Page 87 of Ramsay

“Vintage, red, worth five grand,” he says, and my mouth drops. Holy shit.

“What? That’s insane!”

He shoots me a smirk and winks. Winks!

“Oh love, this is one of the cheaper bottles. Now then, glasses,” he says with a snap of his fingers.

I cover my smile at Diem’s snarl, watching as he heaves himself up from the couch to produce four crystal wine glasses which he presents to Ramsay, still standing before the couches.

Glancing around, confused, I say aloud, “This is it? Your holiday tradition?”

“Sh,” Ramsay tuts, and I roll my eyes. Sheesh.

Ramsay pours a small glass and hands one to each of us. I eye it dubiously, easing when Ramsay says softly, “Just a sip, hm?”

Thankfully, he moves on after that because the concession to my addiction, although seriously misconstrued, leaves a strange ache in my heart. How can he act like a human being now when he’s been nothing, but a first class jerk before?

I tune back into the ritual, when we each have our glasses and Ramsay holds his high to say, “To death.”

Choking on spit, I raise my glass but pause when Diem raises his glass and says, “To life.”

Next Oliver raises his glass and says grimly, “To loyalty.”

And when all eyes turn my direction, I gulp, “What?”

“Now it’s your turn,” Ramsay says in his silky tone.

Why do I always feel like these dicks are testing me?

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I raise my glass and say, “To darkness and light, fire and ice, pain and pleasure, and the mother fucking trinity.”

Ramsay smiles, his eyes lighting up, Diem chuckles, and Oliver looks at me like I’m an alien, but whatever.

Taking a small sip of the wine, I wrinkle my nose at the bitter taste, because wine is disgusting. The others swallow theirs down, but when Ramsay finishes, he hauls back and throws the remainder of the bottle against the wall where it shatters on impact, and red liquid sprays the wall and floor around it.

Bewildered, I glance between the three, all with matching smirks, and give up because I’ll probably never know why these guys do what they do.

“Now we play games,” Diem says with a wide grin, sitting down on the sofa with another beer in hand and picking up a controller.

Oliver picks up the other, and they immerse themselves in a video game as Ramsay disappears for ten minutes and re-emerges, taking Oliver’s place, who also disappears and emerges.

It’s only after Diem does the same, that I realize they’re going in the back to get high and strangely touched by their kindness in not smoking around me, I smile quietly to myself and settle in to watch.

∞∞∞

“I don’t know how to use this damn thing,” I say for the fiftieth time, blowing out a frustrated breath as Diem circles around me on the screen, and I die again.

“You just have to know what buttons to push, sweetheart,” he says, giving me a suggestive wink.

Glowering at him, I toss the controller aside. “I think you like whipping my ass.”

He smiles wide, waggling his brows and I sigh before turning away. Dick.

“So, you like it a little rough, hm?” Ramsay says from where he’s sitting at the end of the couch.

“Ha!” I exclaim, giving him a good glare, to which he’s icily amused as always.

What would it be like to see behind the mask? Is it a mask? Or does he genuinely walk through life frozen from the inside out?

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