Page 112 of Ramsay

For the first time, I realize just how much power Ramsay holds. But I have to tread carefully because I don’t know what the end game is and with Ramsay’s lie, I’m now faced with the reality I was hoping to outrun.

“Jagger killed someone Hate...liked, and I told him,” I say, rationalizing that this information doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Unlike the secret I now carry about Diem. Glancing at him, my stomach sinks when he smiles happily, his dark eyes bright.

Shit.

Ramsay cocks his head and I widen my eyes, which he seems to buy, thank fuck.

“Hm, okay,” he says. “Now about your attacker. What else can you tell us?”

I go through the series of events, including the first time in the woods, the two rabbits’ feet, my gullibility in calling Jagger for help.

It feels good, freeing to share my burden with others but I’m still wary because I’d be a fool to trust these dicks after everything they’ve said and done.

“Shit,” Oliver says once I slow down.

“Okay, we need to do some recon, it would seem,” Ramsay says. “Stay away from downtown. We don’t need you getting in the way.”

Slowly I nod, reeling under his words. Even if the rest is bullshit, hearing his desire to help causes something tight to break free in my chest. And when I take a deep breath, I breathe easier for the first time in months.

“Now, one last thing,” Ramsay says, and I slow, asking suspiciously, “Yes?”

“There’s a party tonight. We need to do a little digging.”

“Okay?”

“And you did so well last time. You can be my date again,” he says silkily.

“It’s not in a fucking high rise, is it?”

Chuckling, he runs the tip of his finger over my pouting lower lip. “You’ll do fine.”

Ignoring the way my skin tingles, I mumble, “That’s not an answer!”

For my troubles I get a sexy smirk in return which I brood about the rest of the day while one or more of them follows me around, escorting me to class and sitting with me at lunch.

After school, Oliver walks me to my car and opens the door for me. Feeling slightly discombobulated, I think I nod when he says, “Be ready by eight pm.”

Sliding into the seat, I put the key in the ignition.

“Willow?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay away from trouble, hm?”

I laugh and his mouth quirks up, but the intensity of his stare makes me shiver until he leans down and says softly, “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Everything. You don’t—didn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, thanks,” I say, bemused by his apology.

Frankly, I didn’t know he, any of them had it in them.

∞∞∞

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