“Send word to your uncle.” Ringo angles the phone his way a little more so he can be seen on the screen too. “Smitty is dead. I am now the President of the Southern Sadists MC.”
Devon’s brows shoot up, and I’m worried he’ll say something that will give away that Ringo was forced to do it, but he doesn’t say anything incriminating. “Will do.”
Bobbi takes that moment to start crying, clearly hungry, and Devon’s hard expression softens as he looks over Tahli’s shoulder, down at my daughter.
“Hey, hey, little one. No need for the tears. Uncle Devon is here.”
Tahli scoffs. “Uncle Devon?You’re not her uncle.”
Devon’s dark glare flicks up to the screen. “Your sister is like a mini you, Abbey.”
I giggle, and Tahli rolls her eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. My sister is as tough as nails, and I’m the same, so you’d better not hide the chicken nuggets from me.”
Ringo and I burst out laughing, and we spend another few minutes chatting and watching as Nessy helps Tahli get settled in an armchair, showing her how to feed her little niece a bottle.
I don’t want to end the call. I could honestly sit there all night and watch them, but I can’t.
Ringo needs to get cleaned up properly and go to bed, and I… I can rest well tonight knowing Devon is keeping my heart safe.
Unfortunately leaving the barn isn’t that easy, and Ringo is engulfed with questions, congratulations, warnings from those who aren’t sure he’s the right man for the job, as well as a discussion on what has to happen next.
I was waiting for them to discuss some sort of ceremony, but apparently, all that happens is Smitty’s President’s patch gets removed from his cut and given to Ringo to sew onto his. Which of course, I will do for him.
The Doxies know better than to ask if one of them should do it, like they normally would.
The men discuss the need for church in the morning, plus messages to be sent to the other chapters and their business associates to announce the change in leadership, and finally, JD and Jols help me get my husband back to the bungalow.
We do all the things we need to do to get cleaned up and into bed. Jols and JD settle into the bed next to ours, which feels less weird thanit used to, and I snuggle carefully against Ringo’s side, mindful not to put too much weight on him and aggravate the nicks and cuts Smitty left behind.
Ringo passes out pretty quickly, and when I hear heavy breathing coming from Jols and JD, I stick my fingers in my ears, not wanting to hear them fornicate right next to us.
Eventually, they finish up and fall asleep too, but me? I just lie there, staring up at the ceiling for hours.
My mum, sister, and grandfather are here on this property. It’s unsettling, to say the least. Them showing up here and us locking them away just seems too easy, even though it really wasn’t.
Did they really come here willingly expecting to get what they want? I’m kinda waiting for the other shoe to drop. Is it a trick of some sort? I can’t make sense of why they would trust the motorcycle club where my husband belongs, to deliver on the deal they made.
I also can’t stop thinking about Smitty.
What happened in the barn runs like a reel in my head. The feeling of Smitty’s betrayal is really hitting me now, but also… his death.
He was such a lunatic of a man, and we clashed more than we got along, but a part of me is sad he’s dead. Sad this is what it has come to.
Yeah, he’s obviously played a big hand in everything that happened surrounding me, Bobbi, and Banes. All for some money, but I feel like it was more than that.
Like when he gifted Bobbi a tiny club leather jacket at her funeral. Was all of that a lie? Was he pleased that she was dead? Or pleased that she was alive knowing he could use her as leverage?
Ugh, the entire thing makes me feel sick.
Slipping out of the bed, Ringo doesn’t even stir, so I throw on a hoodie and jeans, along with my boots, and creep out of the bungalow.
It’s a little after four in the morning. The estate is practically silent this time of morning, and there’s a calming peace to it. So calm that I don’t even realise until I’m there, that my feet lead me to the row of shipping containers being used as cells to keep my family locked up.
A couple of club brothers I don’t know well are guarding them, plus Murf, who spots me straight away, standing from the hay bale he’s sitting on.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, and I nod, raking my gaze over the row of containers.
“Can you see inside?” I ask, and he nods.
