Page 10 of Beautifully Wounded

“P-please,” I whimper, watching Sarg rise to his towering height as he tugs his mask back down. “Just let me g-go. I’ll run away. I won’t bother anyone, I s-swear.”

Stepping closer, his height forces my head to crane back, before he hooks his finger under my chin, his whiskey-coloured eyes hard and piercing as he leans in closer.

“My orders were to get you out of this house and take you with me, Angel. You best believe that’s what’s happening.”

I part my lips to argue, but a second later he reaches forward, his big hands peeling me from the arms of the other man to cradle me against his chest before he carries me out into the night.

4

She smells good. Too fucking good for someone practically painted in her own blood. The metallic scent should turn my fucking gut, yet a sweet fruity scent emanating from the top of her head overpowers everything else. It must be her hair. Although some of the strands are painted crimson as well, the hair at her roots appears and smells clean and fresh.

I have the strangest fucking urge to press my nose to her crown and inhale.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Is this really what happens when I get too close to a chick now?

Have I really reached a new low of pathetic-ness?

All it takes is fruity fucking shampoo to have me thinking thoughts I shouldn’t, especially given who it is on my fucking lap.

She’s the victim. My fucking mark. The package I was sent to collect.

Clearly, I need to listen to JD and just let one of the Doxy girls suck my cock once and for all.

Fuck. I wish it were that easy.

The girl in my arms, Abbey Delany, trembles on my lap in the back seat of the van Jols is driving. She’s only tried once to scramble free, but she quickly realised I wasn’t loosening my grip.

She’s so small. Thin. I can feel her bony arms and legs under her clothes, like there’s not enough fat on her body to keep her warm. I could fool myself into thinking that’s why she’s trembling, but every one of us in this stolen silver mum van knows she’s terrified.

I probably should have told her she doesn’t have to fear us, but the truth of it is, she does. I may have saved her from one set of evil fuckers, but she’s about to step into a whole world of crazy fuckers, so there’s really no use in lying to her.

“Rest stop,” Jols calls from the front of the cabin and my captive stiffens in my arms.

What does she think is going to happen?

I can only fucking imagine. She was sure we were there to take her to her future husband, who she clearly didn’t want to fucking marry.

It’s an age-old tale. Parents arranging marriages for their children. Not so common here in Australia, but the general public would probably be shocked to know how often it happens.

This situation, though, is a little different. Some may say arranged marriage, but it was clearly a forced marriage, and given the girl was willing to stab herself with a huge fuckingshard of glass to avoid being taken to her fiancé, tells me she wasn’t just trying to rebel against her parents’ desire for her to marry someone they chose for her.

That and a few things her mother said.

What a fucking piece of work she was.

As the van pulls off the road into the rest stop parking lot, my captive’s muscles bunch under my hold as she lifts her head to look out the window.

“Calm down, Charity. It’s a piss stop.”

Her big eyes dart to me as she rears back a little to get a better look at my face. I fucked the mask off as soon as we were on the highway, leaving Fox Pines behind us. She couldn’t really see much then, but now, the light from the toilet block shines in through the windows, and she’s studying me really fucking closely.

“Like what you see?” I smirk, chuckling when her eyes round in horror and she quickly glances away.

As the car comes to a stop, I shift her on my lap and start untying the cord I bound her wrists with earlier. It’s satin. Probably the cord for her bathrobe or some shit. Whatever it is, I knew it wouldn’t hurt her skin.

Physically hurting her is the last thing I want to do.

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