Page 45 of Beautifully Shattered
Hell, I dream about things I’ve only ever seen in horror movies.
Because I’mthatangry.
At the world.
At the arseholes that raped me. Tormented me. Traumatised me.
At my parents and sister.
Ateveryonereally, even if I shouldn’t be mad at them.
“Have I made you feel like you have to choose between me and your club?” I whisper, scared my voice might crack if I try to say it any louder.
Ringo shakes his head, his thumb gliding over my lower lip like he can’t stand the thought of not touching me.
“No, Angel. It’s more like I dread dragging you deeper into this world. I dread tainting you. Ruining you.”
“I’m already ruined,” I deadpan. “That’s something no one can save me from now.”
“Fuck. I know.” His jaw ticks. “And I fucking hate that.”
“Can you love me the way I am now?” I ask, needing honesty more than reassurance, and he jerks back, scowling at me.
“I can love youanyway you are, Angel. But you’ll heal. The anger you carry won’t always burn like this.”
“And if it does? Can you still love me if I’m a heartless bitch?”
His lips kick up into a smirk. “The answer isfuck yes. But just so we’re clear. I don’t think you are, or couldeverbe, a heartless bitch.” He leans in slightly. “Besides, I could always demand you to behave.”
Myheart does a little somersault at that, because damn him, the submissive in me isstilllurking.
It never used to be obvious to me, but it is now that he pointed it out weeks ago.
“I’d like to see you try,” I tease, pushing the boundaries just enough to test him, and for a moment, something inside me lifts.
The heaviness in my chest eases. That one moment of banter feeds me.
“Hmmm. There’s that brat who only shows her face every so often.” He grins right as the music fades behind us. “Shit. Come on. We’ve got to get back to the wall for the last part.”
Ringo releases me, quickly slipping on his t-shirt and vest, which he calls a cut, before taking my hand and leading us back into the thick of the crowd.
We watch as Smitty steps forward, carrying each metal box holding the essence of each fallen Southern Sadist to the memorial wall. And one by one, he slots them into the opening in the stone.
Spud steps up next, securing metal plates over the front of each opening, engraved with their names.
For a moment, Ringo’s breath hitches, his shoulders go tight and his eyes gloss over with welling tears.
The sight makes my chest ache. Ihateseeing him in pain. Just like last night by the lake. Seeing him shattered like that was torture.
It’s easy to forget he’s human.
When you look at him, with those thick corded muscles, wide shoulders, and towering height… well, he doesn’t look like he can break. He looks like he was built tocarrypain. Notfeelit.
Buthe does.
And when those wet eyes drop to mine, and he pulls me close, burying his face in my hair, holding me like he’ll drown if he lets go… I know without a doubt that this man feels it all.
“Life is a fucking gift, Angel,” he murmurs so only I can hear. “It’s so easy to take it for granted. So fucking easy to forget that in the blink of an eye, it can all end.”
