Page 21 of Ramsay

“What?” I say, chuckling.

This is what they’re all whispering about? For a minute, I’m so relieved, my knees go weak, and I grasp the counter to keep myself upright.

“Yeah, Davis Parker told Amy Yee that Ramsay said you’re a good little whore who took them all at once.”

“Ramsay?” I mutter.

Surely not. Surely, he wouldn’t spread such a rumor—for no reason.

“Yeah. So, did you? He said you sucked at oral too. Oh, and you have a sweet little birthmark in an unmentionable place, dared anyone to find it.”

Holy shit. What?

My stomach rolls and I bite back a curse before raising a brow and hopefully hiding the fierce ache of betrayal. It’s true. I have a birthmark on my pelvis, low enough it’s covered by my clothes. How did he know? Did he look while I was sleeping?

“What about the pictures?” A girl behind her insists. “Tell her about the pictures,” she says with a piteous look in my direction.

“Oh yes,” the ringleader exclaims, pulling out her phone and tapping away.

I don’t want to look, but it’s like a fucking train wreck. How can I not? The wreck is me.

She pulls up a picture and shoves the phone in my face. Immediately, I recognize the bed, with the same dark sheets I slept under while I was high. Centered on the mattress is me, and I’m passed out because, of course, someone gave me pain meds that made me loopy.

Ramsay curls around me with a smirk, his hand resting on the globe of my almost bare ass. For a moment, just a moment, I’m distracted by the look on his face because his pale eyes are flaming. But reality punches me forcefully in the gut, and I seethe.

These asshats took pictures of me while I was drugged and vulnerable. Ramsay crawled into that fucking bed and splayed me out in a sexual manner while Diem or Oliver took the pictures. For what? Fun? To prove a point. Because they’re fucking psychopathic dicks?

I did nothing to them. Hell, I didn’t even ask for help. Shit.

Is this to keep me in line? Am I being splayed open for the entire student body because I know something that can hurt them?

Inexplicably, I’m disappointed I don’t remember laying in Ramsay’s arms, as I gaze at his beautiful chest, which my cheek is resting against. This confirms my true insanity because even as my heart pulses with rage, I’m sad I don’t remember my humiliation.

Fuck.

Brushing past the little bitches who snicker while I stare, I turn at the door and give them an icy cold glare. “If you think this is funny, it's not. If you think you can share this and get away with it, you can't. Know this—I will beat the ever-loving shit out of you if I find out you showed another single person in this school or anywhere else in the fucking universe.”

The girl at the back has the good grace to bow her chin as I sweep from the room. Still, the whispers and taunts follow me wherever I go, kids laughing when I walk by and guys, I've never spoken to making lewd gestures with their dicks. I flip them off, but it does nothing for the heat building in my chest.

Girls who steered clear because of Sabrina and her reign of terror taunt me with laughs and bitchy comments.

At one point, someone even throws a wad of condoms at my face and for this slight, I spin on my heel and stare down the students watching me with avid eyes.

Unfortunately, I don't know who tossed them, but I zero in on Maxie, who just the other day was under the gun with Sabrina. The same lemming who flushed with shame every time the bitch snarled at her.

Giving her my iciest stare, she flinches but raises her chin, meeting my gaze to which I mark her down on my list, and give her a nod of promise before turning away.

Truthfully, I’m too confused to do more than brush most of it aside because I never thought this would be my reception. Although Ramsay’s words about riding the storm resound in my head while I sit through my classes and brood. He sent me into this blind, assuming I would fall in line and accept their fucking game.

By the end of the day, I’m so angry I’m shaky and the heat warms my veins, taking the place of the ice in my system. It’s unfortunate for Sabrina that she catches me in my current mood because when she steps in front of me before I reach the exit, I know I won't be able to hold back.

Not that she doesn’t deserve whatever I dish out, but broken bones were not on my list. I prefer something a little more subtle and life changing. Oh well, I guess she’ll get both.

“Bitch, how did you like my gift?” she says, tossing her hair.

Absently, I stare at the gleaming tresses before glancing around. The crowd backs away, gathering near the wall to listen. The lemmings in anticipation of the drama about to unfold surround Sabrina with greedy stares.

Despite my misgivings, I pretend ignorance at her question. Not because I give two shits about Ramsay's warning, but because I don’t know the rules of the game.

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