Page 59 of Beautifully Wounded

“I need to get Abbey out of here. After everything she’s been through, living in an MC compound isn’t the right place for her.”

“Oh, my god! You took her to the Western?” Bec screeches.

“Where the fuck else was I meant to take her?”

“Uh… your house. You have a house, don’t you?” Amanda asks.

“Yeah, where my mum and sisters live. I can’t take her there.”

“Why not? Too personal for you?” Bec teases.

“I was actually hopingyou’dhave somewhere for her,” I snap, ignoring Bec’s dig.

“Shit, no. Not unless you send her to Devon. Otherwise, we are at full capacity. The lockdowns have increased the domestic violence in the state.”

Shit. I’d been relying on them having space for Abbey. I don’t have a fucking backup plan.

“I’ll figure something out.” I sigh.

“Sorry big guy. The best we can do is help you get across the border. If you need to get out of the country, Barrett Marx is your best bet.”

“Thanks.” I grunt, raking my hand through my hair, feeling like I’m back at square fucking one.

Ending the call, I toss my phone on my bedside table and shift to lay down next to Abbey.

“Looks like I’m it,” I whisper to her sleeping face, feeling the weight of my words.

I’m all she has to keep her safe from her parents and her fiancé.

But who the fuck is going to keep her safe from me?

15

The last few days are a blur. I spent them in bed sleeping, dreaming, crying. My limbs felt like they were bound in concrete, and my eyes stung from the never-ending flow of tears. I barely ate, and my gaze never landed on Ringo’s when he tried to get me to fill my belly.

I just couldn’t.

The pain of everything hit me like a freight train. It was overwhelming. Suffocating. All-consuming.

I didn’t actually think I’d ever resurface, to be honest, and for a time there, I don’t think I cared.

But then I remembered why I wanted to escape, and now, today, I’ve dragged myself out of Ringo’s bed with a new sense of purpose.

To live.

To survive.

ApproachingRingo where he’s sitting in the sun in the courtyard with Jols and JD, his eyes find mine, and he sits a little taller, a flash of surprise flicking across his expression.

“You’re up.”

I nod, offering him a half smile.

“Can I use your phone, please?” I ask, and his brows furrow as he grips the paper plate on his lap, the remnants of barbequed meat grease staining the surface.

“You want to use the app?” he asks, already figuring me out, so I nod. “You know the deal, Charity.”

Ugh, that stupid name.

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