Page 18 of Ramsay

Perhaps if I lay low, this will die down, except now the Sinners will always have it in the back of their minds the information I hold in my hand. It’s definitely a cluster.

Not to mention, Sabrina. The bitch physically attacked me. Does she know what she started? Because I’m about to end it. I may have played nice but that was by choice and now I’m done with the foolish game.

What a fucking mess.

To say today has been life-altering would be an understatement and now I’m in Ramsay Yates’ home wearing his clothes.

All too soon, I start to relax as liquid heat flows through me. Dimly, I recognize that Ramsay gave me opioids, and stupidly I took them. My body easily recognizes the warmth, and as I nod off gently, I damn myself for not questioning more.

Oliver wakes me several more times throughout the evening, shining the light in my eyes, and when he gives me more white pills, I take them eagerly and fall back into bliss. All the while my brain screams at me to say no.

When I wake the following morning, it’s to the sun shining on my face. My head still hurts, but the acute pain has faded to a dull edge. Now though my limbs ache, my back hurts, and I recognize the telltale signs of my mistake. I’ve had a taste, and now I want more.

Sitting up in bed, I run my hands over my face and sigh because I’ve come so far, and with one tiny misstep, I’m right back where I started. Can I resist the pull? Or will I be sliding down the slippery slope before too long?

For this is my life, one step away from the oblivion I crave and it’s like an animal tearing at my skin, raging below the surface, to which only the pills, the oblivion, helps the beast subside.

Shit. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I suppress a sob because I worked so hard, and this isn’t who I am anymore.

“Good, you’re awake. Come, I’ll take you home,” Ramsay says from the doorway.

Dropping my hands, I look over at him, marveling at his attire of slouchy jeans and a band T-shirt, the usual pressed pants, and polos markedly absent.

With another glance around the room, I thrill at the glimpse behind the mask, but it fades in the wake of the realization that his room is as cold and distant as his personality.

He clears his throat, and I turn back to him. He’s leaning against the door jamb, and the sight makes me all kinds of sweaty because Ramsay, in his icy finery, is fuck hot, but in his slouchy wear—devastating

When he raises his brow, I realize I’ve been staring at him like an idiot. Ignoring the flush staining my cheeks, I slide off the bed as casually as possible and go to pick up my clothes, until he stops me.

“Leave them. I’ll have them laundered,” he says with a wave of his hand.

Nodding silently, I pull my low boots on and grab my phone. I’ve no new messages and I assume my friends have left me to my fate with Sabrina’s dastardly plans, which I’m hoping didn’t include anything more than a hit to the head.

I haven’t heard from my parents, who think if I’m with them I’m on the straight and narrow. And if I don’t make waves, they won’t intervene. I suppose some teenagers would enjoy their lack of parental interest, but I’d like for them to show they give a damn. Just once.

Silently I follow Ramsay down the stairs, out the front door, and to his SUV, gleaming in the driveway. And when he opens the door for me, I slide inside, glancing at his smirk, as though he knows he’s confounded me.

I’m struggling with this new Ramsay, who, although no less dangerous, presents a side I never knew could exist for the icy man.

Once we’re on our way, he asks for directions, and I give them in a soft whisper, watching while he drives quietly and confidently, with one hand casually on the wheel, while soft classical music plays in the background.

When the quiet gets to be too much, I ask, “What’s going to happen now?”

His brows drop over his eyes and he glances at me before staring back at the road. “You never saw us. Whatever your plans, they fell through, and you went home like the good little daughter you are.”

“I didn’t have plans,” I mutter through dry lips. “But what about Sabrina?”

His hands tighten on the wheel, his jaw tensing, as he says firmly, “Nothing happened, and that is all.”

He turns up the music, and I look away, taking the hint. Shit, I hope the worst of this is Sabrina but now I wonder if I really do have to worry about the Sinners.

The last thing I need is more trouble, but it still stings to be outside the circle, his insistence a cruel reminder that I’m not one of them.

When we pull up to my house, I stare at the innocent red door with pots of dead, withered plants surrounding it and feel an almost surreal quality float through me. Ramsay fucking Yates is sitting outside my home, and I’m in his vehicle beside him.

Ramsay turns down the music and says quietly, “It's a shame, but it cannot be undone.”

Whipping around, I stare and say, “What?”

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