Page 135 of Ramsay

My attempt at levity falls flat when he turns to me with a weird look, and shrugging, I say, “Feel better now?”

“Not exactly,” he says dryly, holding up his hand to stop my next words. “Love, you wouldn’t have been there if not for my damn father.”

“How do you know?”

His blank stare presses at my chest and I reach for his hand, as he says, “I guess he got scared.”

“Of?”

“We were close, close to finding the evidence to nail his balls to the wall.”

“So, the plan was to get rid of you first,” I say. Maybe I’m not entirely to blame. It’s possible, getting rid of me was the icing on the cake for Yates. Did he deliver the notebook to lure me out or push me away from Ramsay?

Did he know about what happened with Frank?

When Ramsay doesn’t respond, I stare at the spot above his head and whisper, “Crush?”

“Gone.”

Shuddering, I close my eyes. I can’t say I’m not relieved that he’s dead because the fucker was nothing but a waste of humanity, but Ramsay said it so matter of factly. Is this who we are? Death should be tragic. Fuck.

Now, Ramsay has traded away another piece of himself and eventually, there won’t be any more pieces left to pick up. I should know. Many of my own are long since gone, leaving me a parody of the innocent girl I was before.

Squeezing his fingers between mine, I wait until he meets my gaze to say roughly, “I’m sorry.”

Clenching his jaw, he says with a ferocity that makes me pause, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Ramsay,” I whisper, touching his cheek.

He stiffens, his eyes dropping to my hand, and I hold achingly still, unsure what I’ve done but it’s clear by the flash of pain in his eyes that he hurts. Does he have another injury that I missed?

After a moment, a shudder racks his shoulders before he grabs my hand and crushes our fingers together. His desperation hurts my heart as he drops his forehead to mine and not for the first time, I wonder how often his bastard parents ever showed him affection.

“Will,” he says quietly, and I close my eyes because I have to get this out before I chicken out, which is why I say in a rush, “The truth is…I know what shit like that does to your psyche.”

The silence that falls between us makes me itchy and when I can stand it no more, I peek between my lids to find Ramsay’s sinful lips curled into a pretty smile.

Exhaling shakily, I suppress a sigh when he kisses my fingers and says, “I know.”

Fuck me but this charming new version of my mercurial lover might just kill me. Shit. With an awkward cough, I shake off the fanciful thoughts and murmur, “Yes, it’s…wait, what do you mean, you know?”

His bright blue eyes flicker and my stomach clenches as he says quietly, “Love, who do you think cleaned up the mess?”

“The mess. I don’t understand. What mess?”

Casting back, I try to recall the events that preceded the worst moment of my life but much like Ramsay’s assertion that I helped them, I don’t remember shit. Still, there’s only one mess I can think of…Is it possible?

“We found you,” he says tipping my chin.

“Where?”

“In a dark room.”

Blood. So much blood. The body.

“Oh,” I moan, covering my aching belly as the coppery tang of a twisted memory coats my tongue.

McCafferty. Will he haunt me forever?

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