Page 7 of Ramsay

“Hey baby, let's go talk,” he says in his smarmy tone.

Translation—fuck. Yeah, no.

“Sorry, Patrick, it’s shark week,” I say, sweetly.

It takes a minute for it to sink in, and I’m amused when he blanches, his horrified eyes going wide, as he stutters and backs away, “Oh uh.”

Tool. All it takes is a few words about a period, and the dick’s running scared.

Retreating quickly, he mumbles under his breath about another drink, and I give a sarcastic finger wave to his back, saying under my breath, “Fucking idiot.”

“I’d have to agree.”

Huh?

Jumping a foot, I spin around with wide eyes, my skin buzzing when I meet Ramsay’s assessing gaze where he’s looking me over with his penetrating stare.

Of course, he is. I’ve broken the mold, refused to fall in line, and that makes me an anomaly—attention I don’t need but desperately want from this broken soul with the frigid stare.

I can’t explain it, but I see the broken behind his eyes and my own shattered pieces call to his. It’s fucking weird and annoying.

“Oh,” I breathe, mentally rolling my eyes.

Seriously? Way to play it cool, Willow.

“Mm. I’d never let a little blood come between me and tight pussy.”

Molten heat floods through me on a wave of flames. I shiver under the extreme sensation, biting my lip to keep the moan from escaping.

His eyes light up, simultaneously icy and heated, as they run over my body, and it does nothing to cool my raging libido.

This guy with frost running through his veins and a stone-cold soul does things to me that Patrick with his goofy grin and clumsy attempt at seduction never could. Why? Because I’m as twisted inside as I suspect this Sinner is.

“But as you say, he’s an idiot,” he murmurs, breaking me from my spell when he walks away.

I’m left aching in all the wrong places and beyond exhilarated he noticed me, but it’s quickly doused at the icy cold realization that to be on his radar could be my end.

I know what it means to chase the devil. I barely survived the last time, and I didn’t reinvent myself just to fall because of dick, even if it looks pretty.

What’s he doing here, anyway? The Sinners don't care for jock parties. They never have. If he’s here, then shit is about to go down.

Curiously, I follow in his footsteps, my own decidedly shaky before stopping at the threshold to pull myself together and enter.

Front and center is Sanchez, one of the football assholes, guzzling down a beer while his idiot friends hold him aloft, shouting encouragement.

Maybe I’m an old soul, perhaps I’m a bitch, I don’t know, but this type of behavior leaves me cold.

Rolling my eyes, I plaster myself against the wall and wait for Ramsay to make an appearance, but he never does. Where did he go? And why was he here in the first place?

∞∞∞

Ramsay

Patrick Hughes is a thorn in my fucking side, but what can I do? I have to tread carefully, considering his affiliation.

Still, if he doesn’t rein himself in, he’s going to regret it. You mess with one of us, you mess with all. I made sure of that when I started this little enterprise and I’m damn sure not going to change it now.

Some things can’t be undone…Just look at pretty little Willow. Did she sell her soul to Sabrina to avoid the lot of us? Was it pure instinct or something else?

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