. I realized that I was in the fuckin’ weeds and didn’t know a fuckin’ thing about taking care of an abused woman.
I pulled my phone out and opened my messages. I texted Celt and he answered right away.
Celt: You good? How’s the lassie settling in?
Me: I got her settled in a suite. She’s cleaning up now.
Celt: Then why are you texting me when you should be taking a breather yourself?
My thumbs flew across the keypad.
Me: She’s scared, jumpy, and angry. And I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. You got experience with traumatized women. I need some advice, brother.
The typing dots appeared, then vanished, then came back again.
Celt: Grace was worse when I found her. First thing you need to do is find her something to do. Don’t leave her sitting alone thinking about all the bad shit those fuckers did to her. It’ll eat her alive.
I leaned back against the wall, reading his text and thinking about what I could do to help her fill her days.
Me: Do you have any ideas?
Celt: Maybe a job of some sort, where she can earn her own money. But make sure she knows it’s her choice and you’re not making her do it. We’re looking for a bartender right now.
I glanced back at the closed door.
Me: This is a fucking great idea. Winter needs something she can control.
Celt: Thank me later, brother. I gotta go, I’ve got an incoming call.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and stood there in the quiet hallway. The only sound was water running through the pipes in the ceiling, feeding the shower she was using. The more I thought about this idea the more it felt like the right answer. It not only gave her some control over her life, it would help her fit into club culture and give her an income. This bar job would do until something better came along.
***
