Page 40 of Beautifully Wounded

Those doe eyes widen as they lock with mine in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, and I shoot her a wink before leaning down and opening the drawer in the vanity, pointing to the hand sanitiser.

“This isn’t funny,” she grumbles.

“Isn’t it?”

Huffing, she makes use of the sanitiser, shooting daggers at me.

“Did you pray for forgiveness in church?” she sneers as I lean back against the tiled wall, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Church is what we call a members’ meeting.”

She frowns. “That makes no sense. Why not call it a meeting?”

“Well, I guess because the meeting itself happens in a place we declare as a sacred space. Only members can enter. No women.”

She rolls her eyes. “So you kidnapped me and brought me to a man’s club? That’s great.”

“Someone’s a bit moody. Are you sexually frustrated, Angel?”

She glares at me and huffs. “No. I’m sick of feeling unsafe.”

That wipes my smirk right the fuck off my face.

Fuck.

Stepping forward, I turn her to face me, my eyes locking onto hers as I try my fucking best to make sure she can see how serious I am now.

“Do you feel unsafe with me? Honestly?” I ask. “Tell me the truth?”

Shethinks over my question for a few beats before she shakes her head. “I mostly feel safe with you.”

“But there’s still a part of you that doesn’t?”

She shrugs. “You’re still a man. Someone I hardly know. I’d be a fool to trust you completely.”

I smile at that. “Very true.”

“But despite the fact I feel somewhat safe with you, I don’t feel safe in this place.”

I get it, because she fucking shouldn’t. The men here aren’t about hurting women, but they are still men, and sometimes, they get carried away.

The Doxy girls can handle it, but Abbey isn’t, nor will she ever, be a Doxy girl. She’s the kind of girl the boy next door pines over, spends years trying to win the affections of, and one day gets down on one knee to ask her to be his wife.

It pisses me off that life has been stolen from her by her fucking parents.

“You’re safe in this room.”

“But not outside it?” she asks, and I shrug.

“It’s not that you aren’t safe, it’s just that in my world, you’ll likely be mistaken for something you’re not, and I don’t want you to have to deal with that, which is why I keep reminding you to stay in the room.”

Brushing past me, she leaves the bathroom, and I follow behind slowly, watching her pace the small space.

“I’m bored. I’m not trying to be ungrateful, but you don’t even have Pay TV or PicFlix. What am I meant to do?”

This must feel like a prison to her. A safer one than the one I stole her from, but a prison all the same.

“If I give youmy phone, can I trust you won’t make a call? Because you know I can go online and check.”

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