Page 31 of Beautifully Reckless

His furious face. The tension in his shoulders. I’d been sure he was rejecting me.

And then I remember Wendy, and her cutting hate towards me. The slicing words she spoke.

“He doesn’t want damaged goods, Charity Case. You need to fuck right off and take your bastard pregnancy with you. He has no interest in raising someone else’s kid.”

I swallow hard.

He might not be angry at me like I thought, but she was right. Especially after finding out what happened in his past, Ringo doesn’t need this. Me. The worry of an eighteen-year-old, soon-to-be teen mother and her kid.

He doesn’t need me, making hislife more difficult.

Wendy was right.

Iamdamaged goods.

He deserves better.

“No…” I shake my head, pulling myself back to the present and remembering his question.

He wants to know if I thought he would hurt me.

Do I?

“I don’t know.” The truth falls past my lips, my voice barely a whisper.

Shifting back to the coffee table, Ringo moves so we’re face to face again, reaching for my hand and entwining our fingers. The warmth of his palm seeps into mine, grounding me.

“I’d never hurt you, Angel. Never.” His voice is steady. Unwavering.

I nod, because I don’t know what else to do.

I understand why he killed Kylie, but also… he killed her and while I don’t mind given the situation, I have to think about more than myself.

I have to think about my baby.

I’m so far out of my depth with Ringo and the Southern Sadists. We live completely different lives. Come from different walks of life.

It’s not that I think I’m better than him. It’s not that at all.

I’m just… different.

He lives in a MC compound with men who spend their days drinking and fucking, and on some of those days, probably killing.

He’s so mucholder than me. A real man, and I’m… well despite the fact I’m about to become a mother, I still feel like a naive girl.

And, in a few months, I’ll be having this baby.

A baby that needs a home.

A safe place.

And an MC is not a safe place to raise a child.

As brutal as that truth is to accept, I push down the pain of it and stare into Ringo’s whiskey eyes.

“Thank you for coming to clear the air.”

He frowns, studying me, brows pulling together as he tries to read between the lines. Then, as my words sink in, those furrowed brows shoot up.

---