Page 12 of Beautifully Wounded

“No, actually.I think as soon as I step outta here, she’s gonna give you her sob story, and you’re gonna feel all fucking sorry for her and then work up a plan to help her escape.”

“Fuck you, Ringo. When have I ever gone against your orders?” Jols sneers, tossing down the bag and towel hard to the tiled floor.

“There’s always a first time,” I mutter. “Besides, I was told to get the girl and not take my eyes off her until she’s safe, so guess fucking what? I’m not leaving this fucking room. You can clean her up with me here, or you can step out and I’ll do it myself.”

Abbey whimpers, sidestepping closer to Jols, and I chuckle.

“She can’t help you, Charity. Best you learn that now.”

“Stop calling m-me Charity.” Abbey tries to snarl, but in the end, it sounds more like a fucking suggestion than a demand.

“Not gonna happen,” I snicker, before gesturing to Jols and the bag by her feet. “We don’t have all night. Are you doing this, or am I?”

Huffing, Jols sticks her middle finger up at me and bends to pick up the bag before placing it on the bench and rifling through it.

“Ab… Charity.” Jols corrects herself. “Come over here and start rinsing the blood off your arms.”

Abbey’s dark gaze remains on me as she slowly makes her way to the sink beside Jols, her distrust obvious.

I give her a wink.

Her lips part in an aghast gasp, and when I don’t look away, she turns her back to me, as if she can fucking hide from me.

For fuck’s sake, why did I agree to this job?

Scrubbing my hand down my face, I lean back against the wall, my mind drifting to my little brother.

My dead little brother.

He was a piece of shit. Got in with the wrong fucking crowd. And yeah, I get that my crowd are no fucking saints, but we have morals and rules and there’s typically a reason we do what we do. We honour the patch we wear, the fat boys we ride, and the hierarchy in our ranks.

My little brother joined a gang. A crew of thugs whose only purpose was to party and destroy lives. Even the innocent.

He got heavily into drugs, and I was waiting for the day the call would come to tell me he’d been killed. I never imagined his end would be because he was trying to save someone else. Someone innocent.

As fucked up as it sounds, I’d never been prouder of him than the day he died. Fuck, for the first time, I know he was proud of himself.

Which leads me to why I just busted into a stranger’s home, in an area we don’t rule over, to kidnap an abused girl in the dead of night.

A favour.

Yep. A fucking favour, and there’s no other fucker roaming this earth I’d do this for, but for the innocent girl my dead brother died for.

“Is his name Ringo or Sarg?”

Abbey’s hushed question draws my attention as she looks at Jols, and I notice that her trembling has increased as Jols helps to wash off the dried blood coating her arms and hands.

Fucking hell, if she shakes any more, she’s gonna fucking hurt herself.

“I’m known as Ringo,” I answer for Jols, stepping up behind Abbey and placing my hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, Angel.”

Abbey stiffens under my touch, and my eyes meet Jols’ briefly before she returns to her task.

“Are you cold or nervous?” I already know the answer. It’s February. The height of our summer and the night is balmy, so there’s no chill in the air to cause her tremors.

“I-I don’t know.”

Appreciating her honesty, I step up closer behind her, deliberately letting my breath fan over her ear.

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