Page 6 of Defended by Bama (Royal Bastards MC: Mobile, Alabama #1)

Bama

After grabbing an energy drink and a grocery bag of snacks and drinks, we piled into the truck as soon as it was good and dark. I wasn’t sure if they’d been seen leaving or getting here, so there was no time to waste getting back to Mobile.

Rogers had a cousin up in Canada, Crowne, that started a program called R.O.Y.A.L: Rescue Our Youth and Ladies.

It was fucked that it was a necessary operation, but it was no secret that women didn’t have a lot of options once they found themselves in abusive relationships, especially with kids involved.

Even the ones that had the means to leave often ended up dead anyway.

Restraining orders were a joke, even if you could get one.

I had my reservations about getting involved in this since the man that roughed her up was a cop, but she probably needed it more than anyone.

Dirty cops had a way of making problems disappear.

That sometimes worked in our favor, but shit like this wasn’t okay.

Even though I was pissed at Allie for not just telling me what the fuck was happening, I wasn’t about to leave this woman and her kid high and dry.

Allie could hide her, but only for a while before someone was onto them since they lived in the area. She had to get far away and fast if she had a chance of making this escape work. Plus, if Allie was caught helping her, it would be a whole slew of problems for her.

Brooklyn was jumpy and closed off. The little girl seemed like any other little girl and was polite. Kids were resilient as hell.

“Mommy! Punch bug, no punch backs!” Sadie squealed.

“Sweet girl, not so loud. I’m sorry,” Brooklyn said.

Sadie was buckled in the middle seat and Brooklyn by the door, but she tugged her as close to her as she could.

“It’s all good. It’s a little too quiet, actually. You like listening to the radio, Sadie?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Brooklyn said, “You don’t have to do that, really.”

I waved her off and turned up the music. It was a classic rock station.

“Can we change it?” Sadie asked.

“Sadie! Manners! I am so sorry,” Brooklyn said with a heavy sigh.

Shaking my head, I told her, “It’s really fine. But I tell ya what. You can pick the station for a while, but then we have to let your mom pick, then I get a turn. Deal?”

“How many songs do I get?” Sadie asked with a questioning look, arms crossed.

“Hmm. How about three per person?”

The little girl kept her arms crossed but raised her hand enough to tap her chin. “Okay, deal.”

I chuckled, then pointed to the radio. The truck was old, and I left the original radio in, so she had to turn a dial to find something she liked. After a few staticky stations and going from rock to county and back, she finally landed on a pop station.

The quick and obnoxious beat filled the cab but Sadie’s face lit up and she wiggled in the seat. Glancing over, I almost saw a hint of a smile from Brooklyn as she watched her.

“So you like some of the stuff my sister likes,” I said. “She listens to a little bit of everything but she has moods that all she listens to is this teeny bopper sh –stuff.”

“You can say shit,” Brooklyn said.

Looking over, I shrugged. “I haven’t been around a lot of kids, but I hear they’re like sponges.”

“They are, but she knows those are grownup words. Don’t, you sweet girl?” she asked as she brushed Sadie’s hair away from her face.

But the little girl was too busy singing and dancing in her seat to answer.

I couldn’t help but keep looking over at Brooklyn as the pop songs played.

Her face had been worked over, but something about the way she held herself and watched her daughter was beautiful.

Even through the cracked, swollen lip and bruised eye, the woman was gorgeous.

And she had dimples. Something about dimples always hooked me.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, I tried to focus on the road. I wasn’t a saint by any means, but I’d never lay hands on a woman. I wondered if he’d hurt Sadie, too.

“Are you alright?”

Her sweet voice immediately broke my focus, and I looked over. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem tense all of a sudden,” she answered.

The little girl leaned up and turned the knob on the radio. “Tell me when to stop, Mommy.” I didn’t even realize three songs had passed already.

After a few stations of static and some talking, Brooklyn told Sadie to stop on an old country song.

Still unable to stop looking over at her every few seconds, I watched her face and shoulders relax and she leaned her head against the headrest.

“Nice choice. I don’t care much for the newer stuff, but the old country music isn’t bad at all,” I said.

“You can look,” she said over the music, her eyes closed.

Sadie had snuggled into her, her eyes closing as well but surely she wasn’t asleep that fast.

“It’s one of those things either you can’t stand to look at or you can’t look away, ya know?” she asked. “Sadie can’t look at it.”

“She shouldn’t have to see you like that,” I told her.

Her eyes fluttered, then filled with tears.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to upset you. Just fu– messed up is all.”

She gave a humorless laugh and wiped her cheeks. “It is fucked up, indeed.”

“Is she already out?” I asked.

Brooklyn looked down at her daughter. “Yep. Oh, to be a kid and sleep like that again.”

“You should get some rest. It’ll be a few more hours ‘til we get there.”

“Thanks. But I have a hard enough time sleeping in a bed. Not sure I can sleep like this,” she said.

I turned the radio down a little. “Well, you can chat with me if you want or just enjoy the quiet.”

She didn’t say anything, so I just kept driving and let her be. It wasn’t my job to interrogate her. My job was to get her to safety.