Page 137 of Beautifully Reckless

As far as wedding celebrations go, I’ve really enjoyed myself. Way more than I expected, and even though I felt like this was just another thing being forced on me this morning, now, it feels like the most right thing I’ve done since deciding to keep my baby.

More food is served as the sun goes down, and this time, we eat with Ringo’s mum on the porch as she shares embarrassing stories about Ringo as a young boy. She even promises to get his baby albums out tomorrow, and I’m actually excited to see Cam as a little boy, full of mischief and dreaming big.

With the stars now in the sky, and Ringo’s mum safely back inside away from the shenanigans, there’s more dancing, drinking and wild games, which almost always guarantees someone will get hurt.

The Russian Shot Roulette lucky dip winnerwasn’tBrody. Thank goodness. But judging by the young prospect passed out on the sofa across the room with a very upright hard-on tenting his pants, I’m going to guess he’s the one that won it.

“Whiskey blood oath,” Murf murmurs as he sets a tray of shots on the table, and Stocky slaps a sharp knife down on the table in front of Ringo.

“Ahhh, what’s a whiskey blood oath?” I ask, eyeing the blade with concern, but one look at Ringo’s warm smile, and my panic instantly lessens.

“It’s a toast to the groom with his closest buddies,” JD grins proudly, and Ringo chuckles at seeing my confusion.

“Come on. Let’s get this done. I’m about ready to consummate my marriage.”

The guys around the table hoot, as you guessed it… my cheeks heat, and Jols grins, her eyes falling to her lap where she’s texting someone on her phone.

Then, one by one, Ringo, JD, Murf, Trunk, and Stocky, each pick up the knife, slice a bloody line across their palms, then squeeze their fists, letting a drop of blood fall into each shot glass.

I watch, wide eyed as the whiskey swirls with the blood like something straight out of a cult ritual, and before I can even process what’s happening, they lift the glasses and chant,“Til death do us part.”

They shoot them back, and the moment they slam the empty glasses back on the table, Ringo stands, fire in his eyes as he holds out his hand to me.

“Come on, wife. Let’s get to the fun part of the night.”

23

She’s nervous. There’s a slight tremble in her hand as I lead her towards the open barn doors where my club brothers are already moving into line.

Earlier, she called us ruffians poetic, and while I don’t really agree with that, I will say, we do shit like weddings, fucking well.

The rumble of demons fills the air, a sound that speaks to my fucking dark soul. I can feel it in my chest, lighting a spark of mateship that can only be found in families like this.

My club.

“What’s happening?” Abbey asks quietly from beside me, so I give her hand a gentle squeeze, as she watches the men line their rides up on either side of the entrance, their headlights lighting up the centre, illuminating a path for us to take back to the house.

“It’s an aisle of honour,” I explain, gaining the attention of those caramel eyes I’m so at risk of fucking drowning in.

Something that looks a helluva lot like awe washes over her face, her gaze shifting back to take in the path.

“See,” she speaks softly and I can only just hear it over the rumble of the bikes. “Poetic.”

Chuckling, I drop her hand and sweep her up in my arms, ignoring her gasp as I carry my bride up the illuminated path.

The men cheer. The women clap. And I keep my focus on the steps at the end of the path and the door beyond it, knowing I’m finally going to claim my woman properly.

Abbey giggles as my sisters leap out of nowhere showering us in confetti, before my ma makes an appearance beside the front door to our home.

“You’re a good man, Cameron.” She reaches up and cups my face. “I’m so proud of you.”

I smile at my ma even as guilt sits heavily in my gut.

I’m not a good fucking man. Not even close.

Her pride is wasted on me, since this wedding is nothing but a way to protect Abbey.

So why does it feel like more?

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