Page 93 of Beautifully Wounded

“I was twenty when it happened,” Jols says quietly, snagging my attention as she plays with the crumbs on her paper plate. “A guy I grew up with had joined the Red Eights. Do you know what that is?” Her blue gaze darts up to meet mine, and I shakemy head. “It’s a street gang in the city. One of the many.” She shakes her head. “My mate, Kyle, got mixed up with them, and I could see him slipping away from reality, using too much.”

“Using? That’s drugs, right?” I ask, hating how dumb I sound, but when she nods, her eyes don’t portray thoughts of how naïve I am. Just pain from her memories.

“I stupidly thought I could stop him. Change his mind and get him to come back to the burbs with me.”

“Burbs?” I ask, still hating that I don’t seem to know much of anything.

“Suburbs.” She offers me a warm smile. “We lived in the Eastern suburbs of Melbourne, and it was normal for teens and young adults to want to venture to the city more as we got older, but Kyle stopped coming home, and I could see how distressed his mum was over it. And well…” she shrugs, “I missed him too.”

Jols shifts in her chair, clearing her throat, and I can tell she’s struggling with her emotions, so I keep quiet, waiting to see if she’ll tell me more.

Not that it matters if she doesn’t. That’s her prerogative, but a part of me aches to know if someone will truly be able to understand.

“I walked into the dingy club at the wrong time, because as soon as G-Wack saw me trying to convince Kyle to leave, he chose me for his new initiates.”

“What is G-Wack?” I ask, shifting forward in my seat.

“G-Wack was the Red Eights gang leader.”

“His name is G-Wack? Who the hell came up with that?” I scoff, and Jols smirks, her shoulders relaxing a little.

“He did. Named himself because his real name, Theo Anderson, just didn’t seem threatening enough.”

I giggle, “Neither does G-Wack.”

We both laugh at that, the act making me feel temporarily light. Free.

“Long story short,” Jols continues as she eyes me. “There were ten initiates who spent the next nine hours using my body non-stop, after drugging me and tying me down so I couldn’t fight back.”

My lip wobbles and the little food I ate threatens to come up as her words sink in.

Ten of them.

Nine hours.

Drugged and tied.

There’s no further warning, my stomach rolling as I heave, quickly leaping up from the chair just in time to reach the dying bushes to the side. Tears pour from my eyes in hot rivers, and a gentle hand rubs over my back as my body controls me, purging the vileness from within.

“How long has she been like this?”

The deep baritone of Ringo’s voice meets my ears, and it’s like a blanket of warmth and safety floats over me.

“Just now. I was sharing my past,” Jols admits, and Ringo curses, his fingers brushing some of my escaped hair off my dewy forehead.

“Angel,” he rasps, close by, and I suck in a deep breath as the forceful waves subside. “What can I do?”

“T-tell me you k-killed him.”

My words cause him to drop his hand from my hair, and I wipe my mouth as I straighten and turn to face him and Jols.

“Who?” he asks.

“G-Wack. Tell me you killed him.”

Ringo’s brows hitch, but my eyes find Jols, who is grinning.

“Not only did Ringo kill him, but he made him suffer for days.”

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