Page 16 of Dirty Lyrics
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
The sharp edge in his voice makes me freeze.
He’s not playing.
There’s something predatory in his gaze, the kind of look that pins me in place, that makes me feel hunted.
Not scared exactly. But not not scared.
My blood runs hot under his stare, prickling along my skin, and before I can stop it, moisture gathers between my legs.
Shit.
I shouldn’t feel this way. Not now.
Hormones, I tell myself. Just hormones.
“I know you ran,” he says, voice low, dangerous, “and we’ll get to why. But you know me, Maya. I told you about how I grew up. About my father. And I can’t fucking believe that didn’t mean anything to you.”
The words cut deep.
Because he’s right.
I do know. I remember him telling me about the bastard who denied his name, denied his mother.
I remember what he told me about the boy he used to be—angry and ashamed and determined to make something of himself.
I remember swearing to myself I’d never hurt him like that.
And yet—I did.
My chest tightens as I see it now, the hurt in his eyes.
The betrayal.
My betrayal.
“Rico, you don’t have to—” I start, but of course he ignores me.
He always does when he’s already decided. And maybe I deserve that.
“So this is what we’re going to do,” he says, every word final. “We’re getting married. Right now. I’m going to make sure you and the baby are safe. And he or she?—”
“He,” I whisper, cutting him off.
Rico inhales sharply, his nostrils flaring.
For a moment, I think he might break—his dark eyes glisten, just faintly, with unshed tears.
Then he nods, voice rough when he continues.
“He will have a name, Songbird. He will have my name. Understood?”
I nod, blinking through my own tears, swiping them away quickly. “I understand.”
“We’ll figure everything else out after.”
“Okay, Rico,” I whisper.
