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S he smells good. Too fucking good for someone practically painted in her own blood. The metallic scent should turn my fucking gut, yet a sweet fruity scent emanating from the top of her head overpowers everything else. It must be her hair. Although some of the strands are painted crimson as well, the hair at her roots appears and smells clean and fresh.

I have the strangest fucking urge to press my nose to her crown and inhale.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Is this really what happens when I get too close to a chick now?

Have I really reached a new low of pathetic-ness?

All it takes is fruity fucking shampoo to have me thinking thoughts I shouldn’t, especially given who it is on my fucking lap.

She’ s the victim. My fucking mark. The package I was sent to collect.

Clearly, I need to listen to JD and just let one of the Doxy girls suck my cock once and for all.

Fuck. I wish it were that easy.

The girl in my arms, Abbey Delany, trembles on my lap in the back seat of the van Jols is driving. She’s only tried once to scramble free, but she quickly realised I wasn’t loosening my grip.

She’s so small. Thin. I can feel her bony arms and legs under her clothes, like there’s not enough fat on her body to keep her warm. I could fool myself into thinking that’s why she’s trembling, but every one of us in this stolen silver mum van knows she’s terrified.

I probably should have told her she doesn’t have to fear us, but the truth of it is, she does. I may have saved her from one set of evil fuckers, but she’s about to step into a whole world of crazy fuckers, so there’s really no use in lying to her.

“Rest stop,” Jols calls from the front of the cabin and my captive stiffens in my arms.

What does she think is going to happen?

I can only fucking imagine. She was sure we were there to take her to her future husband, who she clearly didn’t want to fucking marry.

It’s an age-old tale. Parents arranging marriages for their children. Not so common here in Australia, but the general public would probably be shocked to know how often it happens.

This situation, though, is a little different. Some may say arranged marriage, but it was clearly a forced marriage, and given the girl was willing to stab herself with a huge fucking shard of glass to avoid being taken to her fiancé, tells me she wasn’t just trying to rebel against her parents’ desire for her to marry someone they chose for her.

That and a few things her mother said.

What a fucking piece of work she was.

As the van pulls off the road into the rest stop parking lot, my captive’s muscles bunch under my hold as she lifts her head to look out the window.

“Calm down, Charity. It’s a piss stop.”

Her big eyes dart to me as she rears back a little to get a better look at my face. I fucked the mask off as soon as we were on the highway, leaving Fox Pines behind us. She couldn’t really see much then, but now, the light from the toilet block shines in through the windows, and she’s studying me really fucking closely.

“Like what you see?” I smirk, chuckling when her eyes round in horror and she quickly glances away.

As the car comes to a stop, I shift her on my lap and start untying the cord I bound her wrists with earlier. It’s satin. Probably the cord for her bathrobe or some shit. Whatever it is, I knew it wouldn’t hurt her skin.

Physically hurting her is the last thing I want to do.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” I mutter, watching as she brings her wrists to her chest, her breathing quickening. “Your hands are cut up from the glass. Jols can put a dressing on them to protect the wounds.”

“J-Jols?”

Her voice is so husky, cracking a bit as she speaks, but it sounds so small. Like a baby fucking mouse.

“I’m Jols,” Jols speaks up, flicking on the interior light and turning in her seat to peer back at us.

“I-I thought h-he c-called you J-Jay?”

A smirk pulls at my lips at Abbey’s words. I don’t know why, but for some fucking reason, I like that she paid attention earlier.

Jols nods. “Yeah. Jay, as in the letter J. J for Jols. We don’t use real names on a job.”

“A job?” Abbey asks, shifting on my lap to turn and face me.

“Yeah.” My grin grows. “A kidnapping job.”

My words widen her eyes, while the fellas chuckle and get out of the car, and Jols just shakes her head at me.

“Stop being a prick.”

“What?” I shrug, my tone all innocent, but Jols just scoffs and gets out of the car too, leaving me and my little captive alone in the van.

“We are going to get out now, Charity, but just in case you need the warning, you don’t want to know what will happen if you try to run.”

She shoves back off me, her arse falling to the seat next to us, those brown eyes wild with fear as they glass over.

“W-why do y-you keep calling me C-Charity?”

Leaning in close, I hook my finger under her chin and tilt her head back until she resists a little. “From now on, you won’t be known as Abbey. No one can know your real name, unless, of course, you want your fiancé to find you?”

She shakes her head as much as she can under my touch. “Can I have a d-different name?”

Releasing her chin, I grumble, “no,” before opening the door and slipping out.

I’m expecting her to argue, but when she doesn’t, instead, simply slipping out of the car behind me, I’m a little disappointed.

As Jols grabs some stuff out of the van, I lead Abbey up the path to the toilet block.

“All clear, man,” Murf mutters as we near, holding a door open. “No shower, though.”

Glancing back at Abbey, her eyes dart around frantically, giving away her panicked thoughts as she takes in the situation. When she glances into the dark bushland to our left, I have to wonder if she’s contemplating running.

Sighing, I reach back and fist her upper arm, dragging her to my side as a fearful squeak passes her lips.

“Inside,” I snap, hauling her into the fluorescent lit facility that’s surprisingly well maintained.

Glancing around, there are three toilet cubicles, a paper towel dispenser on the wall, and a small counter with two hand basins and a dingy mirror sitting behind them on the brown brick wall.

Releasing her arm, I test the hot water tap, relieved when the cool water turns warm.

“I’ve got this,” Jols announces as she steps inside with us. “You can wait outside.”

Turning my raised brow on her, she rolls her eyes at me.

“Seriously, Ringo. You don’t think I can handle a teenager that’s scared of her own shadow?”

Abbey frowns at Jols’ words, but I ignore that and give Jols the bad news.

“No, actually. I think as soon as I step outta here, she’s gonna give you her sob story, and you’re gonna feel all fucking sorry for her and then work up a plan to help her escape.”

“Fuck you, Ringo. When have I ever gone against your orders?” Jols sneers, tossing down the bag and towel hard to the tiled floor.

“There’s always a first time,” I mutter. “Besides, I was told to get the girl and not take my eyes off her until she’s safe, so guess fucking what? I’m not leaving this fucking room. You can clean her up with me here, or you can step out and I’ll do it myself.”

Abbey whimpers, sidestepping closer to Jols, and I chuckle.

“She can’t help you, Charity. Best you learn that now.”

“Stop calling m-me Charity.” Abbey tries to snarl, but in the end, it sounds more like a fucking suggestion than a demand.

“Not gonna happen,” I snicker, before gesturing to Jols and the bag by her feet. “We don’t have all night. Are you doing this, or am I?”

Huffing, Jols sticks her middle finger up at me and bends to pick up the bag before placing it on the bench and rifling through it.

“Ab… Charity.” Jols corrects herself. “Come over here and start rinsing the blood off your arms.”

Abbey’s dark gaze remains on me as she slowly makes her way to the sink beside Jols, her distrust obvious.

I give her a wink.

Her lips part in an aghast gasp, and when I don’t look away, she turns her back to me, as if she can fucking hide from me.

For fuck’s sake, why did I agree to this job?

Scrubbing my hand down my face, I lean back against the wall, my mind drifting to my little brother .

My dead little brother.

He was a piece of shit. Got in with the wrong fucking crowd. And yeah, I get that my crowd are no fucking saints, but we have morals and rules and there’s typically a reason we do what we do. We honour the patch we wear, the fat boys we ride, and the hierarchy in our ranks.

My little brother joined a gang. A crew of thugs whose only purpose was to party and destroy lives. Even the innocent.

He got heavily into drugs, and I was waiting for the day the call would come to tell me he’d been killed. I never imagined his end would be because he was trying to save someone else. Someone innocent.

As fucked up as it sounds, I’d never been prouder of him than the day he died. Fuck, for the first time, I know he was proud of himself.

Which leads me to why I just busted into a stranger’s home, in an area we don’t rule over, to kidnap an abused girl in the dead of night.

A favour.

Yep. A fucking favour, and there’s no other fucker roaming this earth I’d do this for, but for the innocent girl my dead brother died for.

“Is his name Ringo or Sarg?”

Abbey’s hushed question draws my attention as she looks at Jols, and I notice that her trembling has increased as Jols helps to wash off the dried blood coating her arms and hands.

Fucking hell, if she shakes any more, she’s gonna fucking hurt herself .

“I’m known as Ringo,” I answer for Jols, stepping up behind Abbey and placing my hand on her shoulder. “Calm down, Angel.”

Abbey stiffens under my touch, and my eyes meet Jols’ briefly before she returns to her task.

“Are you cold or nervous?” I already know the answer. It’s February. The height of our summer and the night is balmy, so there’s no chill in the air to cause her tremors.

“I-I don’t know.”

Appreciating her honesty, I step up closer behind her, deliberately letting my breath fan over her ear.

“We aren’t going to hurt you, Charity. Relax.”

I’m surprised when she does. It’s just a fraction, but noticeable enough. Clearly, she’s scared of me, yet for some reason she responds to me. Maybe it’s out of fear, but I don’t think that’s it.

“Lean back,” I order, and only after a brief hesitation, she does, relaxing back against my chest as Jols works on patching up the cuts on her hands. “Close your eyes,” I rasp quietly next to her ear and watch in the reflection of the mirror as she does as I ask.

Interesting.

She remains like that while Jols works. I ignore the weird glances Jols shoots my way, rather enjoying watching Abbey in the mirror.

Once Abbey’s hands are patched up and her arms are clean, Jols gets to work on cleaning her face, wiping away the deep crimson to reveal soft creamy flesh underneath. I have the strangest urge to reach out and touch it, but thank fuck Jols speaks, shaking me out of whatever the fuck that was.

“We have to rinse your hair now, and then get you changed. ”

Stiffening under my hand, Abbey’s lids fly open, her gaze wild like she’s just woken from a dream.

Or a nightmare.

Was she really that relaxed, leaning against me, that it’s like she’s been startled awake?

Her big doe eyes meet mine in the mirror, and for a long drawn out beat we stare at each other. Her face is free from smears of blood now, her appearance more in line with the teenage girl I studied in the family portraits back in her home. That girl was a year or two younger though, and this one here, wears dark shadows under her eyes. She’s experienced more heartache than the younger version of herself, and it’s clear things have been rough for a while.

Her cheekbones are too prominent. There’s no plumpness to her cheeks like there was in the portrait. Instead, they seem to hollow a little. Kind of like the life has been sucked out of her.

Heat washes over me as anger towards something I don’t have a clear picture of ticks in my jaw.

Maybe I shouldn’t have left her parents alive. Maybe I should have killed them and taken the three sisters.

Once again, it’s Jols that breaks through the weird fucking thoughts in my head, and she starts giving Abbey directions, so I take a few steps back while they get started on rinsing out some of the blood from Abbey’s blonde hair.

She’s not trembling as much now. Hopefully, because she feels a little safer. I should probably remind her not to get too comfortable, that she has plenty to fear, but for some reason, I like that those deep brown eyes don’t look at me with as much trepidation as they did ten minutes ago .

Once they’ve rinsed out most of the blood staining the ends of Abbey’s blonde hair, Jols moves to the bag and pulls out some clothes.

“We need to get you changed.”

Abbey’s frantic gaze locks on mine in the mirror, and yeah, I could be a prick and fucking watch, but despite what I said to Jols when we first stepped foot in here, I decide to stop being a prick for a fucking minute.

“I’ll step outside.”

My grunted words are met with a relieved sigh from both women, so with one last warning glare at them, I leave them to it and step back out into the balmy night.

“She okay?” JD asks, and I nod.

“As okay as she can be in this situation.”

“What’s the plan? She coming back to the Western?” Murf asks, a dart hanging from his lips as he unzips his fly and flops his dick out.

“Seriously?” I snap and his bushy dark brows hitch as he steps closer to the shrub by the path.

“What?” is all he says as he starts pissing.

“Dude, there’s a pisser right through that fucking door.” JD points out but Murf just shrugs, continuing to piss.

“This bush was looking thirsty. I’m just trying to keep it alive.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I grumble, tipping my head back to look at the stars above.

They are brighter out here in the country.

“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 coming in 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, not me , 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.