Page 50 of Beautifully Shattered
“How can you be sure?” she snarls at me, and it really shocks me that she has the audacity to continue with her twisted charade. “You hardly know him. You’ve got no idea who the man is that you married.”
That hits a nerve.
Not because I believe her. But because I’ve asked myself that exact question before.
Do I really know Ringo?
Still, I know better. She’s baiting me.
I’ve seen Ringo with Jols. With his mates. With his club. Hell, I’ve witnessed his mum tear shreds off him while he just took it.
Ringo is a monster, but not the kind she’s trying to paint.
“You just couldn’t handle it, could you?” I cross my arms over my chest, smirking at the bitch. “He choseme. After all those years you begged for his attention, and he barely even looked at you. Then out of nowhere, he claimedme.” I shrug, like it’s no big deal. “Guess your dirty cunt wasn’t as good as you thought it was.”
Her mouth drops open in a gasp, eyes wide in disbelief. Probably because I’ve never spoken like this to her before.
Maybe I should have.
Then, she startsscreechinglike a banshee, yanking on the chains and fighting against them like a rabid animal, while I start laughing.
The sound of her breaking is like music to my ears.
“Just admit it, Wendy. You fucked up. You got sent away. Banished from this chapter, and your bruised ego couldn’t take it. So you decided to take me out of the picture.”
She bares her teeth at me, pure hatred dripping from her glare.
“Why won’t you just die, you fucking cow! You’re not good enough for him or this club! You’re worthless, used-up trash!” She seethes, spittle flying from her cracked lips. “I did Ringo afavour! He didn’t want to raise another man’s kid! And now he doesn’t have to!”
I snap.
Spinning on my heel, I storm to the table by the door, my hands closing around a pair of spiked knuckledusters. I don’t hesitate, sliding them on as I turn back to face her.
“Say it again, bitch.”
Wendy’s eyes gleam with malice. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She knows exactly how to get under my skin.
But fuck her. How dare she speak about Bobbi’s death like it was a blessing.
She snickers, eyeing the flash of metal shielding my knuckles. “Now he doesn’t have to raise someone else’s kid!”
“And why is that?” I urge, needing to hear the words no mother wants to hear. But I need them. Ineedher to say it so I can finally let go and unleash my pain on her.
The moment her lips part, I know she’s going to give me exactly what I need.
“BECAUSE YOUR BABY IS DEAD!”
Red. Hot. Rage.
It bursts from me. Violent. Pure. And unrelenting.
I hardly realise I’ve moved before I launch myself at her. One second I’m standing over her, the next I’m on her, my fists flying, the spikes biting into her skin as I swing at anything I can reach.
I’ve never fought anyone like this before. Never even been taught how to throw a punch. But it doesn’t matter. It’s nothing but raw instinct right now, and I give in to its pull on me to swing hard. Faster.
Eachblow lands heavy, fuelled by grief and fury, shredding her arms, her chest, her face, any part of her I can get to as she screams and thrashes beneath me.
When she tumbles to the floor, I go with her, straddling her bleeding and broken body, my fists never stopping.
