Page 106 of Ramsay

Slightly discombobulated, I make my way back through the house, spying Hate’s keys by the front entrance as I approach a door down the hall where I can hear the distinct voices of the three Sinners.

“...Willow. Try her damn birthday.”

Halting before the door, I back against the wall, curious now that they’ve said my name.

“I did,” Ramsay growls.

“What about her sister’s birthday?” Oliver chimes in.

What the fuck are they doing?

“Give me the damn phone,” Diem says impatiently, and a scuffle breaks out. Oh. Fuck.

Rubbing my chest, I listen to them toss out answers with disbelief. Fuckers. They’ll never get it because it’s not related to anything. It’s a random number I memorized.

“What’s the plan?” Diem asks impatiently.

“We have to find out what she knows. It’s the only way to be sure,” Ramsay says.

“What if she doesn't know anything?” Diem says, before presumably his fist hits the wall.

“Then it's a nonissue,” Oliver says.

“Where the fuck did you get that picture, by the way?” Diem growls.

“I traded for it,” Ramsay says absently.

“Did you have to show it to everyone?” Diem asks.

Backing away slowly, I tiptoe down the hall, grabbing Hate’s keys on the way. Jumping into his SUV with a snarl, I turn around in the circle drive and take off, burning rubber on his pristine fucking driveway as I go.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Willow

With Dixie’s death, I’m left unmoored. I contemplated calling the cops all weekend before finally conceding that it might be best to leave that alone. If her death was a message for me, it might be a mistake to involve the authorities.

The Sinners’ intervention was disgustingly short lived, no surprise. Why they even showed up is beyond me. Which is why I’m taken off guard when they corner me at lunch again on Monday morning.

Ramsay folds his arms and sits beside me and idly I admire his biceps before mentally rolling my eyes. Get a fucking grip, Will.

This asshole shared everything but your bra fucking size to the masses and that’s probably next.

“Okay, love. It’s time to ‘fess up. What were you doing at that house?” he says.

“Really?” I sneer and he nods.

When I screw my mouth into a scowl and look away, he leans into my face and says, “Yes, this is sick shit. You’ll tell me what’s going on.”

Clenching my jaw, I consider refusing but since this is about my friend, I say, “I went looking for her.”

“Why? Why there?”

“That’s where we hang out sometimes.”

“Hm. Have you received any more gifts?”

“No,” I say, rubbing my lips. “But I heard that there’s a creepy fucker who preys on the girls downtown.”

---