Page 171 of Beautifully Reckless

I fucking laugh in his face.

“You know, Tim told us what you did.” I tilt my head, never taking my eyes off his. “He said you tied Abbey up one night when Daniel and Donny went out to grab pizza. He said you tormented her for hours.”

Michael’s face pales. “Tim was lying.”

I frown, turning my head to the back corner where Tim is out of Michael’s sight.

“Were you lying, Tim?”

“N-no. N-no, siree. I wasnotlying.” Tim hurries forward, hobbling on his broken foot, barely registering the pain now that his mind is so far gone. He rounds his mate strung up like a carcass, ready to gut. “You did it, Michael. You tied her to the pole and pissed on her. You spat on her too.”

“Shut up, Tim!” Michael screams, but Tim ain’t finished.

“You stuck your fingers down her throat, real deep, and she threw up.” Tim nods quickly, ignoring Michael’s face twisted in rage at hearing his mate betray him. “Then rubbed it into her hair.”

I can’t listen to any more of this.

My fist swings before anyone sees it coming, the crack so fucking loud that it’s close to possible I nearly killed Michael with the impact.

Red rims my vision as I absolutely lose control.

This isn’t what was planned, but now my monster is unleashed, and there’s no fucking stopping me.

Michael’s body is still swinging from my punch, but the moment he sobs and opens his mouth to fucking deny what he did, I lunge forward, my fingers gripping his throat and digging in until blood starts pissing out like a burst fucking pipe.

Tim is squealing like a pig in the background. I can’t fucking tell if he’s protesting or getting off on the chaos, but with my focus locked on the vile cunt in front of me, I let my rage surge through my arms, and explode through my fingertips.

Myknuckles burn as I squeeze so fucking tight, that my digits break through skin and muscle, wrapping around his trachea before ripping it clean from his throat.

I heave, letting the chunk of flesh thud to the dungeon floor, Michael’s corpse hanging lax as it swings. As the roaring in my ears fades, a low whimper reaches me.

My gaze snaps to Tim, now crumpled on the floor, wide eyed and sobbing, unable to tear his eyes away from his dead mate.

Tim divulged everything over the four weeks we’ve had him. Every filthy detail of what they did to my wife. Even the sick shit they planned for her wedding night with Daniel.

There’s no way Abbey could ever speak of those horrors out loud, and I’d never fucking ask her to. But now I know exactly what she’s been through, and I won’t fucking rest until every last one of those pricks is rotting in the ground.

The moment I pull my gun from under my cut, my club brothers curse, their boots scrambling up the stairs as I level it at Tim.

His eyes don’t even react. He simply looks past it to me, like the fucking barrel isn’t right in his fucking face.

“It’s time?” he asks, and I fucking nod.

“Well fucking overdue,” I snap, and then squeeze the trigger.

The sound is deafening, my ears ringing instantly, but I don’t fucking care.

Two wastes of oxygen are now gone.

There might be more to go, but I’m fucking sick of not holding my Angel when I fall asleep. So I turn on my heel, climb the stairs, and head for the shower.

I need this death off me before I go to my wife, and lose myself inside her for good.

29

Ishouldn’t be out here in the cold. Not with a storm rolling in. Winter is just over a month away, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll make it through an entire season before I see Ringo again.

Tears slide down my cheeks, same as they do every night he doesn’t come back to me.

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