Page 22 of Beautifully Wounded

My eyes widen, but when I hear the window of the truck sliding down on Stocky’s side, I hurry to lower my head, curlingin tight like a toddler that thinks that because I can’t see them, then they can’t see me.

“Hey man,” a gruff voice comes from outside. “Everything run smoothly?”

“Yep. Got a lap dance off a Marx dancer earlier,” Stocky says with pride in his tone.

“Really? Fuck, Ringo, when are you gonna let me come on one of your rides?” the outside voice asks, sounding younger than I first thought.

“When you finally get patched in,” Ringo mutters, like he doesn’t care for the conversation.

“Feel free to hurry that along.” The outside voice laughs, before Stocky starts driving the truck again.

“You can look up, Angel,” Ringo says quietly, and I glance up to see his face is closer as he leans down. “I have to sneak you in. I’ll explain later, but once we are parked, I need you to do everything I tell you until I get you to my room. No questions. No trying to run. No bratty comebacks.”

I nod, but squeak when we’re jostled, and I realise we are going down an incline and rolling over a speed bump. Without thinking, I latch onto Ringo’s leg, trying to keep myself in place.

Even though he sits tall again, Ringo’s eyes stay focused on me. I should be more scared of him than I am, I know that, but for some reason I’m not.

Is it weird that despite everything that’s happened that I feel safe with him?

As I clutch onto his leg, I notice in my peripheral vision that we are now in an underground garage, and after a short drive, the truck stops, and Stocky shuts off the engine.

It’s then that I hear the loud rumble of the motorcycles, obviously from the others, as they park in the underground garage as well.

“You want us to shield?” Stocky asks, and I peer over Ringo’s knee at him to see him looking at Ringo.

“Yeah. We need to get her to my room. Then you guys are done.” Ringo nods, before his eyes shift back down to me.

“Got it. I’ll word up the others,” Stocky announces, and then he opens his door and slides out.

I have so many questions, but I keep them in, doing as he asked.

No questions.

No trying to run.

No bratty comebacks.

“This place isn’t for sweet girls.” His voice is raspy as he keeps it quiet. “I need to keep you hidden to keep you safe until I can work out a new plan. I want you to get out of the truck. Stay attached to me like your life depends on it. Keep your hood on and head down, and if we come across anyone, don’t fucking look at them or say anything. Got it?”

Nodding, I keep my voice in, suddenly wanting to leave here.

This doesn’t feel safe.

All I want is to feel safe.

The rap of knuckles on Ringo’s window draws his attention, and he nods at whoever it is before opening the door.

“You need to let go of my leg now, Angel.”

Why does he keep calling me Angel? I thought he decided my name to be Charity. While Angel isn’t exactly a name I’d choose, it’s a lot better than Charity.

Slowly, I release his leg, staring up at him to await my next instruction.

“Slide up here. Onto my lap.”

Why is his voice so husky? He must be tired. I know my voice goes like that when I’m really tired.

Doing as he asks, I ease up between his legs, my cheeks flaring to life at how close I have to get to his private parts in order to squeeze out of the space. It didn’t seem that hard to get into, but then again, he did kind of drag me. This time, he’s letting me make my way out.

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