Page 177 of Beautifully Reckless

“How long do I have you?” my voice cracks as I ask, and I have to clear my throat, my eyes dropping to his chest as I fight to hold back the flood building inside me.

“Just for a few days, Angel. The faster I end more of those fuckers, the faster I get back to you.”

My gaze snaps back to his.

“More? You mean you’ve already…” I trail off, almost too scared to say the words because of how excited the prospect is to me.

That’s not right. I shouldn’t be excited for people to die.

Ringo nods. “Two,” he offers simply.

“Who?”

A frown creases his brow. “You sure you want to know?”

“Yes,” I say quickly, pushing myself up on the bed to look down at him. “Please. I need to know.”

“Tim and Michael,” he sighs, his gaze locked onto mine like he’s trying to read me.

Out of all of them, those two were the least horrible, and even they did some pretty bad stuff to me. Even so, I’m glad that’s two less rapists I have to worry about.

“How?” I dare to ask, and this time Ringo sits up, too.

“You don’t need to know that.”

“Yeah I do,” I protest, staring him dead in the eyes. “I want to know, dammit.”

My small outburst has a smirk tugging at his lips, making him look sexy and sinister enough to almost distract me from the conversation.

Almost.

“Fine, Angel,” he rasps, weaving his fingers with mine. “I’ll tell you, but I’m not going into detail. You can have the CliffsNotes version.”

“Fine. Whatever.” I wave him off, and he chuckles, shaking his head at my eagerness.

“We had Tim for about four weeks. Beat him daily. Inflicted some torture. Cut him up good until he broke. Then he told us everything.”

Four weeks?

Torture?

And…

For a moment, I can’t breathe.

“Everything?” I squeak.

“Everything.” He nods.

My cheeks heat with familiar humiliation, my mind flashing back to some of the vile things those arseholes did to me.

I never considered that Ringo would find out the whole truth. I kind of assumed that once they were dead, I’d be the only one left to remember.

“Hey.” Ringoreaches for me, dragging me onto his lap. “Don’t think about that part.”

I can’t look at him, and I know that with a simple demand he could make me. It is, after all, the way I’ve been unknowingly conditioned. But Ringo doesn’t force that on me. He allows me this grace.

“Who isus?” I whisper after a long moment, my gaze darting back to his. “You said he tolduseverything.”

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