Beautifully Savage (Secrets & Scars #4)

Chapter 1

My palms are slick with sweat as I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I barely see the paddocks and trees zip by as I drive erratically on the country roads towards Ringo’s place.

I haven’t driven in months, so getting used to the van with the gear shift up on the steering column took a bit. But I figured it out as I tore away from the airfield, ignoring Brody who dove into the passenger seat just as I slammed my foot down on the accelerator.

“We’re approaching your property now,” he mutters to Ringo over the phone, clutching the grab bar like he’s holding on for his life.

Perhaps he is. I haven’t exactly obeyed any road rules, driving this thing like it’s a four-wheel drive tearing through the bush. Add in my rusty driving skills, and yeah, I can see why Brody is sweating right now.

I don’t care, though. The van is replaceable. My sanity, though? It’s hanging by a thread.

Daniel’s words keep echoing through my mind, and I dissect them again and again, hoping to find even the slightest hint that I misheard him. But every time I go over it, I come up with the same truth.

“Your baby didn’t die, Abbey. She’s still alive.”

Pain lashes my already broken heart every time I replay those words. Because what if he’s right? What if he’s telling the truth and Bobbi has been alive this whole time?

She’d be what? Seven weeks old now.

That thought alone nearly breaks me.

Seven weeks without me.

Is she even okay? Safe? Warm? Loved?

Has anyone held her the way I would?

And if she really is still alive, who has her?

The weight of not knowing crushes my chest, stealing my breath.

I need answers. I need to breathe.

Veering off the main road, the tyres screech as I speed up the gravel driveway towards Ringo’s house.

I don’t slow. I don’t even blink as I fly past the gates, hitting a pothole hard enough to send us airborne for a beat, nearly launching us off the road.

In my irrational state, stealing one of the vans and going rogue makes perfect sense. I just need to know for sure if Bobbi is alive or dead before I get my hopes up. And the only way to do that right now is by coming back here, to where I thought I’d buried my little girl.

“Fuck! Abbey!” Brody hisses in a sharp breath as his side of the van nearly clips a protruding branch, before he snaps into his phone. “Dude, I’m not telling her how to fucking drive! I like my balls exactly where they are! She’s your wife. You tell her!”

Under different circumstances, I’d laugh. Brody sounds comical, and I can just imagine Ringo barking orders at him through the phone.

But none of that matters. Not now, when Bobbi might be alive.

Black-clad Marx men scatter out of the way as I skid the van to a stop outside the barn, barely throwing it into park before I’m out the door and sprinting towards the orchard.

“Abbey?!” Alana yells from somewhere near the house, but I don’t look back. I just run.

The moment the jacaranda tree comes into view, a sob lurches from my throat as tears blur my vision. Bile rises up as I keep pushing my legs to move faster, my eyes locking onto the two small gravestones beneath the tree.

One is a little more weathered. The other surrounded by colourful painted rocks, care of my little sister, Tahli.

“Bobbi!” I choke out, her name slicing through my heart as the strength I’d worked so hard to build over the last few weeks begins to crumble.

The moment I near her grave, I skid across the damp grass on my knees before diving my fingers into the soil.

I claw at the earth, determined to dig up the casket no matter how long it takes me, I blink past the tears as my gut churns with a combination of hope and fear.

If Daniel is lying, I won’t kill him.

No.

I’ll keep him alive and make him wish for death every day for the rest of my life.

“Abbey! What’s going on?” Tahli’s sweet voice reaches my ears as heavy steps rush my way, but I don’t stop, my eyes trained on the weed-ridden soil and the small hole I’ve already clawed out.

“She’s at Bobbi’s grave,” Brody pants, falling to his knees beside me, obviously still relaying details to Ringo over the phone. “She’s digging it up… with her bare hands.”

“Shovels!” Millie shouts from somewhere. “Get some damn shovels!”

I keep digging, covering myself in dirt.

Heavy feet run off as more knees fall to the ground around Bobbi’s grave. Hands, some delicate and others strong, join me, clawing at the dirt without hesitation.

I barely spare anyone a glance, already knowing the delicate hands are Millie’s and Alana’s. I just sob and dig, knowing this could take hours, but not caring.

I’ll do this all night if I have to. I need to dig up my little girl’s casket. That’s all there is to it.

“Abs… your fingers are bleeding.”

Brody’s voice is low next to me, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder, but I shake him off, not stopping, not caring if all the flesh peels away leaving only bone.

I won’t stop until I have that casket out of the ground.

Sighing, Brody starts clawing at the ground next to me again before heavy feet pound our way.

“Shovels!” the deep voices bark, and as people shift away for the Marx guys to start digging, I remain in place, excavating the earth with my hands.

“Is she injured?” Millie asks from somewhere behind me. “Why is she covered in blood?”

Shit. I forgot about that.

What must I look like to Tahli? To Doreen?

A monster, most likely.

“It’s not her blood.” Brody answers for me, not going into any more detail than that, which I’m glad for.

I don’t really want Ringo’s mum and my little sister hearing about how I pretty much shot Donny Allen’s head off his shoulders and stabbed his uncle Ian in the ankle.

Or how some of the fleshy chunks in my hair were once part of a Rebel’s brain before Jols blew a hole in his head for attacking me.

“Why is she digging up Bobbi’s grave?” Alana asks quietly, and another sob lurches from me as I answer this time.

“Daniel said she’s still alive!”

My voice doesn’t even sound like mine anymore. It’s hoarse, unhinged and screechy, matching my mindset right now.

I feel like I’m all over the place, yet at the same time, extremely focused.

I need to know. To see for myself. To experience the truth of Daniel’s words firsthand.

In the background as I claw at the earth, I hear faint voices talking, and cars skidding somewhere close by.

A few moments later, a barrage of heavy booted feet is getting closer, and then strong hands cling to my waist and start tugging me backwards.

“No!” I scream and thrash, but the strong arms wrap around me as warm breath fans my ear.

“Stop, Angel. You’re hurting yourself.”

Ringo.

I sob, collapsing in his arms even as I reach for the grave.

“I need to know!” I scream again, and he squeezes me tighter as JD comes into view, slamming his hands into the dirt to take over where I left off.

“Let me dig for you, Angel.” Ringo’s voice wraps around me like a warm hug. “Your fingernails are bleeding. If Daniel was telling the truth, you’re gonna need those hands to hold your daughter. Please let me finish this for you.”

He’s right. If she’s alive, I’ll need my hands to hold her. To feed her. To care for her. I need my hands to be healthy and strong.

I nod through my tears, unable to speak, and Ringo’s beard brushes my cheek as his lips press a kiss there, grounding me.

Then he gently passes me to Jols, who wraps me up in a tight, steadying hug as we watch our men, and the Marx guys, dig up my daughter’s grave.

Some minutes later, the distinct sound of metal hitting wood echoes through the air, and my heart just about leaps from my chest as Jols tightens her hold on me.

“We got it,” one of the Marx guys calls out.

“Dig around it so we can get it out,” Ringo barks, and none of them stop. They just keep digging.

Each second stretches while I sit frozen in the damp grass, waiting to see if my world is about to shatter, or be made whole again.

I want to run in and help, tear at the earth with them, but I don’t.

I do as Ringo suggested and leave them to it, knowing they are doing it faster than I ever could.

More Marx men move in, their boots pounding against the earth, and I can barely see what’s happening through the wall of bodies.

Eventually, two men jump down into the grave, digging up more, dirt flying out of the hole as they work together for me.

It’s not long after that when the shovels are tossed aside, and they start lifting out the tiny casket.

Everyone moves back, giving me space as my eyes fall to the grotty white box that is supposed to hold the remains of my baby girl.

Sobbing, I crawl over to it as Ringo is handed a crowbar and starts prying it open.

I hold my breath, my heart racing so fast I fear it might explode in my chest.

The crack of wood splintering pierces the air, and Ringo stills, his eyes locking with mine like he’s silently asking me if I’m sure about this.

So, I just nod.

Then, he cracks the lid, lifting it open, his eyes falling to the contents as I hold my breath.

For a long moment, it’s like the earth stops breathing.

There’s not a single sound.

Not a single breath.

Not a single anything. Just muted stillness.

Shrugging Jols off me, I crawl closer, my whole body trembling as I close my eyes, working up the courage to see what’s inside.

If I open my eyes and my baby isn’t in there, then what?

What was all of this pain and suffering for?

How do I find my baby?

How do I get over being ripped away from her and made to think she’s been dead all this time?

But, what if I open my eyes, and she is there? A tiny body decomposing, her resting place disturbed because I’ve been lied to.

It’d be like losing her all over again.

I don’t know if I can do this.

“Angel,” Ringo rasps, his voice laced with heartache and love, and knowing he’s here with me, ready to catch me once again, is how I know I can do this.

I have to know, because not knowing will destroy me.

So, I slowly blink open my eyes and look down into my daughter’s casket.