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M oving quietly through the house, I feel like an intruder as I head towards the sound of chatter, the smell of delicious food coaxing me from the comfort of Ringo’s room. By the time I’m one step from rounding the corner into the main living area, I’m tempted to turn tail and retreat back upstairs.

Not because anyone is talking about me, but because of how familiar they all are with each other, reminding me that I’m an outsider.

“What do you think?” Ringo’s mother’s voice floats to me before his deep tenor follows.

“Delicious, Ma.”

Ma.

I’ve never known anyone who calls their mum that.

Is Ringo from a different background? Australia is a young country, so it’s more than possible his parents weren’t born here.

And where is his dad? Is he dead? Alive and just not in the picture?

It’s another reminder of how little I actually know about the brute who kidnapped me. Which seems strange, considering every time I look at him, it feels like we’ve known each other for years.

As my thoughts spiral, I sneak a peek around the corner, only to get busted by the man himself.

Those whiskey eyes lock onto mine instantly, and I swear I can feel my heart do a flip inside my chest.

And… cue the blush.

Lexi and I have that in common. Our blushing disorder. And yes, I’m calling it a disorder because it basically rats me out to everyone.

Oh look, Abbey is embarrassed, or humiliated, or angry, or about to cry, or horny.

I bite my lip at that last one, because honestly, it’s all I seem to feel when I’m around Ringo.

Horny.

It’s just your hormones, Abbey. You’re not a deviant.

Ticking his head in that classic come here gesture, Ringo waits for me to obey, his brows lift when I don’t move right away.

I like annoying him like this. Not obeying him, just because I can.

It’s like some part of me knows I can push him, and still be safe.

Like earlier, up in his room when I dared ask about his sex toy. I could barely believe the words flew past my lips, but it’s like my soul knows something my brain is still playing catch up with.

Whatever it is, I know I’m safe with him. He’d never lie to me. He’d never hurt me. He’d never force me into anything. Not like my parents did.

I mean, aside from kidnapping me and making me his captive, but that was with good intention. I can appreciate that.

His little captive. That’s what he called me.

Why do I like the sound of that?

His words from earlier pop into my head.

“Because I like it when you submit to me. And I think you crave being controlled, even if you don’t understand why.”

The submissive stuff has me a little rattled, to be honest. Not because I don’t like it, but because I really think he’s right.

I do like it.

Which is confusing as hell, given what I know now about how I was raised.

The moment Ringo steps towards me, I sigh, pushing my thoughts away, and move into the room. His mother spots me instantly, a toothy smile flashing my way.

“Ahhhh here she is. Beautiful Abbey. You must be starving.”

I nod, spotting the massive spread of food across the kitchen bench.

“She loves veggies.” Ringo grins, shooting me a wink. “How about meat? Still making you queasy?”

He remembers .

It’s such a simple thing, and I don’t know why it affects me so much, but knowing he remembers how I’d been struggling to consume meat, sends warmth through my chest.

“Not so much now.” I smile. “As long as it’s cooked right through, I should be fine.”

He looks genuinely pleased to hear this, taking my hand before leading me to the bench. He loads up a plate with marinated chicken skewers, grilled corn, jacket potatoes, and a generous heap of mixed grilled veggies.

The whole meal gives off serious Mediterranean vibes. Not that I’m an expert, but maybe it’s a hint at his heritage.

We sit around a large, round table to eat. It’s nothing like the Western where you ate off your lap, or squeezed in beside someone at a flimsy trestle table.

This one has a round glass centrepiece filled with floating flowers and tea candles, and is big enough to seat another four people comfortably.

Even with all that space to spread out, Ringo sits close enough that his knee brushes mine under the table, and I enjoy the constant contact.

It’s grounding and calming but does nothing to douse the building ache I’ve had since the moment we laid eyes on each other again.

Despite his nearness, Ringo stays pretty quiet during dinner. His sisters do most of the talking, mostly to JD, and while they glance my way a lot, they don’t pull me into the conversation.

I don’t particularly mind, too scared they’ll pepper me with questions.

I’m guessing Ringo told them to back off, but that doesn’t explain his silence .

Is he uncomfortable with me here?

Maybe I should’ve eaten upstairs so he could have dinner with his family without me hanging around.

“I’m sorry. I need to know,” Millie says suddenly, her eyes snapping to mine. “If Ringo isn’t the dad, then who is? Because if you think you’re going to trap him into raising some other man’s—”

“That’s enough!” Ringo booms, launching up from his seat and slamming his palms onto the table. “I asked you for one thing, Millie! One. And you couldn’t even give me that!”

I can’t breathe.

“You can do the dishes tonight, Millie,” his mum snaps and for a brief moment, I can breathe again, but Millie’s not done.

She shoves her chair back, stands, and slaps her own hands down on the table.

“After what Kylie did, do you really think I’m just going to sit here and watch some pink-haired stripper wannabe wreck you too? It nearly killed you, Cam!”

This time, I nearly choke from the invisible boulder in my throat, but no one seems to notice.

“This is not the same situation, Mills. Just drop it!” he yells, but she shakes her head.

Finally air rushes back into my lungs, Ringo’s unwavering support for me, reminding me that someone cares.

“No. I won’t drop it.” Millie jabs a finger in her brother’s direction. “Because you’re about to take her and her unborn kid as your own, and then what? What happens when the baby daddy shows up? Hey?”

“I hope your brother kills him. ”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and three sets of shocked eyes snap to me, while JD just nods in agreement. It takes a beat before Ringo finally looks down, realising it was me that said the words.

“Oh sure. So he can go to prison for you, and you run off with his money, or take all of this as your own.”

Shoving my chair back, I stand, my eyes remaining locked on Millie since she’s the only one in the room brave enough to challenge her brother.

“Firstly, I’d never do that. I know you don’t believe me, since I’m a stranger. But perhaps you should have a little more faith in your brother, and respect the choices he makes for his life.”

Ringo reaches for my hand, but I step away, shaking my head. I can feel his piercing stare in my peripheral, but I refuse to look at him right now. Not when Millie is the one that needs my attention.

“To answer your question, and I hope it satisfies your concerns, although, I’m sure it will raise many more questions, none of which are any of your business,” I take a beat and clear my throat, mentally preparing myself to admit my truth out loud, yet again. “This baby’s sperm donor is a rapist. One of my rapists. I don’t know which one impregnated me, but it doesn’t matter. There were six of them. But none of them are, or will ever be, this baby’s father.”

The silence that fills the room is almost deafening.

With a trembling hand, I lift my half eaten plate of food and finally tear my gaze from Millie’s paled expression. My emotions are waging a war inside me, and I’ll be stuffed if I let the salty tear demon win this time.

“Your brother saved me,” I say, my voice thick again. “He’s been protecting me, and despite what happens next, I’ll always be so grateful that he kidnapped me from my parents, who were hell-bent on forcing me to marry one of the bastards who raped me.”

My eyes flick to Lani, her eyes flooding with tears, before I shift them to Ringo’s mother.

“My apologies for disrupting your household, Mrs Musgrove. Dinner was lovely. I’m sorry I can’t finish it. I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Abs…” Ringo murmurs softly as I pass him, but I don’t look back. Not at him, or anyone else as I carry my plate to the kitchen. Since I don’t know where to scrape off the scraps, I just leave it on the bench and quickly slip out of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Millie calls after me, but I don’t stop. I head straight to the only place I know I can disappear.

Ringo’s room.

As soon as I’m through the door, the first tear spills free, but I keep moving, hurrying into the bathroom, to lock myself inside.

There’s shouting coming from downstairs, Ringo’s familiar boom louder than any.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I really hate what I see.

Will I always have to explain myself to people?

Why is it any of their business?

I guess it’s not. I could probably just refuse to talk, but for some reason, I always feel like I have to explain. I have to fight for everything I do and every decision I make which seems to disappoint, disgust, or confuse everyone around me.

Maybe I should take a page from Dee’s book. Stop talking altogether. Keep my voice in and not share it with anyone. I know it’s something that annoys people about her, and they give up trying to get answers from her because she simply doesn’t speak to them.

Dropping my gaze from the mirror, I peel off my clothes and run the shower.

It’s a huge double shower. I could easily lay down on the floor, it’s so long and wide.

“Angel?”

Ringo’s voice comes through the door as he knocks, and I freeze, one foot inside the shower as I watch the doorknob jiggle.

“Abbey?”

“I’m taking a shower,” I call over the rushing water, feeling a little exposed standing here naked while he’s on the other side of the door.

“Can we talk first?” he calls through the timber separating us, his voice laced with concern.

“I’ll come find you later,” I call, the confidence I had downstairs slipping.

There’s a pause for a few long beats, before there’s a light thud on the door.

My heart twists like a hand is crushing it as I picture Ringo on the other side of the door with his forehead against the timber.

Shit.

Slapping my hand over my mouth to muffle my whimper, I hold everything in for as long as I can, not wanting him to hear me break again.

It seems to be all I do these days.

Cry.

Shatter.

Fall apart .

“Promise you’ll come find me?” he calls after a long while, and even as silent tears stream down my cheeks, I somehow manage to keep my voice level as I call back.

“I promise.”

I hold it in for a few more minutes, until I’m sure he’s gone, and then I sink to the floor of the shower and cry.

Like really cry.

The emotional agony that’s been haunting me every minute of every day spills from me, and I try and fail to fall apart quietly. But I need to purge it, get it out and hope like hell it doesn’t come back.

I’m sick of feeling like such a helpless damsel. I don’t want to be that girl.

I don’t want to need anyone but myself. I don’t want to rely on anyone.

I can’t bear to go through the pain of someone failing me again.

But I’ll be there for my little baby boy or girl. I will love my baby. Nurture it. Give my bub everything my parents didn’t give me and more. And I will do it all on my own.

Somehow. I know I can do it.

I just have to figure out how.

I stay under the raining water for what seems like forever. It’s ice cold by the time I drag myself out, and take my time drying off, combing my wet fading pink strands, and digging through my backpack until I find a dress that stretches over my bump.

When I finally go looking for Ringo, the sky outside is streaked with pinks, purples, and oranges as the sun begins to set .

The house is quiet as I pass through the living area, spotting Ringo’s mum dozing on the couch with the TV on and the volume down low.

Outside is still warm, but a light breeze hints that it might cool off a little more through the night as we move deeper into autumn.

Over by the barn, I spot JD working on his motorcycle, but there’s no sign of Ringo.

“You looking for Cameron?”

I startle at Lani’s voice, spinning to see her behind me, a basket propped on her hip with what looks like grapes or some sort of fruit inside.

“Ahhh, yeah,” I mutter, suddenly feeling awkward after my outburst earlier until I notice her red rimmed eyes. Has she been crying? “Are you okay?”

She studies me for a moment, and then points towards the rows of vines she must have come from, completely ignoring my question.

“He’s spending time with someone special. You might want to leave him alone.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks at her words.

I don’t know who he’s with, but it’s clear she doesn’t want me encroaching.

When I part my lips to speak, she turns and walks away, her behaviour, paired with her sister’s from earlier, adding to how unwelcome I feel here.

As unwanted as I feel, I don’t feel unsafe, which is the only reason I haven’t tried to leave yet.

I need to be smart, for my baby. So for now, I’ll endure their judgement.

Glancing at the rows of vines, I decide to go for a wander. Ringo did make me promise to come find him, after all.

The air is thick with the scent of grapes and rich earth, the vines so pretty I almost forget I’m trespassing on someone else’s world.

I don’t think the vines are big enough to be a full-blown vineyard, but maybe this is like a hobby farm, and they make their own wine or cider or whatever it is you can make from grapes.

The sounds of the birds chirping are loud out here. I can hear cockies squawking somewhere not too far away, and as I glance up, a flock of sparrows zip overhead, like they are racing home for supper.

As I reach the end of the vines, my eyes widen at the sight of a large tree, and it isn’t until I spot Ringo kneeling beneath it, his head bowed before a small gravestone that I realise, this must be the Jacaranda tree Hope is buried under.

The sight punches air from my lungs.

Before me, is a man so fierce... so brave... yet completely broken.

I shouldn’t be here.

Spinning, I turn to leave, which of course is when I step on a twig, the snap of it loud under my foot, making me freeze in place.

“Come here, Angel.”

His voice is rough, thick with emotion, and even if he’d told me to go away, I wouldn’t have been able to leave.

He’s suffering right now, and he needs someone to drown in his pain with .

Hesitating only for a moment, I spin and move to him, closing the distance to stop beside him, my gaze flicking to the small headstone… too small.

Slowly, Ringo lifts his gaze up to mine before reaching out.

“Come and meet Hope.”

As overwhelming grief slams into me, I slip my trembling fingers into his big palm, feeling his heat around them as he tugs me down to kneel beside him.

Taking in a steadying breath, I finally let my gaze fall to the headstone.

Hope Angel Musgrove Never walked on Earth But will forever fly in our heavens

I have no control over my tears at this point. Between the two of us is so much unimaginable pain that I can barely stand it, yet know I don’t want to share it with anyone other than him.

I can’t help but picture the day he buried her here.

Did he dig up the soil himself? Lower her tiny casket into the earth and bury it here for her eternal resting place? Did he etch the words into the stone himself?

I can’t bear to ask him, and there’s no need to take him back to that day.

Still, to think that Cam’s little baby girl’s remains are buried right here under this soil… It’s too unbearable to comprehend.

“I know I never knew her,” the gravel in Ringo’s voice breaks as he speaks, “but I do know she would have loved you.”

I don’t even know what to say. This pain is too much. Too brutal .

What if this were my baby? I don’t know what I’d do if something were to happen to him or her.

How does Ringo get through everyday knowing that his little girl died?

How does he face every day with the images he likely still has in his head of little Hope, probably not even fully developed lying in the dirt next to her horrid mother?

“I d-didn’t mean to d-disturb you,” I stammer, hating the tremor in my voice.

“You’re not disturbing me, Angel.”

Angel.

I didn’t know that was Hope’s middle name. Not until now. Not until seeing it carved into stone.

“Why do you call me that?” I whisper, glancing up at him.

His gaze meets mine before flicking to my lips where they linger a little too long, before shifting back to my eyes again.

“I call you Angel, because no one has mattered in this life until you came into it. No one other than my Hope.”

His words are raw. Honest, and confusing as hell, even while they are as clear as day.

“But you’ve got family. Your sisters. Your mum. JD. Jols. The club...” I remind him, but he shakes his head, shifting his gaze back to his daughter’s headstone.

“I’ve been lost in the dark for so long, Abs. It wasn’t until I found you that I finally started living again.” He turns his gaze back to me. “I swear the moment I saw you in your bedroom, covered in blood… my cold dead heart started beating again. That’s the only way I can explain it.”

“Shit.” A sob lurches from my throat, even as a warm smile lights his face .

“Yeah. Shit.” He reaches out and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. “I think Hope sent you to me, Angel. So I could finally breathe again.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The words just won’t form.

A small grin tugs at his beard, and he gives my chin a gentle pinch.

“It’s okay, Angel. You don’t have to say anything.”

“I… I just don’t understand any of this. We only just met, and—”

“Sorry to interrupt.” JD’s voice cuts through the moment, and every part of me wants to scream at him, but given the way Ringo snaps to attention, I know JD wouldn’t interrupt unless it was important.

“What is it?” Ringo asks over his shoulder.

“The Marx estate has been raided. Cops are still looking for the… uh… same thing.”

I frown at JD’s words as Ringo stands.

“They raided Ewan Marx’s mansion?”

JD nods. “Yeah. Your phone’s blowing up. Griffin. Devon. Conrad. Even Barrett has tried to call.”

“Fuck.” Ringo drags a hand through his hair, and JD’s gaze flicks to me for a beat.

“Smitty rang too. Said they’ll see you tomorrow for the, uhhh… thing. Then said, and I quote, ‘we need to seal this deal and fast before Ewan Marx fucks me up the arse.’ ”

I stare at them trying to piece things together, but it’s clear JD is deliberately holding back.

“Uhhh, who is Ewan Marx? And why is he fucking Smitty up the arse? ”

JD snorts, amused at me swearing again, but Ringo just shakes his head.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Angel.”

My brows hitch, because even if JD hadn’t frowned at that, I already know, just from the way he danced around his words, that this sure as shit is something I need to worry about.