Page 9

9

R ingo’s chest rises and falls as he sleeps on top of the blankets next to me. I’ve barely spoken to him after he admitted that the term Angel is just for him, but I also haven’t been able to stop watching him, and now that he’s asleep, all I can do is study everything about him.

I’ve been feeling so sick, my tummy churning at times, and when JD dropped some food in earlier, I was only able to nibble on some of the fries. My throat feels a little scratchy too, and I’m worried that I may have finally picked up the virus sweeping the entire world. I’m hoping it’s from the screaming and crying and all-round chaos of the last twenty-four hours, but I guess time will tell.

“Angel is just for me. ”

Damn, I can’t get Ringo’s words out of my head.

It’s weird. I’m not sure how to take them. What did he mean by that? It kinda sounded like he meant it as an endearment, but that’s ridiculous, right? He’s like, old. Not as old as my parents, and honestly, I don’t know exactly how old he is, but he has to be closer in age to them than me. He’s such an… adult.

I inwardly shake my head at that thought.

I’m an adult. Or so the law says. I’ve been eighteen for basically half a year. So why do I feel like a child? A useless, helpless child dependent on other people to take care of me. I have no money. No job or job skills. No home. No nothing. I have no idea how to be an adult. No idea how to navigate the world, especially away from the rigid religious beliefs my parents have been inflicting on me for the last eighteen months. But what I do have is an opportunity to try and change all of that. I don’t know how, but I do know I have to try.

I’m so confused. So scared, and I really do feel so unwell. And yet, the one thing I’ve felt for so long now has gone.

I don’t feel so lonely anymore.

I’m not an idiot. I know I’m a prisoner here. Ringo won’t let me go. He says things to make it seem like he has my best interests in mind, but I don’t know this man, and the people he lives with here are extremely questionable.

Even so, it’s the first time in a long time I don’t feel so trapped. Which makes no sense since I’m barricaded in a cheap motel room with a beast of a man surrounded by an outlaw motorcycle club.

Maybe all the trauma has messed with my rational thinking?

Ringo’s been asleep for a while now. I got up and walked around the small space before and even peeked through the curtains to see what all the noise was outside. It looks like there’s a group of people playing cards in the centre of the courtyard and others are swimming in the pool that from here looks like it could use a good clean.

There are a few women walking around. They aren’t wearing many clothes, and most of the men grope them as they pass by. I spotted that Brody guy kissing a different girl from last night. And another guy sitting at the table playing cards pulled one of the women’s tops down and started sucking on her nipples.

That made me feel funny between my legs and reminded me of the time, before everything went wrong with Daniel, when he made me feel good. Then that thought made me feel nauseatingly sick, so I slipped back under the covers and have been watching Ringo ever since.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of shorts that he slipped on over his boxers earlier. He’s so big. Muscley. He makes me feel so tiny, like he could snap me like a twig with his bare hands. He’s such a… man. Not the teenage guy that Daniel and his friends are with barely any body hair and their skin free of any wear and tear.

Ringo is the opposite, his skin bronzed, black ink covering his arms and disappearing under his shirt. His dark hair is long and wavy, some strands curling at the ends. He wears a hair tie on his wrist, and I’ve noticed that sometimes he ties his hair back, but it must annoy him because it’s back down soon after.

I’ve never stared at a man so closely before. I have this strange urge to reach out and run my fingers over the thick veins in his forearm. They are so prominent, barely hidden by the thin layer of hair that covers his arms.

I wonder if the hair is soft or coarse.

The loud shrill of a phone ringing makes me jump and Ringo’s eyes snap open to catch me ogling him. My cheeks flare to life even as he smirks before rolling to his side to answer his phone.

“This better be good. I’m trying to sleep.”

Ringo’s voice is raspier than usual, probably from being asleep, and I can hear a male voice talking to him, but I can’t make out what they are saying.

“Seriously?” Ringo snaps, before ending the call and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He doesn’t say anything to me, so I stay put and watch him shift the couch away from the door and unlock it. A moment later, JD slips inside before locking it behind him.

“Turn on the TV,” JD barks, not even waiting for Ringo to do it before he’s got the remote in hand and doing it himself.

Sitting taller on the bed, I lean to the side to see around Ringo’s broad shoulders as the voice of the Chief Medical Officer fills the room.

“Oh no. Not again,” I say quietly, and Ringo peers back to me before stepping aside so I can see the screen properly.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters as the words, five-day snap lockdown spoken by the Chief Medical Officer cause us all to stiffen.

I thought we were out of the woods. I thought there would be no more lockdowns, but here we are again, watching our government enforce restrictions to stop us from leaving our homes.

Last year, when we first went into lockdown, and I had to start remote learning to finish off my final year of secondary school, I was terrified, but I quickly realised that although it meant I was trapped in the house with my family, it also meant, I wasn’t exposed to Daniel. For a brief time, there was a shred of hope. Some peace.

By mid-year, though, my mum was concerned that Daniel and I being apart so much wasn’t good, and Daniel’s parents agreed, so they started breaking the rules.

When the August lockdown started, I was relieved. I looked forward to celebrating my eighteenth birthday at home, but Daniel came around. His family too, and we were forced to spend some time alone. Something about making sure our bond was maintained.

Bond? Seriously? What bond? There’s only ever been torment.

Watching the screen now, and the headlines in bold red font run across the bottom, I feel fear, but also relief.

At least I’m not back in Fox Pines, married to Daniel, trapped with him alone.

The thought sends a tremor up my spine.

“We were meant to go on a run this weekend,” JD mutters to Ringo as they both stand with their legs wide and arms crossed over their chests, watching the screen.

“Smitty will call church. Word Murf and Trunk up. We’ll need a team to get supplies. And ask Jols to tee up the Doxies to go to the store and get enough food.”

JD nods. “Will do. Anything else?”

“Remind the girls to go to different stores,” Ringo orders. “I’ll message Stoner and up the security at the warehouses.”

A few more quiet words are shared between them, and I find myself a little fascinated by what they are talking about.

Church. Doxies. Security at the warehouses.

I’m not sure what I thought an outlaw motorcycle club would be like, but I didn’t consider they’d run like a well-oiled machine. Even the conversation I overheard while I huddled in Ringo’s bathtub about buying property. It’s all business.

“What are you gonna do with Charity while church is on?” JD’s question has my ears pricking up, and I watch as they both glance over their shoulders at me.

“You go to church?” I ask, finding that hard to believe.

“What? Law breakers can’t worship God?” Ringo smirks, lifting a brow as he turns fully to face me.

“The Devil maybe,” I say with more confidence than I’ve had in days, and his smile grows, his white teeth making an appearance past his dark facial hair.

“You already know us so well.”

Chuckling, JD shoots me a wink. “I like her, Sarg. I think she’ll fit in here just fine.”

Even though JD is laughing, Ringo shoots him a glare.

“What? It’s true.”

“She doesn’t have to fit in here. She’s not staying,” Ringo snarls, and ouch, why do his words sting?

I don’t particularly want to stay here, but I kind of hate being dismissed so easily.

“Exactly,” I snap. “I’m not here to stay. In fact, I’m happy to leave right now.”

I don’t know why I say that, or why Ringo turns his glare to me, but JD still chuckles and excuses himself, leaving me and Ringo glaring at each other.

“Someone has more sass today.”

I nod at Ringo’s words. “I’m feeling more myself.”

His eyes narrow. “You still look pale.”

“Way to make a girl feel pretty.”

He smirks. “Even pale, you still look pretty, Angel. ”

Oh.

My gaze darts down to the bed as my cheeks heat, and I know he’s only trying to get a rise out of me. A reaction to stir me up. He doesn’t actually think I’m attractive, yet here I am, acting like an inexperienced teenager that clings on to any compliment I can get.

Stop being pathetic, Abbey.

“This snap lockdown is going to extend your stay here. Sorry,” he mutters, moving to the bathroom, and a moment later, I hear the shower turn on.

I glance at the door separating me from the outside world. It’s locked, but Ringo didn’t shift the couch back into place, and I could so easily sneak out while he’s in the shower.

I should go. Try to run. Try to escape.

But where would I go?

I’m somewhere in metro Melbourne. Depending on which side of the city I’m in, I could be up to three hours drive away from Timber Valley. I have no friends. My Gran used to live near the city, but even her house had been sold as soon as Mum moved her into the home.

What do people like me do? Go to shelters? Do they still have them during lockdown? They’d have to, right?

I wouldn’t even know where a shelter is. I have no idea where I am. I don’t have a phone, my ID, or any bank cards to get cash out. Not that I would. Ringo was right about that. My parents would have gone to the police by now, and if I used my card to get money out, the police would know.

Standing from the bed, I walk towards the door, but I don’t get too close. I just stare at it, wondering what would happen if I open it and step out.

“You planning your getaway?”

I spin, my hand pressing to my chest as I gasp, only to find Ringo a few feet away, beads of water trickling down his bare chest, with the only thing covering him, a grey towel.

I shake my head quickly, my eyes glued to his bronzed skin, travelling over his broad chest, his pecs, and his nipples. His tattoos continue down his chest onto his abdomen, and there’s a thin trail of dark hair leading from his navel and disappearing under the towel.

“Eyes up,” he demands, and I snap my gaze to his. “Out that door is the rest of my MC. If they see you here, in their home, they will assume you are here for a reason.” He leans in closer. “To party. With them. Do you need me to explain how they like to party?”

“No.” I shake my head, remembering what I saw earlier.

“So you understand why stepping out that door is not in your best interest right now?”

“Yes. I wasn’t going to, I was just…” I trail off.

What was I doing? Was I considering leaving? Yes. Would I have tried? No. Because I’m too scared. Too weak.

“I have to go out for a bit. Can I trust that you will stay put, or do I have to arrange a babysitter for you?”

“I’ll stay put,” I admit, eyeing his phone on the counter behind him. “Can I use your phone?”

His brows hitch. “Who are you going to call? Your mum?”

His teasing words sting a bit and I shoot him a glare.

“Yeah sure. I’m going to call her and tell her how well my kidnappers are treating me.”

Ringo smirks. “Best behaved kidnappers you’ll ever come across. ”

I roll my eyes. “I’m bored. I was hoping to listen to some music or play a game.”

He stares at me for a long moment, right before he grips the top of his towel and pulls it free.

Spinning, a squeal flies from my lips as I cover my eyes with my hand, hearing him chuckle behind me.

“Not so boring now, is it?”

“Oh, my god! I don’t want to see your penis!” I squawk and he roars with laughter.

“Penis? Angel, this thing isn’t a penis. It’s a cock.” I feel him step closer behind me, and a moment later his words come right at my ear. “And when it’s hard, it’s a beast.”

Lurching to the side, I squeal again and bolt for the bed, throwing myself down, face first, so I don’t risk seeing said beast.

When the bed dips beside me, I rear up and scurry to the head of the bed, pressing myself up hard against the cane frame, my eyes wide with fear as I prepare for him to finally take payment for kidnapping me.

“Relax, Charity. I’m only messing with you.” He leans down, tugging on some socks. He has a pair of boxers on. When the hell did he put them on?

“Why would you do that?” I ask, timidly.

Sitting tall, he glances at me, his face more serious than moments ago. “I get that what you’ve been exposed to was traumatic, but since you’re going to be here for the next week, and I know you’ll probably sneak a peek out the window, you’ll likely see some crazy shit fit for the filthiest porn sites that are legal to visit. I’ll make sure you’re not threatened in any way, but you’ll need a thick skin and to know you’ll likely see a whole lot of dick through that window. Especially later tonight, when Spud’s birthday celebrations get a little crazy.”

“I won’t peek.”

He smirks. “You will. Eventually. The things you’ll hear will pique your curiosity. But I want you to know that the women here consent to everything. Sometimes things can get a little hardcore. Rough even. But it’s all consensual, and no one is really getting hurt.”

“Like what happened in your bathroom?” I whisper, before worrying my lip.

“Yes. Just like that.” He reaches to the floor and picks up his jeans and then proceeds to feed his feet into the legs. “But you’re safe with me. Okay?”

My brows shoot up. “Until you want to flash your penis at me again.”

Standing to pull his jeans up, he grins and shoots me a wink. “I had my boxers on under the towel. And for the love of anything, stop calling it a penis.”

“But that’s what it is.”

He slips his t-shirt on. This one is light grey. “Technically, yes, but that word is not sexy.”

“Newsflash. I’m not trying to be sexy,” I counter and his eyes lift to mine, a sinister look flashing in his eyes. He looks like he wants to say something, but whatever it is, he keeps it to himself, instead sitting back on the bed to pull on his boots.

“I have to go to church. I’ll be about an hour. Can I trust that you won’t try to run?” He moves around the corner to the wardrobe and reappears a moment later as he shucks on the vest that was hanging there .

“When will you tell me who wanted you to kidnap me?” I ask instead of answering him, and his eyes narrow before he sighs.

“I’m waiting on a call. As soon as I get it, I’ll have more information for you.”

I can’t tell if he’s being honest or stalling, which means I have no other choice but to trust him.

“What if someone tries to get in here?” I ask, genuinely concerned.

“They won’t. Everyone will be busy getting ready for tonight and the lockdown. But if you really are concerned, use that phone,” he points to the old, corded phone sitting on his bedside table, “dial six and let it ring once and hang up. I’ll hear that and come back straight away.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And before you go thinking you can use it to call someone on the outside, think again. The old phones only work internally.”

My heart sinks because I was thinking maybe I could call someone. An old friend that may or may not take my call.

Ringo rounds off a few more rules before he leaves. Don’t open the door for anyone. Don’t make it obvious if I try to peer out the window. Don’t make too much noise to draw attention. And of course, once again, don’t run or I won’t like what happens.

He then lets me know that even if I do leave the room, I won’t get past the security on the gates, which settles any more ideas I have of trying to run as he leaves for whatever the hell church is.

Finally, alone in the room, I let my curiosity get the better of me and snoop through the few drawers in the room. I find his boxer and sock drawer over by the hanging clothes. I snoop through the pockets of his jeans and hoodies, but there’s not much else.

Doesn’t he have stuff?

There’s not a single thing in this room that looks personal. No picture frames with friends or family. No trophies. No posters. It just looks like an old shitty motel room used by a guest.

Glancing around the space, boredom creeps in, so I decide to clean myself, taking a quick shower, struggling a little with the dressing on my hand before redressing in some more of the clothes Jols packed for me. Another pair of gym pants, a white tee, and I redon Ringo’s hoodie despite how warm it is in here.

Rifling through my bag, I check to see if there’s anything Jols packed that can keep me occupied, like a book, or even some nail polish, but I don’t find anything but my clothes.

Ugh.

I stare at myself in the mirror for a bit. Ringo was right. I look pale. Sickly. It’s fitting with how I feel, although my boredom has given me restless energy that I don’t know how to deal with.

Leaning closer to the mirror, I study the darkness sitting beneath my eyes. It’s not new. I’ve had it for months. Lack of sleep most likely the cause. That and my crippling anxiety making it hard to stomach food.

Glancing down, I pinch the fabric of my leggings, pulling it easily because they’re no longer skintight on my bony legs. I’m sure I look like I have an eating disorder, and I guess I do if you consider how little I can manage to stomach, but it’s not on purpose. It’s from the fear I carry. It’s made me so sick over the last year.

Sighing, I use the comb I found with my clothes, and detangle my hair, parting it down the middle and braiding my hair on one side. After securing the hair tie I found in my bag, I braid the other, but since I don’t have another hair tie, I go hunting for Ringo’s. He’s always got one on his wrist. He’d have more around here somewhere, surely.

The bathroom cupboards come up empty, so I move to the bedroom and glance around.

Ah. The bedside table.

Moving to it, with the end of my braid pinched between two fingers, I pull open the drawer and immediately spot a handful of hair ties.

“Yes,” I whisper, smiling over the small win, and secure my second braid.

I’m about to close the drawer when the book underneath the hair ties catches my eye.

The Forgotten 500.

Curious, I brush the hair ties to the side and pick it up, flipping it over to read the blurb to find it’s about World War II.

Huh. I never considered Ringo would be into reading war history.

I’m about to put the book back when I freeze with the book mid-air, my eyes locking onto a large black cylinder that reminds me of a torch. Only the end has a fleshy coloured tip.

Slowly, I reach down and grip it, lifting it out to examine it, before a strangled choke comes from my throat.

“Oh, my…” I whisper, gazing at the very clear looking vagina.

Is this?

I’m about to throw it down, but then, against my better judgement, my curiosity gets the better of me and I press my finger to the surface.

Oh wow. It’s soft. Almost like silky skin, and I find myself gliding my fingertip over it.

It kind of feels real.

Does Ringo use this? Does he put his penis in there?

Needing to know if it has a hole to slide something into, I use my thumb to part the… uh… labia, and then I push my finger in.

Oh... Flutters of arousal grow between my legs, and I’m shocked to feel it for the second time in the last twenty-four hours since it’s been so long that I’ve felt anything remotely arousing after Daniel started treating me like a disposable whore.

As I ease my finger out and then slide it back in, I picture Ringo’s face. His broad chest and those rippling abs. I try to wonder what his face would look like as he slides himself inside this… thing.

Would his face contort?

Would he moan?

Does he fill it full of his—

“A-hem.”

The sound of a throat clearing behind me has me stiffening, and I pray to a god that has done nothing but let me down, that my ears are playing tricks on me, and Ringo isn’t standing right behind me as I hold this sex toy with my finger inserted deep inside it.