Page 28 of Beautifully Shattered (Secrets & Scars #3)

W ringing my hands together, I try to ward off the trembling that’s getting worse as we turn down the road that leads to Ringo’s house.

We didn’t take his motorcycle today. Instead, we’re tucked inside one of Griffin’s blacked-out SUVs.

It’s a Mercedes or something equally as fancy.

It could be a rusted up old wreck as far as I’m concerned.

I can’t focus on anything other than what’s about to happen today.

I’m not ready.

Fighting back tears, I stare out the window as trees blur past. The only thing keeping me from jumping from this speeding vehicle is the feel of Ringo’s hand on my thigh.

I’m not ready.

“I need a distraction,” I practically whisper, but Ringo hears, his big palm squeezing my leg as I continue. “Tell me about the Marx crew. I’ve seen four groups of them since we turned down this road.”

“Yes, they’ve been protecting my property since the night…”

He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. I already know what night he’s referring to.

The night I was taken.

I’m not ready.

“Why isn’t your club handling it?” I ask, turning to him to find his eyes already on me.

He’s been watching me more closely these past couple of days. I can tell he’s worried, and I wish he didn’t have to be, but the truth is, I’m not okay.

I’m not ready.

“My club is under attack too.” His voice is low and calming despite the conversation we’re having.

“Satan’s Rebels aren’t just coming after you, Angel.

They want my club. They want our turf, our connections, and our link to the Marx family.

The dumb fuckers don’t realise that even if they took every one of us out, the Marx family still wouldn’t do business with them. ”

I already know why.

Apparently, the Marx family and the Southern Sadists have morals despite being criminals.

I, for one, can attest to that.

I’m not ready.

“There are a lot of Marx men here just to do this as a favour,” I say, glancing down at the way his fingers brush over my leg. Somehow, that simple action is keeping me grounded. “Who’s paying them? Is it your club?”

I’ll have to figure out a way to pay them back. They wouldn’t be under this threat if it weren’t for me .

“ I’m paying them, Angel. This isn’t club business. This is personal.” He gestures out the window as we pass yet another cluster of black-clad Marx crew, geared up with weapons, and probably more men lurking in the trees.

I’m not ready.

“How much money does it cost to have so many men guarding your home?”

His fingers stop moving on my leg, and I glance up to catch his gaze with mine.

For a few long moments, his eyes dance between mine, like he’s trying to see past this mask of courage I’m trying to keep in place.

I’m not ready.

“I’m not paying them with money, Angel.”

My brows shoot up. “Is it drugs or guns or something?”

“No,” he mutters, not elaborating.

Ugh.

“Well… what is it then?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His fingers start moving again.

“The hell it doesn’t. Don’t keep secrets from me,” I snap, not in the mood for games today.

I’m not ready.

Sighing, Ringo reaches up and cups my cheek, and I instantly melt into his touch, fighting to hold it together.

I’m not ready.

“I’m not trying to keep secrets from you. I’m sorry for upsetting you, Abs. I’m honestly not used to having someone to share this stuff with.”

Abs.

I love it when he calls me that.

“I’m your wife now. I don’t want there to be secrets between us.”

“I know. Me either.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead before pulling back to stare into my eyes. “Payment for their protection will be a favour. I’ll owe them.”

My brows shoot up. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

“Probably because that payment will likely be something risky. Something big.”

Tears sting my eyes at the thought of him being in danger.

I’m not ready.

“You shouldn’t have agreed to that. I’ll pay them. I’ll find the money somehow.”

He shakes his head, a crooked smile kicking up his lips. “Money isn’t valuable enough for the Marx family.”

“But… what if…” I shake my head, not wanting to think of all the horrible things that could happen. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t, Angel. The Marx family are ruthless, but they aren’t cruel.” He leans back as the car slows, his gaze drifting out the window. “It’s nothing we have to worry about today.”

When the car starts turning off the road, and I recognise the gates of Ringo’s property up ahead, panic crashes through me so hard that I feel like I might stop breathing and die right this second.

“I’m not ready!” I blurt loudly, thankful there’s a partition up between us and the driver.

Turning to the door, I reach for the handle, desperate to jump out, but Ringo stops me, his hand closing around my wrists, keeping me in place.

“Abs, look at me. ”

“No. I can’t do this. I’m not ready!” I cry, hot tears spilling freely, my eyes already red, raw from crying myself to sleep last night.

Ringo’s big, warm hands frame my face, gently forcing me to look at him instead of out the window.

“Abbey, listen to me. We’re gonna get through this together. I’m here. Lexi’s already waiting. Your friends are here too. We’re all here to help hold you up, Angel.”

A loud, choked sob lurches from my lips as unbearable pain grips my heart.

“I don’t want to bury her,” I cry, shaking my head still in his hands. “I don’t want her to be gone, Cameron. Why is this happening? Why?!”

“Shhh, Angel.” He pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his strong arms around me as I fall apart. “I’ve got you, Abs. I’ve got you.”

“No!” I wail, feeling like my heart is being torn from my chest all over again. “I can’t. I just can’t!”

The door opens, and the chilly May air hits us, making me curl into Ringo’s chest even more, wishing I could burrow under his skin and disappear forever.

“Give us a few minutes,” Ringo says to someone outside, and the door closes again, taking away the chill.

For the longest time, Ringo holds me. Never pushing me to move. Never rushing me through my grief.

I don’t know how long we sit there like that, but eventually, his steady strength anchors me, and my sobs subside.

I realise then that even though I’m not ready, I know I never will be.

Because what mother is ever ready to bury her child?

I will never be ready .

Using the tissues tucked into the back of the seat, Ringo wipes my face, and my sorrow hardens into cold acceptance that this has to be done.

I have to get out of this car and bury my daughter.

And then, I have to slaughter everyone who had a hand in her death.

When I’m finally ready to get out of the car, Ringo steps out first, offering me his hand as I rise on shaky legs to face a group of people who mean the world to me, all wearing yellow, just as I’d asked.

The moment my eyes land on Lexi, we stumble towards each other. My beautiful friend folds me into her arms as my knees nearly give way beneath the crushing pain in my chest.

“I have to bury my little girl today,” I sob into her hair, and she shudders with her own tears as she nods.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Abs.”

I feel Ringo at my back, and when we pull apart, I see Ayden at hers, ready to give her the support she needs.

God, I’m so glad she found him.

With Ringo on one side, and Lexi on the other, I face the crowd gathered. Some are my friends. Others are new acquaintances, members of the Southern Sadists, yet not a cut is in sight.

The Doxies are dressed in yellow sundresses, despite the cold air swirling around us.

The Southern Sadists are in their usual jeans and boots, but up top they have on yellow collared shirts, pressed and buttoned all the way up. A sight I never thought I’d see.

A week ago today, I attended the funeral of eight of their men, wearing the leather they all wear, and today, they are here looking like civilians, all for me .

For my little Bobbi.

Each of them holds a yellow rose in one hand, and a small gift for my little girl in the other.

“You ready?” Ringo asks softly, and even though I’m not ready, I nod.

We pass by the crowd, my friends and Ringo’s mum and sisters amongst them, and we start walking towards the small orchard. Its path has been lined with small vases of yellow roses on the grass, and small wind chimes hang from some of the shrubs, tinkling gently in the breeze.

The crowd follows behind us, and with each step, my knees nearly buckle, but Ringo and Lexi keep me upright.

Keep me strong.

Keep me moving.

Halfway down the hill, the Jacaranda tree comes into view, most of the leaves already shed, and the few remaining are a bright, glowing yellow, as if the tree somehow knew what was coming before I did.

The closer we get, the harder it is for my legs to move as a small white casket resting above an open grave comes into view. Right next to Hope’s.

“I’m not ready,” I whisper, and Ringo and Lexi tighten their grip on me, being my strength when mine has been torn from existence.

There are seats laid out, but when Ringo and Lexi try to steer me towards them, I shake my head, breaking free of their hands and dropping to my knees beside the glossy white casket.

I cry and sob, draping myself over the top like I can somehow shield her from this cruel world .

No one tries to move me. They leave me to my grief, everyone taking their seats as quiet sniffles and sobs float through the air around us.

“Hear that, my sweet baby girl? Those tears are for you,” I choke out. “For the love they never got to show you.”

Time passes slowly, and eventually, I feel a presence on the other side of the casket, and I peer up to see Ringo, sitting on the damp ground with me. He has one hand resting on Hope’s headstone, and the other on Bobbi’s casket, his head bowed in silent respect.

This man.

This warrior, who has already endured so much.

God, I don’t deserve him, but I’ll never let him go.

Slowly sitting up, I cover his hand with mine, and he glances up, his whiskey eyes haunted by his own grief.