Page 58 of Ramsay

“Nothing, you can wait upstairs or in the living space. We’ll take you home soon,” Ramsay says waving his hand, as I exit the car.

Flipping him off, which is for my entertainment only because his back is to me, I ignore Diem’s amused stare and stomp into the living room where not a few hours earlier, I laid here, and Ramsay comforted me. Except he ruined it all by being a dick and I swear it’s like these jerks sabotage it all on purpose.

The guys split off at a hallway I've never been down, and walking restlessly around the room, I damn myself for my weakness earlier, especially in front of the damn Sinners.

I still have the taste of Chance in my mouth, and the reality is bitter on my tongue but at least it’s over, and my debt is paid. Still, I don’t feel relieved, only grim because nothing is ever as it seems with these guys.

After an interminable amount of time, I give up waiting and settle on the couch, pulling out my phone to while away the time. Of course, I have dozens more texts from Jagger, everything from undying declarations of love to warnings about how I’d better listen, or he will fuck up my world. Romantic.

Because I’m sick in the head and Carmen’s death has been rolling around in the back of my mind since earlier when Mr. Goodlow pulled me into his classroom, I open the internet app and search out the Lucky Charm killer. There are dozens of articles about his escapades, spanning back more than ten years and I click into the first one, horrified by what I find.

He’s attributed with over twenty missing or murdered women, many of whom were found without all of their limbs, as though he buried them separately or kept them—as a souvenir. All the burial sites were left with a single cheesy rabbit's foot, this displayed in a mocking message the local police officials can't explain. Because of decomposition, they’re also unable to determine the cause of death for some, a mere collection of bones.

More disturbing is the fact that the wildlife in the area feasted on the leftovers creating a new set of complications, although the fresher bodies showed signs of strangulation, or in worst-case scenarios, attempts or successes at decapitation. There’s also speculation the women were alive when this fucking monster sawed through them with his weapon of choice.

Mindlessly, I search through the articles until the words blur on the screen—rape, mutilation, decapitation. Was she scared? In pain? Did he look into her pretty blue eyes and saw her fucking head off while she begged for her life?

How could a human being do this to another?

I’ve looked into the eyes of evil and even survived, but I would’ve never guessed this darkness could lurk in someone’s soul and visions of countless faceless women, including my own sister, tortured, and murdered, dance through my head until I can’t fucking stand it.

My chest expands on a desperate inhale before something blinks out, replaced by a void. Dropping my phone, I wander to the doors leading to the backside of the house and step outside.

I need air. I can’t breathe. I just can’t…

We’re far enough from the city center that the stars shine extra brightly overhead, and the air smells clean and fresh. Once outside, I take a deep breath and stare into the sky, but it’s not helping, and the ache returns with a vengeance.

There’s so much pain, so much loss, and hate inside of me that I can’t shake the emotion, and it’s pulling me under.

It's dark, there are no lights, but for the moon and stars, and the rooms lit up inside. Spying the pool, the shine of the water reflecting off the moon, I approach and stop at the edge. I’m tired. I'm so tired.

Slipping out of my shoes, I drop my coat and step into the water, seeking oblivion because I don’t want to feel anymore. It's fucking cold, the night temperatures on the cusp of winter, but I don't fucking care, as I step down the stairs into the ice-cold water and watch my skirt float around me in a wave of darkness.

The bottom of the pool is icy against my feet, and I drop like a stone, my ass falling to the ground before I float back up again and turn to my back. Goosebumps rise on my skin, as I stare at the sky, the numbness I was searching for before creeping through my veins.

My back starts to ache, and I curl my fingers and toes experimentally, finding them deliciously numb as my teeth start to chatter. When my limbs begin to seize, I wrap my arms around my body and ignore the pain because this feeling is far preferable to what awaits me on the other side.

Instead, I float mindlessly, gazing at the moon, so high and bright in the sky.

It’s beautiful. Did Carmen stare at the same moon when she met her end?

“Fuck!”

Something splashes behind me, and Ramsay emerges from the water with a frown, bringing to mind a fallen angel ascending from hell.

He grabs me up, pulling me toward the edge and numbly, I observe as though from afar, because I’m too fucking stiff and cold to do much more than allow myself to be manhandled that his hands convulse around my waist.

“Fuck, love,” he mutters.

At the edge of the pool, Oliver leans over and reaches out for me as Ramsay lifts me out of the water. Absently, I note how easily Oliver maneuvers, his muscles rippling under my face, but it fades away under the darkness hovering at the edges of my vision.

Once he has a good grasp, Oliver spins on his heels and carries me away, while Ramsay exits the pool behind us with a faint splash and colorful curse.

At our entrance into the house, the bright light sears my eyes, and I flip them closed. The heat covers my shivering skin in a thick layer of warmth, causing a sharp painful sensation to rebound through my limbs. Jerking helplessly, I groan, burying my face in Oliver’s warm chest with a pathetic sob. With each step forward the numbness from before fades.

Why couldn't they have left me in the fucking pool?

“Because you would have gotten hypothermia,” Oliver growls.

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