Page 86 of Ramsay

“Where did you get the other one?” Oliver asks.

“At the cemetery,” I say, “there was a man…” I explain the circumstances, skipping over Jagger and his fucking friend or whoever that inspired me to call him for help.

Oliver’s stare bores into me and I watch the muscle in his jaw tic before scrubbing my hand over my face.

I shouldn’t have come here. It was a mistake and I not only fucked Ramsay, which I’m sure will have repercussions at some point, but my desperation to seek out help under the guise of accusing one or more of them is pathetic at best.

More so foolish, because I can’t trust them, and they’ve continually gone out of their way to show me how little I matter. See, pathetic.

“Look, whatever, I should go,” I say, avoiding all their gazes. I’ve no desire to flay myself open, and I already feel dangerously exposed.

“What’s the hurry?” Ramsay says behind me, and I spin, giving him an incredulous look. “Um, we hate each other?”

He smiles, and although his eyes are wintry, there’s a softness I don’t want to analyze, as he says, “Nobody hates you. You have to care to hate.”

And here he is, the miserable fucking human being I love to hate.

Rolling my eyes, I mumble, “Christ on a cracker, but you are one fucked up dude.”

His eyes shutter and he murmurs, “Perhaps. However, it’s Christmas, and we’re about to celebrate a lifelong tradition. Since you’re a fucking nuisance, you might as well participate.”

“Wow, you should be a salesman. Your speech is so enticing,” I mutter.

Raising a brow, he nods toward the door, and before I can protest, Diem wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me from the room. I attempt to pull away, but he’s having none of it and only grips me tighter, whispering in my ear, “Keep it up, sweetheart, you’ll thaw his icy heart yet.”

Averting my gaze so he can’t see the confusion surely shining from my eyes, I meet Oliver’s stare, his usually blank expression replaced by a look of pure hate. Taken aback, I draw in a shocked breath, but he stalks away before I can analyze much further, taking over the lead.

We walk through the halls, passing the fancy shit that never ceases to amaze me before emerging onto the back property. It’s chilly, but I’m perfectly warm under Diem’s arm, his body putting off heat like a furnace, to which I have to resist the urge to snuggle deeper.

Passing the pool, sparkling in the midday sun, Oliver leads us down a path that runs alongside it, beyond which green grass grows for miles, vibrant and pretty. Our feet crunch under the pebbles as we traverse the path and I grumble, strangely pleased to be included although suspicious, “Where are we going?”

Everything I participate in with these asshats ends in my humiliation, and I’m not sure I’m up for another round today.

“You’ll see,” Diem says with a wink.

Ye gods, these jerks are gonna be the death of me.

Finally, we round a corner and come upon a single-story home hidden amongst the tall trees. The facade is quaint with river rock siding, pretty black shutters, and glass double doors.

Oliver stalks ahead of us and passes inside, while Diem pulls me through, and Ramsay closes the doors behind us.

Inside is a souped-up living space with a ginormous flat-screen television, numerous game stations, two plush couches forming a v, and a fully functional but small kitchen off to the right.

Down the hall, I spy two rooms, one with a bed and the other which is closed, I presume to be a bathroom.

Diem lets me loose as soon as we’re inside and heads for the refrigerator before pulling out a beer and popping the top.

I wander around uncomfortably. I don’t know what I’m doing here and if I’m welcome, which makes me uneasy and on edge.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Oliver as he collapses into one of the couches and resumes his brooding stare. Presumably, Ramsay disappeared down the hall because he’s no longer in the room and Diem grabs a second beer, having finished the first, calling out, “You want one, sweetheart?”

Turning to him rapidly, I give him a death glare, and he grins sheepishly. “Sorry, I forgot.”

Rolling my eyes, I round the second couch and sit down gingerly before crossing my arms.

Diem proceeds to make himself comfortable right next to me, ignoring my grimace. Is he trying to torture me?

Ramsay reappears with a bottle of booze he holds aloft, and I’m not clear why it wasn’t in the kitchen nor why he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, but the way this is heading is not where I want it to be.

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