As if on cue, my stepfather comes barreling down the staircase.

“No parties.” His gaze bounces between Knox and I. “Either of you.”

Neither of us utters a word to them or to each other, which isn’t surprising because we haven’t spoken since the other night at the warehouse.

Fortunately, Violet has given me rides to and from school since then, and I’ve been taking Ubers back and forth to work so I don’t have to see him.

Violet tried probing, but thankfully dropped it after I said I didn’t want to talk about it.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to be honest with her, but right now I still feel like an open wound and the only way to make the pain stop and to turn it into a scab is to close myself off to everything and everyone.

Especially him.

Trent and my mother walk over to the mudroom where their suitcases are sitting.

“We’ll call and check in,” my mother promises as they haul them out the door.

It takes everything in me not to laugh because she’s never given a fuck before, so why bother now?

“Stay out of trouble,” Trent grumbles, and it’s clear his statement was aimed at his son.

The front door closes a minute later, leaving Knox and me standing there.

For a moment, he looks like he wants to speak, but I don’t give him the chance because I turn and walk up the stairs.

I’m not interested in anything he has to say.

The sooner I save up money and leave him and this stupid town, the better.

“I mean, at least the girl wasn’t a stripper,” Heather says as she applies blush to her cheeks. “That’s good news.”

“Yeah, but she was still murdered,” I point out.

She shrugs. “That sucks, but awful shit happens every day. Just be thankful it didn’t happen to you.”

For now.

Although, I suppose Knox could have killed me the other night if he really wanted to. We were in the middle of nowhere and everyone else was inside the warehouse.

He had the perfect opportunity.

Which only confuses me the more I think about it, because why the hell won’t he just tell me he’s innocent?

Because he’s not, you dummy.

“Right,” I say, hating myself for once again thinking about my stepbrother.

I look at myself in the mirror as I tie my hair into a bun. Get your shit together.

Heather gives me a once over. “Are you gonna get changed? You’re up next.”

As if on cue, the door to the dressing room opens and Freddie sticks his head inside. “Ginger, you’re on in three.” He raises an eyebrow when he sees what I’m wearing. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

I stand up. “I am dressed.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.

“Trust me on this.”

Graduation is only seven weeks away and I’m desperate to make some money so I can leave.

Which means I’m going to have to do something I’ve never done before.

Chapter 36

Knox

“What can I get you?” the busty girl behind the bar asks.

“Coke.”

Pursing her shiny red lips, she gives me a flirty wink. “Are you sure you don’t want something a little…harder.”

I don’t miss the obvious double entendre, but I’m not interested. There’s only one person I came here to see tonight, and she sure as fuck isn’t it.

“Just the Coke.”

Disappointment illuminates her face as she slams a glass on the bar and fills it with soda.

I’m about to tell her to go ahead and spit in it because I have no intention of drinking it. I only bought it because the club recently instituted a bullshit two-drink minimum for guests.

As if the Bashful Beaver is some kind of upscale, sophisticated establishment.

This place is a goddamn shithole and Aspen shouldn’t be working here.

The chick slides the glass toward me. “Enjoy the show.”

Irritation catches the back of my throat as I take it and search for an empty seat.

I’ve only been here twice and both times it was damn near empty.

But not tonight. Tonight, there’s only one open seat, and it’s all the way in the back, which suits me just fine.

The fluorescent lights dim and the hip-hop music that was playing comes to a stop before the DJ’s voice emanates over the speakers. “Gentlemen, please give it up for Ms. Ginger.”

I grit my teeth as I plop down in a chair and the chatter around me comes to a halt. Everyone’s attention turns to the stage that’s illuminated with a dark purple haze as the first few bars of “Hurt” the Nine-Inch-Nails version begins to play.

A second later, Ginger saunters out on stage.

Only it isn’t Ginger…it’s Aspen.

I’ve been to a few strip clubs before and the girls always come out in some sexy get up aimed to entice us.

But Aspen isn’t wearing a sexy costume tonight. She’s wearing a buttoned-up white cardigan, a pair of black jeans, and her trademark pearls. In other words…her regular clothes.

She’s also not wearing her mask.

What the fuck is she doing?

Slowly, she trails her hand up the length of her arm, then up the side of her face until she reaches the white ribbon secured around the bun in her hair. She gives it a swift tug and long red locks spill down her back in a mess of silky waves, causing some guys to cheer.

She moves methodically—like a predator advancing on its victim—as she approaches the pole in the middle of the stage.

Only, she doesn’t grip it right away—she teasingly runs a hand up and down—stroking it.

“Damn, baby,” the guy next to me shouts.

I clutch my glass tighter, unable to take my eyes off her.

Keeping her movements unhurried, she coils her body around the pole like a snake before lowering herself onto the floor.

She looks like she’s in a trance as she slips a hand down the front of her cardigan and touches her breast.

“Hottest thing I’ve ever seen, beautiful,” some asshole calls out.

She then lies on the floor, jutting her hips—writhing. Moving her body like a goddamn serpent. The hem of her cardigan rises up, showcasing her flat stomach as her delicate fingers walk down her torso before dipping inside the waistband of her jeans.