Page 2 of Ramsay

Which is ridiculous because they make no bones about their penchant for violence. They’re dicks most of the time and have never so much as glanced in my direction since I came here.

I’ve cast my lot with Sabrina and the football wannabe’s. The Sinners have been their arch enemies since diapers or some shit. Which means I’m off limits and now I have to pay the price—endless monotony.

As though I conjured them with my thoughts, when I round the corner, I catch up to Sabrina, running into a standoff between Jensen and Diem.

Diem clearly works out, but not like the football players. No, his strength comes from fighting, and he does it a lot if the scars on his arms, face, and neck are anything to go by.

He’s deep, dark, and dangerous, with the sin of the very devil written across his face. Shit, even his voice is gravelly, promising endless pain.

And with dark silky hair and matching eyes, his face of stark lines and angles forms a savagely beautiful visage. So much so, he’d make the perfect, hot bad guy in an action hero movie, the one you love to hate because he’s just that sexy.

It's a typical day at Sterling to hear he’s in another brawl, beating up on some kid who either made the stupid decision to defy him or didn’t move out of his way fast enough.

“What are you looking at, tool?” Jensen sneers, crossing his arms over his chest.

Eyeing Jensen somewhat incredulously, because surely, he’s got a death wish, I back away to the wall and prepare for shit to go down and I’m not gonna lie—I look forward to it.

Jensen deserves a beating and more, besides nothing is hotter than watching Diem move. He’s deadly but graceful—his form surely created for the very purpose of exacting pain.

Diem grins, baring his teeth, his eyes alight with mercurial fire, and across the way, I spy a girl shiver. If I’m not mistaken, she’s Oliver Goodlow’s sister, Sinner number two, although you wouldn’t know it by the way he ignores her.

“I’m looking at your bitch, bitch. Wasn’t she the one sucking me off last night? I guess it's true what they say…size does matter,” Diem says, licking his tongue over his teeth with a grin.

Jensen stiffens and drops his arm as Sabrina shrieks beside him, “What did you say?”

Oliver’s sister, I think her name is Maeve, immediately eyes Diem’s junk, fascinated by the possibilities.

Is he as big as he professes to be? I know for a fact Sabrina has the biggest crush on Ramsay Yates, so if it had been him, I might give the statement some merit, but no.

And thank god for that, because I’d have to rip out Sabrina’s extensions if she got a look at Ramsay’s goods, much less wrapped her mouth around them.

Even if he’s never shown interest, I hate Sabrina enough to know I’d be jealous if she caught him.

Jensen steps forward with his arms raised and Diem smiles wide. He’s never backed down from a fight and it’s easy to see in the twinkle of his eyes that he revels in pounding on his opponent. He’s always eager for the next meeting of flesh, and he craves the violence like a chick craves chocolate on her period, or so they say, it's never been my thing.

Diem always wears track pants and shirts with the sleeves torn off, even his hoodies are armless, allowing anyone to get a good look at what they’re gonna get if they don't stay in line.

Jensen shrugs off his letterman jacket, handing it to Sabrina, who gives Diem a fierce glare but steps back out of the way, brushing my shoulder as she, too, leans against the wall.

With a silent sigh, I inch away from her because I can’t fucking stand her, and I don’t want her presence to ruin my eye fuckfest. When I do, I brush against a warm body that wasn’t there a minute ago and look up to find Ramsay, Sinner number three with his coal-black hair hanging over his brow, staring at the melee, his blue eyes popping against his dark hair with a preternatural glow.

If Diem is brutally beautiful, Ramsay is like an ice sculpture, cold and distant, something you ache to touch but know it will only burn if you do. Wicked brows arch over his stark eyes, and his wide mouth is plush and formed in a perpetual smirk.

He’s taller than me, they all are, but shorter than Diem, and where Diem is bulky and massive, his strength evident for all to see, Ramsay is slim and fast, wiry and ropy.

I spied them once, these guys on the field during gym, and each of them, for their differences, could model underwear in Times Square.

Ramsay doesn’t bother to look my way, he—they never have, I’m a ghost to them, invisible. I have been since I came here.

It’s for the best or so I tell myself because I can’t afford to expose my truths to these guys. It could be quite deadly at that.

Which is why, I turn back to the fight with a sigh, ignoring the tingle that races down my spine at his nearness, the heat so at odds with his icy demeanor.

Frankly, it’s all I can concentrate on for a few minutes until the sounds of fists meeting flesh draw me away from my inner musing, X-rated at that. Gleefully, I watch as Diem reduces Jensen to a slavering mass of blood and bone in minutes.

Why Jensen couldn't keep his mouth shut, I don’t know. He’s never won in a fight against Diem, and he never will, but like a stupid dog, he continues to come back for more.

“Ah, I see Diem’s gotten himself into a row again,” Oliver murmurs, and I swing around sharply, my insides quivering at how close Ramsay is.

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