Page 18 of Beautifully Wounded

“I’m not a charity case,” I hiss.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” Isnap, louder than I should, and the man sitting next to us peers over, but I pretend to ignore him, as does Ringo.

“The definition of a charity case is someone that needs help,” Ringo explains, sounding annoyed. “And you needed help. Still do. I’m here to help the person that needs help. The charity case. Therefore, your name is fitting, and this fucking weird conversation is over.”

Something in me snaps. His words. His honesty. Everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours comes to the forefront of my mind, and I see red.

“I hate you!” I scream, my fists flying out to swing punches at him, but his hands shield his face before they grip my wrists, and the van swerves on the road as the others around us mutter curses.

“You got the fucking wheel, Jols?” Ringo snaps as I try to pry my wrists free of his vice-like grip, releasing another scream as I start kicking my legs.

“STOP!”

His boom is loud in the confined space, and I instantly still, my head dropping as I cast my eyes to my lap.

“Fucking hell, woman. Was that really called for?”

“She clock you or what?” JD asks from the front seat while the others snicker.

Ringo doesn’t answer them, instead leaning in close. “If you hit me again, Charity, I’ll consider it foreplay.”

I don’t say anything to that. I can’t. I just nod, my heart racing as I keep my eyes cast down, not interested in seeing his face or the smug look I bet he’s wearing.

I want to go home.

The thought is weird,because I don’t want to go home. Not to my parents. My little sister, yes, but everything else in that house can rot in hell as far as I’m concerned.

So really, I think I just want to be somewhere safe. Somewhere I don’t have to look over my shoulder. Somewhere I can trust people.

Does such a place even exist?

I remain quiet for the next forty or so minutes, hating how as each minute passes, I start to relax a little more on Ringo’s lap.

He seems unbothered by my presence on him as well, his head tipped back, his eyes closed, and even though I’m so exhausted, I stay awake, glancing around the van at each person, even though I can hardly see them.

When the car starts to slow, and Jols turns it off the highway onto a side road, I stiffen again, anxious for where we are going.

Is he taking me to someone that wants to hurt me the way Daniel did?

I don’t really know many people, especially outside of Fox Pines, so I’m absolutely baffled as to who on earth wanted Ringo to steal me away.

We drive for a while more before turning onto a dirt road, and my heart starts to race again, fear chasing away any semblance of calm I had as a parked truck comes into view.

Sitting taller under me, Ringo peers through the front windscreen, and I notice the others shift in their seats, too, as if preparing to get out.

Are we here? Here being the destination.

When the car stops and Jols shuts off the engine, the others climb out while Ringo unclips our seatbelt, but doesn’t move.

“Are you gonna try to run again, Charity?”

“If you keep calling me that, I will,” I snide and he chuckles.

“Foreplay. I knew you had the hots for me.”

Gasping at his audacity, I rear back, but this time, I don’t fall off the seat. No, this time, hands grip me from behind and lift me out of the van with ease as Ringo follows.

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