Page 120 of Ramsay

“Gotta go,” I mumble and spin away before she can answer.

Diem’s heated stare as I stalk to their table confirms my suspicions about his feelings for the quiet girl, but I set the knowledge aside as I slam my hands on the table and say, “You want answers? I want them too.”

Ramsay, who’s been watching me since I sat down across the way, raises his brows, and says, “Then let’s go.”

∞∞∞

In the car, I stare out the window silently while the scenery flies by in a blur. When Ramsay’s warm fingers wrap around mine, I glance at him sideways and raise my own brow. Ignoring my sarcasm, he pulls me closer until I’m snuggled under his arm and for the first time in a long while, I allow myself to relax.

As soon as we pull into the drive, I sit up though and I’m out the door before anyone can comment. The guys follow me through the entrance and into the kitchen, where I pull out a chair and plop into it, waiting impatiently for them to join.

Oliver leans against the counter behind me while Diem sits opposite as Ramsay takes the place at the head of the table—of course.

Although I demanded this little meeting, I find my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth until Ramsay breaks the silence. “Well?”

Licking my lips, I finally say, “You pulled me out. Why?”

Ramsay raises a single brow and I parrot him. He says I’m part of this group. He’ll give me the answers I want. Period.

“You don’t remember.”

It’s not a question because I don’t. Which is why I’m willing to give them the opportunity to explain. I’ve racked my brain, but I have no memory of his cerulean eyes before I came upon him in the halls of Sterling High. Still, I have no reason not to believe Iris. Or so I hope.

When I don’t answer, he says, “You gave us information .”

I did? When? Thoroughly confused, I glance around before saying, “What kind of information?”

When he smiles, I lean back. What the hell did I do?

“It was a long time ago. At Fight Club. You were so out of it; I almost brushed the whole thing off. But you were insistent,” he says with a curl to his lip.

“And…?”

“You told me about a deal going down,” he says, as though it’s no big deal. But it is because everything in that world is a big fucking deal.

“Why would I do that?” I ask although it’s more of a rhetorical question. Why indeed? Even in the state I must have been in, I would’ve known the danger associated.

Snitches get stitches, regardless of who they share the dark tale with.

Ramsay searches my gaze, rubbing his lower lip and it’s on the tip of my tongue to demand he spit it out when he says, “That’s the million-dollar question.”

Is it? Or is he holding back, as usual?

“What did I say? When?” I ask, turning when Oliver says behind me, “Fight Club. You told us about his cousin’s misdeeds.”

Oliver tilts his head toward Diem, and I fight off a shiver. “Your cousin? Crush?”

Diem slowly nods and ice slides down my spine. I betrayed Crush…?

Shaking my head, I clear my throat before rasping, “I told you something about him?”

What the hell was I thinking?

Diem’s brows furrow and when he doesn’t answer, I lick my lips to drum up some moisture and whisper, “Does he know?”

My heart sinks when Oliver paces away as Ramsay says, “We don’t know.”

“You brought Crush to the party.” The world drops out from under me and pushing back my chair, I point my finger in his face and hiss, “This is your fucking fault.”

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