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I shouldn’t be out here in the cold. Not with a storm rolling in. Winter is just over a month away, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll make it through an entire season before I see Ringo again.

Tears slide down my cheeks, same as they do every night he doesn’t come back to me.

Tilting my face to the sky, I let the rain mix with my tears, the clash of hot and cold a strange kind of comfort.

Over the past five weeks, I’ve gotten to know the men Ringo left behind to watch over me and Jols. Brody is surprisingly kind-hearted, at least when he’s not thinking with his dick. Since being stuck here, he’s clearly on a brutal dry spell, and I can tell as each day passes, it’s wearing him down. But still, he’s kept his distance, never once propositioning me or Jols.

Alana and Millie are a different story .

Not that they’ve taken him up on his suggestive offers, but I kinda think they enjoy the attention.

Stoner takes his security role very seriously since Jared and Dee managed to get past the measures he had in place. He sleeps less than anyone here, always out patrolling, and when he’s on a break, he rarely relaxes.

Mule is a different kind of guy. He’s ex-army apparently. Just like JD. Or so Jols tells me. He keeps to himself, but he’s become my constant shadow.

He sleeps outside my door at night. He’s always lingering just off to the side when I leave my room. And when I go for a walk through the bushland on the property, he follows. Silent. Steady. A shadow that never breaks formation.

Mule doesn’t say much, but a couple of times, when I’ve broken down during my walks, he’s handed me a tissue, always saying the same quiet words.

“It won’t be for much longer.”

I often wonder if he knows something I don’t.

Tucker is an older guy. Not very fast on his feet, and takes a lot of naps, but, every day at four in the afternoon, without fail, he picks a handful of flowers and carries them to the porch. His smile is always big as he waves through the window to Doreen, before he lays them gently on the decking, only to retreat back to the barn.

Another loud rumble of thunder rolls through the angry clouds above, and a sudden flash tears across the sky, lighting up the Jacaranda tree before me.

“Your daddy is a good man,” I tell the gravestone, my voice barely a whisper as I wonder what colour eyes Hope would’ve had. “He’s fiercely protective. I wish he’d gotten to hold you when you cried… fed you, rocked you to sleep in his arms. I know he would have loved that,” I say to a little girl that isn’t here, more tears spilling down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to enjoy him. But I promise to love him the way he deserves.” A sob escapes me and I crumple forward, begging the gravestone as if it has the ability to grant wishes. “Please, just bring him back to me.”

Even though Ringo and I talk on the phone every night, over the last two weeks, a bad feeling has settled in my gut. It’s heavy and cold, like something is coming for me and I can’t stop it.

I fear Ringo won’t return to me, and not because of another woman or stupid jealousy, but because I fear he’s going to die. Or someone’s going to die.

I don’t know how to explain it, and no matter how hard I try to brush it off, the gnawing feeling digs in deeper, crippling me night after night the moment the sun dips below the horizon.

Another flash rips across the sky, followed by a loud clap that makes me jump, and I second guess my need to cry out in the rain like this.

Pushing up from the wet grass, I turn and hurry up the small hill, frowning at how long the thunder rumbles for. Until I realise, it’s not thunder at all.

It’s a motorcycle. Or two.

My heart flips, and my feet take over, carrying me up the hill in a frantic rush.

I can hear Mule somewhere behind me, his boots pounding the earth as he tries to catch up, but as the roar of the engine cuts off, a strangled sob escapes me.

Ringo.

I need to get to Ringo.

Hooking my hands under my belly, desperately trying to lift it so I can run faster, I clear the top of the hill bursting through the mouth of the vines, my eyes catching on a familiar silhouette in the glare of the floodlights.

“Ringo!” I scream a little too dramatically, but I don’t give a damn right now, because he’s here. He’s finally here!

His looming shadow stiffens, his head snapping in my direction, and a second later, he tosses his helmet down in the mud, his boots already pounding towards me.

“Angel!” he roars over another clap of thunder. “What are you doing out here?”

I can’t answer, my sobs are too wild as I nearly slip on the soaked grass.

Mule catches me before I hit the ground, lifting me like I weigh nothing. Even in his arms, my legs don’t stop trying to race towards Ringo the whole time.

“Be careful Mrs,” Mule says, calling me Mrs like he does every time he decides to speak.

“He’s really here,” I cry, beaming up at Mule in the downpour, and for a brief second, I wonder how his moustache is still perfectly curled at the ends, even out in this storm.

“Yes, Mrs. He is.”

I giggle, bouncing on the spot, letting Ringo make his way to me.

The moment he’s standing before me, I try to leap into his arms… but fail, because my huge belly gets in the way.

“Holy shit, Angel. Look at you.” Ringo beams, ignoring the rain hammering down on us.

Oh wow. Look at his eyes. The way they smile without even seeing his lips.

“Bubs is basically a cabbage now.” I laugh, seeing Mule slink away in my peripheral.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his eyes roaming the swell of my stomach and then my face. “Come here, Angel. I need to kiss you.”

Bending, Ringo scoops me up in his arms bridal style, and I don’t waste another second. Reaching up, I cup his face, loving the feel of his beard under my touch as our lips meet for the first time in weeks.

We’re moving as we kiss, Ringo’s boots trudging across the sloshy sand driveway before he climbs the steps of the porch.

I hear voices getting closer, and when Ringo finally breaks the kiss, my eyes land on JD’s wide grin, standing just inside the door already chatting to Jols.

“Didn’t take you long,” Jols teases as Ringo slips through the doorway, and I don’t even hate how my cheeks heat at the insinuation.

“Please tell me you’ll at least make it to your bedroom,” Millie complains and I giggle, because while she’s a very blunt person, she’s been decent to me, and we’ve even had a few laughs over the past few weeks.

“On my way there. Where’s Ma?” Ringo asks, his gaze darting around the living space as he stomps his dirty rain-soaked boots across the tiles.

“She turned in early,” Alana announces, stepping out of the hallway that leads to their mum’s bedroom.

I instantly feel guilty, because that’s a lie.

Ringo’s mum has been suffering through a lupus flare up, and while I’ve enjoyed learning all about it and practising some very basic care on Doreen, I hate knowing how much she’s been suffering.

Ringo grunts at his sister, and I suspect he knows better than to believe her, but right now, he has a one track mind, and he’s determined to get us behind closed doors.

Taking two steps at a time, Ringo has us up to his room in no time, locking us away as his lips claim mine again.

I’ve missed his taste. The brush of his tongue. The tickle of his beard as his lips devour mine. I know there’s no way I’ll handle him leaving me ever again.

I need this.

I need him.

“Fuck. I’ve missed your smell,” he rasps into our kiss, and I giggle against his lips, because his head is in a similar place to mine.

Now in his bedroom, he lowers my feet to the floor while frantically stripping me out of my wet clothes.

“I need to taste you.”

A needy whimper escapes me, but it’s different from last month where I had an insatiable ache.

Now, my ache is for him.

To have him near.

To breathe him in.

To feel his deadly hands on my flesh.

I want to crawl under his skin, like it’s the only thing anchoring me to this world.

Shit. If I could crawl under his skin and live there, I would.

Before I can even process what’s happening, Ringo has me sprawled out on the bed, hovering over me as his lips find mine again.

It’s a claiming kiss. One that screams unspoken words I’ve been desperate to hear fall from his lips .

“I need to taste all of you, Angel,” he growls, breaking our kiss, his eyes so wild with lust that he looks a little drunk as they rake over my face. It’s like he’s recommitting every last inch to memory. Perhaps seeing something new there that wasn’t present last time we were this close.

“Then I’m going to fuck you, and we aren’t coming up for air until I’ve made you come ten fucking times.”

A laugh bubbles past my lips. “Ten times. I don’t think that’s possible.”

His eyes darken. “Oh, it’s fucking possible, Abs. Let me show you.”

His grin is wicked, but it quickly disappears as he lowers his head to the crook of my neck and begins his exploration.

I arch into each nip and kiss, moaning when he sucks my nipples deep into his mouth like he wants to choke on them. And I writhe when his beard tickles my skin as he trails kisses over my very prominent baby bump, before I lose sight of him behind it.

The moment his hot tongue glides up my seam, my legs fall wider, inviting and desperate, his big hands sliding beneath my butt, gripping each globe like he’s settling in for a marathon.

It’s not necessary. I’m so strung out with desire that the second he flattens his tongue over my clit, it’s like he’s flicked a switch and lit me up from the inside.

“Cam,” I cry, my voice cracking with emotion, overwhelmed and ecstatic all at once, while a wave of ecstasy I haven’t been able to find by my own touch, slams into me like a freight train.

“I’ve got you, Abbey,” he rasps against my nub, his voice huskier than usual, and hearing him say my full name, something he rarely does, undoes me all over again .

Just having him here with me again makes it easy to ignore every insecurity I have about my body, or being too bold in what I want. So I let myself go, my hands fisting in his hair, gripping the strands, which are a little longer than usual, and I spread my thighs as wide as they’ll go.

Instantly, he growls, the sound low and primal, vibrating against my exposed flesh. His tongue sinks inside me, so much thicker and deeper than I thought possible.

Then it happens.

Something in me snaps.

Maybe it’s the filthiness of this.

Maybe it’s just him.

I don’t know, but I start… dare I say it… fucking his face.

I grind against his nose, trying to get his tongue deeper, the sensations somehow too much and still not enough.

With another feral growl, Ringo shifts into a kneeling position, dragging my hips up with him, his fingers digging into the flesh of my arse as he devours my pussy like a man possessed.

Whimpers, desperate and needy, fall from me. I have no control over what’s happening. This man has trapped me in his vortex, and all I can do is hold on and enjoy the ride.

I’m sure he must be suffocating by the way his head is buried against my core, the thought of it shooting my pleasure so high, my world goes black, and my hearing vanishes, while I surf wave after wave of pure euphoria.

I hardly feel Ringo lowering my arse back to the bed, or him sliding off to strip out of his clothes.

I only figure that’s what has happened when I find his warmth hovering over me.

“Kiss me, Angel. Taste yourself on my tongue.”

I don’t even hesitate, hooking my hands around his neck and pressing my lips to his.

And I do taste myself. It’s intoxicating, the way he dives his tongue deep into my mouth, just the way he did inside my pussy. I moan as he deepens the kiss, feeling the thick head of his dick slide through my wetness and nudge at my entrance.

“Colour?” he rasps into our kiss.

“What?” I’m too far gone to understand what he’s talking about as I try to suck his tongue, but I end up trying to chase it as he snatches it away.

“Fuuuck, Angel. Colour.”

He’s pressing into me slowly, like he’s trying to hold back, and I frown, trying to see his face, but he’s too close, his forehead to mine as I part my legs wider.

“Colour?” I ask, feeling dazed. Fuzzy.

Shifting back, Ringo’s face finally comes into view, and I notice how he’s trying to hold himself up so he doesn’t press his weight against the swell of my bump.

“Fuck, Angel. Come on. Are you green? Please tell me you’re fucking green.”

His voice is strained and I realise he’s holding back, the head of his dick the only part that has breached my entrance.

Green?

Shit. Green. Colour. How could I forget?

“Oh! Green. Yes, green, please.”

A low rumble reverberates in his chest as my words spur him on, and he finally feeds his thick shaft into me.

My back arches off the bed, something close to perfect satisfaction rippling through me at the feel of him there again. Stretching me. Filling me .

“The way you squeeze my cock… I’ll never get enough of it.”

His words are grunted, deep and strained as he eases out slowly, and then back in again.

I don’t understand how it’s possible for my body to be lighting up again so soon, but every nerve ending in my body is alive, glowing brighter with each thrust of his hips. I’m lost to him. Completely caught up in everything he is, watching his face contort with a pinched frown as his eyes drop to where he enters me, and then back to my face.

Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, or maybe I’m still just as naive as I was months ago, but it’s not until this moment, as I watch him rock into me, taking the lead that I realise why he was asking if I was still green.

We haven’t had sex this way before. With him in a controlling position, hovering over me while all I can do is take what he’s giving.

After my freak out on our wedding night, he’s let me be the one to call the shots. I was the one to lower onto his dick. I was the one to rise and fall and grind, taking what I needed while helping him over the line.

He was the one that had to hold on for the ride.

Now, without me even realising, the tables have turned, and I’m not even remotely upset about it.

Any rawness I’m feeling has to do with the fact that I wish I could have let him claim me like this sooner.

“Colour,” he rasps again, obviously picking up that for a few moments, I’ve been lost in my head.

“Still green,” I pant, feeling the way my cheeks burn with something more than desire. Then I dig deep, pulling from that bold, reckless part of me this man brings out so well… and let her loose.

“Fuck me, Cam.”

This time, his growl is as ravenous as his thrusts, his fingers sliding between us to circle my clit, and I arch, my hands fisting the sheets, bracing myself as I hold on.

In this moment, there’s nothing but me and Ringo.

I’m not beautifully wounded by my past.

There’s no trauma between us. Just heat, sweat, and something that feels dangerously close to love.

This right here is more than fucking.

It is everything!

As Ringo works my clit like a fiddle, his dick pounding into me in a raw, claiming rhythm, I give myself over to the pleasure entirely. It surges to the surface, sending me hurtling over once again with Ringo’s pleasured roar filling my ears.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Ringo groans as he sags over me, barely able to hold himself up.

Reaching up, I cup his face, running my fingers through his overgrown beard. It reminds me of when we were apart, when I ran from him. He’d let his hair and beard grow out because he wasn’t taking care of himself, and now I know, he’s done the same again.

“I don’t want to be apart from you again,” I whisper, making sure he sees the truth in my eyes.

He doesn’t speak.

His lips thin, and he shifts, easing his softening dick out of me before padding across the carpet to his bathroom.

My heart sinks a little, because that’s not the reaction I was hoping for .

When he returns, he has a warm washer in one hand, and a towel in the other, and he sits on the bed between my legs, shooting me a smirk.

“Open wide, Angel.”

Biting my lip, I do as he asks, feeling my cheeks burn at the intimacy of being so exposed now that the pleasure part of what we were doing is over.

As he cleans me, his eyes drop to my exposed sex, and I work up the courage to repeat my words, since he didn’t respond to them.

“I know you heard me when I said I don’t want to be apart from you again.”

Those stormy whiskey eyes dart back to mine, and he sighs.

“Just a little longer.”

“Why?” I practically whine, pulling my knees closed as he finishes cleaning me.

“It’s not safe, Angel.”

I hate how emotional I feel. I don’t want to cry. I’ve done that enough, especially while waiting for his call every night. Even so, the familiar burn behind my eyes warns me of an impending waterfall.

“I’m not strong enough to live so far apart from you,” I whisper, too scared to speak louder in case he can hear the crack in my voice.

Lying down beside me, Ringo rolls me to face him, his fingers stroking my hair back in that way he likes to do.

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

I bite my lip, needing a moment to keep it together. To make sure I’m not about to start sooking like a girl that can’t breathe without her man, even if that’s exactly how I feel.

“It hurts, though,” I admit softly. “I can’t handle the distance, Cameron.”

This time, it’s him that has emotion flickering in his eyes as he cups my face, thumb stroking over my cheek like I might break.

“Fuck, Angel. I lo—”

Ringo’s eyes widen as he cuts himself off, the words hanging in the air.

Was he going to say what I thought he was?

“Let’s just enjoy this while we can,” he says instead, and my heart sinks again, a dull ache spreading through me.

Why is it so hard for people to love me?

“How long do I have you?” my voice cracks as I ask, and I have to clear my throat, my eyes dropping to his chest as I fight to hold back the flood building inside me.

“Just for a few days, Angel. The faster I end more of those fuckers, the faster I get back to you.”

My gaze snaps back to his.

“More? You mean you’ve already…” I trail off, almost too scared to say the words because of how excited the prospect is to me.

That’s not right. I shouldn’t be excited for people to die.

Ringo nods. “Two,” he offers simply.

“Who?”

A frown creases his brow. “You sure you want to know?”

“Yes,” I say quickly, pushing myself up on the bed to look down at him. “Please. I need to know.”

“Tim and Michael,” he sighs, his gaze locked onto mine like he’s trying to read me .

Out of all of them, those two were the least horrible, and even they did some pretty bad stuff to me. Even so, I’m glad that’s two less rapists I have to worry about.

“How?” I dare to ask, and this time Ringo sits up, too.

“You don’t need to know that.”

“Yeah I do,” I protest, staring him dead in the eyes. “I want to know, dammit.”

My small outburst has a smirk tugging at his lips, making him look sexy and sinister enough to almost distract me from the conversation.

Almost.

“Fine, Angel,” he rasps, weaving his fingers with mine. “I’ll tell you, but I’m not going into detail. You can have the CliffsNotes version.”

“Fine. Whatever.” I wave him off, and he chuckles, shaking his head at my eagerness.

“We had Tim for about four weeks. Beat him daily. Inflicted some torture. Cut him up good until he broke. Then he told us everything.”

Four weeks?

Torture?

And…

For a moment, I can’t breathe.

“ Everything ?” I squeak.

“Everything.” He nods.

My cheeks heat with familiar humiliation, my mind flashing back to some of the vile things those arseholes did to me.

I never considered that Ringo would find out the whole truth. I kind of assumed that once they were dead, I’d be the only one left to remember.

“Hey.” Ringo reaches for me, dragging me onto his lap. “Don’t think about that part.”

I can’t look at him, and I know that with a simple demand he could make me. It is, after all, the way I’ve been unknowingly conditioned. But Ringo doesn’t force that on me. He allows me this grace.

“Who is us ?” I whisper after a long moment, my gaze darting back to his. “You said he told us everything.”

“Me, JD, Murf, Trunk and Stocky,” he answers quickly, not holding back any secrets.

“They all know what those arseholes did to me?”

“Yes, and they want their blood as much as I do,” he growls, anger flashing across his expression.

“How about Smitty? Does he know?”

Ringo shakes his head. “No. He’s given me free rein on this one, as long as I keep up with club business.”

Club business.

It’s hard for me to comprehend what they class as business.

“How is that going?” I’m not even sure if he’ll elaborate, but I’m curious, and want to know what he does with his time aside from hunting down my attackers.

“Good actually. Moving out of the city was a smart move. We do small daily runs in the Timber Valley area, coordinated with the Marx crew, although it’s not exactly sanctioned by Ewan Marx.”

I frown at his words, not entirely sure what all of that means. Ringo obviously notices, so with another chuckle and shifting me closer on his lap, he elaborates.

“Timber Valley is Griffin and Devon’s region, so they can do what they like, but I have a feeling if Ewan found out they were letting us take a major slice of the trade in the area, he wouldn’t be too happy.”

“What trade?”

At my question, Ringo shakes his head.

“You don’t need to know.”

Frowning, I cross my arms over my chest.

“I have a right to know what my husband does for work,” I snap. “What trade?”

“Hmmm. I do like the sound of you calling me your husband.” He leans closer trying to nip at my lips, but I arch away.

“Don’t try and distract me with your sexy tongue, Cameron. What business are you trading in?”

A rumble sounds from the back of his throat, and his fingers dig into my thigh. Not painfully, but a warning. Still, he concedes.

“Drugs and guns, mostly. Some tobacco and vapes. Medical supplies sought after from this fucking pandemic.”

“What about the sex trade or trafficking? Do the Southern Sadists trade in that?”

“Fuck no, Angel. The only involvement in trafficking we have is killing the motherfuckers that run it.”

A smile kicks up my lips, Ringo’s words a reminder that while his club are outlaws, they are the better of the evils.

“Do you have any more questions, Angel?” He smirks back, and I nod.

“Just one.”

“And what’s that?”

“When are you going to give me orgasm number three?”

He throws his head back as a laugh rips from his chest, and a moment later, he has me straddling him .

“Saddle up, Angel. Let’s go for another ride.”

I giggle at his playful smile, but the second his lips find mine, I’m lost once again.

Ringo makes good on his promise. I’m absolutely spent by the time he rips the tenth orgasm from me like he’s conducting an exorcism. I don’t even remember falling asleep.

It’s the blare of his phone hours later that jolts me awake, just in time to hear him grumble a curse.

“Sorry, Angel. Let me grab that.” He presses a quick kiss to my forehead before rolling over to snatch his phone off the bedside table.

“Speak.”

I can’t make out the words spoken, but the fact I can hear them like someone is yelling, and the way Ringo stiffens, has me instantly on alert.

“When?” Ringo barks, leaping up out of bed. “Fuck. Okay. I’m on my way.”

Ending the call, he makes another putting it on speaker, tossing it on the bed as he quickly gets dressed.

“This better be a fucking emergency,” JD snaps before Ringo barks.

“Get dressed. The new compound is under attack.”