Page 14 of Beautifully Wounded

“What is the plan?” Stocky asks, just as curious about the blonde angel we stole earlier.

“She’s coming with us, yes.” I drop my gaze back down to earth to see JD staring at me.

“She comingin as a mouse or Doxy girl?”

Fuck. I’ve been avoiding this part.

The job we did tonight wasn’t for the MC. It was for me. Well, notme, but a personal favour I owed, and when I got the call for help, I couldn’t say no. It was a pure fluke we were even in the area, having just left an informal meet up with Griffin Marx at the Red Room in Redfield.

I didn’t even run this personal job past Smitty, our President, and to make matters worse, I used a chick to help complete the job.

Like most MC’s, we don’t have female members, but Jols is Smitty’s stepdaughter, and she’s been a part of the club for years. It’s not out of the ordinary for her to tag along for a casual catch up with fellow organised crimers in the state, and hell, she’s even been a lookout and getaway driver a time or two, but since Stocky had shoulder surgery last month, I wasn’t going to risk him inside Abbey’s house, so I tasked him as the lookout, and Jols inside with the rest of us.

Since taking Abbey was not official club business, our Prez and Vice don’t even know we are coming back with a guest. And guests aren’t typically allowed, so it’s not unusual that JD is asking what role she’s going to be playing inside our club.

“Neither,” I snap, answering JD’s question.

Four sets of eyes land on me, brows high on their foreheads as JD, Murf, Stocky and Trunk look at me as if I’ve grown two fucking heads.

“For now, I’ll keep her hidden in my room until I can find somewhere to relocate her.”

“You’re gonna break club rules for her?” JD snaps, anger contorting his face.

He looks fucking weird since he shaved his beard off after losing a bet last week. I’ve known the fucker for close to twelve years, and I’ve never seen that fucking baby face under the facial hair he’s been rocking ever since he’s been old enough to grow it.

“In case you’ve forgotten, we already did that tonight by taking her without approval. You all agreed you wanted to help. I didn’t make any of you.” I shrug, running a frustrated hand down my face.

“So you’re gonna sneak her in and we’re just supposed to keep our mouths shut?” Trunk asks, a deep frown furrowing his brow.

“Do as you please. I’m not ordering you to do anything. But we saved her tonight. You saw how she was being kept. You saw the state she was in. I’m not taking her to the Western to be fair fucking game.”

“I won’t expose her,” JD announces unsurprisingly. Not just because he’s my best mate, but because he has a soft spot for saving girls in need. He would have saved his sister if he could have. He’d never wish that fate on anyone. Even a stranger. “But what if someone stumbles upon her?” he asks.

“I’ll deal with that if and when it happens,” I state. “But just in case, from now on, only refer to her as Charity. Don’t say her real name or mention where she’s from. If anyone asks, tell them I found her and to speak to me.”

“You got it,” Murf agrees, his dick now tucked back in his pants as he draws in a lungful of smoke from his cigarette.

The others nod, but Trunk has more to say.

“If she’s found, you know Prez will decide what to do with her. Making her a mouse would be kindest, but he’s likely to declare her as a Doxy, or fuck, even a pass around.”

A low growl rumbles in my chest. Not because Trunk is wrong, but because he’s right.

“If Smitty finds out I have her there, then I’ll claim her as mine.”

A gasp coming from behind me has me gritting my teeth before I force a smirk and turn to see sweet little Charity balking at me with her mouth wide open and fear etched across her face.

Then, before I even realise what she’s about to do, she runs.

5

Before I can second guess my reaction, I run.

“I’ll claim her as mine.”

His words echo through my head as I force my legs to move as fast as I can, bolting into the darkness towards the trees surrounding the rest stop. Shouts come from behind me, but the rushing torrent of my blood whooshing past my ears is almost deafening, making it impossible for me to know who’s yelling.

Thanks to Jols’ packing skills, I now have on clean clothes, which includes my old runners, making it easier for me to hurry over the twigs and scrub as the bushland engulfs me.

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