Page 27 of Beautifully Wounded

I grin.

I might have to give her shit about snoring tomorrow.

Maybe.

Moving through my room, I make sure the door is locked and slide the couch against it to stop any fuckers trying to get in, and then I peel off my jeans, leaving my boxers and tee on, and slip into my bed.

I should probably sleep on the shitty couch, or even the floor, but for some reason, I need to be close in case she needs me. And hopefully, if she wakes, she’ll realise I’m not trying to do anything untoward to her.

As the rising sun filters in past the cheap thin curtains, I stare at this little blonde angel in my bed. She’s only eighteen. Barely an adult, yet the things she’s experienced make her seem so much older.

My sisters would like her. Alana would likely set out to corrupt any religious beliefs left in her, but I don’t think that would be a bad thing.

My ma would adore her.

Shifting closer to her, I settle onto my pillow, fucking happy to finally be in bed after a long arse day. I thought it would be weird having Abbey in my bed, but her faint snores are comforting, and before I know it, my lids are falling shut.

When I wake later, I find myself pretty much in the same position, but this time, Abbey’s big doe eyes are staring at me.

“You’re being creepy,” I rasp, my voice husky from sleep.

“I think it’s creepy that I fell asleep in the bath and woke up in your bed.”

I smirk at her comment.

“I think it’s funny how you snore.”

Her brows hitch. “I do not.”

“Sorry to tell you this, Charity. But you do.”

She narrows her eyes.

“How did I end up in this bed?”

I shrug one shoulder. “No idea. Weren’t you sleeping in the bath?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re kinda annoying.”

“And you kinda like me. Admit it. I’m not so bad. I didn’t hurt you. Did I?”

Her playful expression falls, and her soft pink lips part. “Not yet.”

Her words are barely a whisper, but they pack a punch.

I try not to take it personally. She’s speaking from her experiences, and clearly, she hasn’t been able to trust anyone. Or men, at least.

“I’m not sure exactly what happened to you. I have a fair idea, but I want you to know I’m sorry it happened. You don’t deserve the bad things people have done to you.”

Her eyes well with tears, and she tugs the blankets up higher, nearly covering her head, but she leaves her eyes free so she can keep a watch on me.

“Have you killed people before?”

Her question is a surprise and I consider lying, but she needs honesty. She deserves that, at least.

“Yes.”

“How many?”

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