“It was,” Ringo snaps. “Smitty’s always been a fucking wildcard, but this… this is not the President we voted in.”
“Right, well, let’s get that piece of shit sorted,” Mex bobs his head towards the Landy, “get our little Bobbi girl back to her mumma,” he winks at me, “and then worry about the fucking club business after that.”
Our little Bobbi girl?
My chest warms. They haven’t even met her yet, and they are calling her theirs? Like she’s already a part of the family.
I squeeze closer to Ringo as one of the thousands of lacerations in my heart stitches itself closed.
Is this what a real family is like? Caring about someone just because they mean a lot to someone else? Fighting for them, even if it goes against others’ wishes?
Shit. Maybe Icando this. Be a mum, I mean.
With guys like this around, especially Ringo, I feel like I’d have the courage to face anything.
Pulling his phone out, Ringo checks the time. “We have a couple of hours before the sun rises. Let’s scope the place out and aim to go in before daylight hits.”
My brows hitch as his words sink in, and I glance around, past the guys, at the scrubby bushland surrounding us.
“Uhhh, are we there? Is Bobbi here somewhere?”
“That way, Angel.” Ringo points down the road. “It’s a small seaside town. Nothing fancy. Dirt roads and little beach cabins. We’ll pile into the van once the guys check out the house. Leave the hogs and Landy here hidden in the bushes.”
My heart starts racing, part of me wanting to start running down the road to find my baby. But shit. I don’t know how many houses there are or where she is exactly, so I nod eagerly, listening to them make a game plan.
When JD, Vender, Mex and Stocky leave on foot to scope out the house, I pace beside the car, chewing on my nail as my emotions start to climb.
I’m impatient and anxious, and I can feel Ringo’s eyes on me, but he doesn’t tell me to calm down. He knows how massive this is. How today is going to change my life forever.
Not just mine, I suppose. His too. At least, for as long as he wants to keep me around.
Twenty minutes later, the guys return, a little breathless from jogging, and JD bends, placing his hands on his knees as he starts relaying what they saw.
“House is the second one in on the waterfront. There is dirt road access, plus beach access. A house on either side. One looks to be occupied, and the other looks vacant. A holiday rental, maybe.” JD coughs, clearing his throat as he straightens. “We, uhhh, heard a baby crying in the target house. Must have woken as we approached. A light came on inside, the back corner, roadside.”
My heart flips, and I suck my lips in, trying to fight back tears.
“Any visual inside?” Ringo asks, pulling me against his chest and running his hand up and down my back.
“Yeah, only from the beach side. I could see a woman walking around,” Vender adds.
“Just one woman?” Ringo asks, and Vender nods. “Either the second woman is in bed, or isn’t there. Either way, we go in assuming there are two adults in the house. Maybe more.”
The men go over a few more details, but I zone out, only picking up words like, the baby must be protected at all costs, and try not to kill the women, but if they threaten the baby, take them out.
After they have a plan of attack, the motorcycles are hidden in the bushes, and Daniel is escorted from the Landy into the back of the van, his body curled over like he’s in pain as he walks.
Ringo ushers me to the front of the van, getting me to slide into the narrow middle seat as he gets in next to me, and JD slips into the driver’s seat, starting up the van.
The others are in the back with Daniel, while Stocky stays behind with the Landy and bikes, acting as a lookout on the one road in.
My knee won’t stop jigging again, my heart thundering in my chest, and I want to chew on my nails, but Ringo has hold of both of my hands like he knows exactly what I want to do.
JD drives the van down the road, and when we round the bend, a dingy little streetlight illuminates a row of tiny houses on the right, and one single street, which is a dirt road.
At the end of the road we are on, there is a sign warning that there’s no vehicle access to the beach, and as the car slows, a couple of the guys jump out the side door and run, guns in hand, towards the sandy path between the dunes.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
