Page 107 of Ramsay

“You know this, how?” Diem asks with a furrowed brow.

“That’s what I was told.”

“By who?”

“The girls downtown.”

Oliver’s brows drop over his eyes and he growls, “You went downtown?”

“Yeah,” I snarl. Why the fuck he cares is beyond me but I’m tired of the third degree.

“Enough!” Ramsay says, “We’ll deal with the issue of your perpetual need to make bad decisions later. Tell us about the woods. Your wrist…”

Fucking Bone. I’ll kill the fucker.

“Willow?”

“Yes,” I rasp, turning to Ramsay’s assessing stare before I continue, “We were out at the house, playing hide and seek. I was behind a tree, and someone came up from behind. We struggled, but then Bone came along, and he fled.”

“Hm, Bone?” Ramsay says, and my eyes fly to his.

If it wasn’t Bone, who was it?

“He didn’t know. I didn’t tell him.”

“Why?”

“Because they didn’t believe me the last time and my mom—“

“Hold up, the last time?” Diem says, smacking his hand against the table.

“Yes, once before.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Diem barks.

“When? When you were tagging me as it? Hm,” I say acidly.

“You should have said something,” he grumbles, his cheeks flushing a rosy hue.

“Hello! You don’t like me. None of you like me. Why would I assume you fucking wanted to know?”

“Because this is our turf,” Ramsay says icily.

“Of course,” I snort, “I should’ve known. Well, now you know, can I get back to my lunch?”

Ramsay looks from me to the empty table and raises a brow. Ignoring his sarcastic fucking response, I sigh when Oliver says, “Why didn’t you tell the police?”

Turning his way, I gaze into his pretty pale green eyes and say, “Because my mom’s half-dead from hysteria already, and what could they have done? It could be anyone. Imagine that question...do you have any enemies? Let me just make a fucking list of who’s not on my ass.”

Ignoring my acidic tone, Ramsay says, “It could be one of the cheer squad?”

Shaking my head, I say, “It was a guy.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I could feel how excited he was against my back,” I say dryly.

“Fuck,” Diem swears before he pushes back his chair and paces away. I can feel Ramsay’s stare boring into the side of my head and with a sigh, I turn to him. “What about Dixie?”

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