Page 121 of Beautifully Reckless

Ringo shoots me a crooked smirk, adding in a wink as he takes both my hands again while Ace continues.

“Brothers. We chant.”

Before I can process what that means, Ringo drops to one knee.

My hand flies to my chest as my breath catches, quickly noticing every Southern Sadist brother doing the same. Then, in unison, they thump their fists to their chests, their gazes locked onto me, as they chant.

“May the road rise up to meet us.

May the wind be always at our backs.

May the sunshine be warm upon our faces.

May the rain clouds never be black.

We are the Southern Sadists MC.

Ride ‘em high.

Ride or die.”

Tears sting my eyes.

I have no idea if this is something they usually do, or if they all just pledged loyalty to me somehow. It felt like both. But whatever it was, has me choking up.

With another fist thumping over their hearts, they all rise, retaking their positions, and Ringo stands tall, never once breaking eye contact.

My hands are trembling as he takes them in his, and just like that, his touch calms me.

“May your love grow ever stronger as you ride this life together, reflecting the promises you made here today,” Ace declares before he speaks words I didn’t think I’d have to hear for a very long time. “By the power vested in me by the Victorian Marriage Registry, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Before Ace can add anything else, Ringo releases my hands, his big palms sliding around my waist, yanking me against his chest as he claims my lips like they’ve always been his.

Everything falls away.

The claps.

The cheers.

Even the sting of being forced into this.

None of it matters. Not when his lips crush against mine, our tongues clashing as we swallow each other’s moans. Nothing else matters as my skin ignites with sparks of electricity that only Cameron Musgrove can entice.

Cameron Musgrove.

My husband.

“Fuck, Angel,” he groans against my lips, before slowly pulling back to meet my eyes. “You’re Mrs Abbey Musgrove now.”

I smile, biting my lip at how damn proud he looks about that.

“I’m a modern woman. Maybe I don’t want to take your surname,” I tease, but he’s already shaking his head before I even finish.

“Nofucking way, Angel. You’re the wife of a Southern Sadist now. We claim our women and fucking worship them. I don’t care how modern you think you are. There’s nothing I won’t do for my wife, and every fucker who fell to a knee will protect you with their own life now. So you will carry my surname with honour, and you will do it with a fucking smile.”

By the time he’s done laying down the law, we’re both grinning from ear to ear. If we weren’t getting swarmed by bikers wishing us well, I’d be climbing this man like a tree and show him just how much I appreciate him.

My thoughts make me giggle, because when did I become so bold?

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