Page 93 of Ramsay

Charla’s dark eyes soften, and she says, “Last time I saw Carmen, she was with Jagger. You heard what happened to him?”

“Um, no,” I say through dry lips.

“Strung up outside the church, his belly cut wide open.”

Holy fuck. Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow to keep it down as I say, faintly, “Oh.”

“Now Crush is in charge,” Abbie says, twisting her lips.

Oh fuck. Crush.

I should’ve known. Cut off the head of the snake and a fucking cobra appears.

This is not good news. In fact, I’ve seen a savagery in Crush that makes me wonder if he has a soul at all. The man is bad fucking news and if I never see him again, it will be too soon. Before Carmen’s body was found in a pile of bones and connected to the Lucky Charm killer, I thought for sure he was the one who killed her.

Unfortunately, where Jagger was blind to anything but his greed, Crush won't be so forgiving. Perpetually drugged and passed out or not, I was privy to what happened behind the scenes. I’m a liability in Crush’s world.

Case in point, Ramsay’s dad. Technically, I’m a material witness in all kinds of criminal activity. Luckily, he didn’t recognize me because this is the very shit that would inspire Crush to track me down. My only hope is that Crush doesn’t care about the drugged-up whore, or so he thinks, who got away.

“Yeah, anyway, she went off with Jagger. Never saw her again,” Charla says, breaking me from my reverie.

Jagger? He never mentioned it. Although why would he? The dick couldn't think farther than his dick, so no surprise there. Could it be Jagger? And if so, then why the rabbit’s feet in my car? Although they could have been left before he died, and it was his fucking friend tailing me in the car that day.

But again, all these dicks are too young, because the first victim linked to the serial killer was ten years ago and Jagger would’ve been around twelve at the time, which would’ve made Crush a little older. Shit, I don’t know maybe he is the fucking killer.

“Okay, um, thanks. Are there any other, um, cars or guys I should steer clear of?”

“Some dude in a black car comes around. He’s a mean fucker,” Abbie says, rubbing her arms.

Black car? The same car Mr. Yates drove off in the other day?

“And some guy in a truck, light-colored,” Charla adds, looking at me with a troubled expression. “He looks nice, normal, but he’s dark, Cher. Stay away from him.”

Nodding vehemently, I swallow and ask, “What does he look like?”

“Like every other fucking dick out here,” she says, turning away and walking off.

Watching her go, Abbie says softly beside me, “She had a run-in with this guy. He scared her real bad. She ran away, but…”

“Fuck,” I say, rubbing my aching sternum.

Truthfully, these girls never really return the same as it is but meeting up with a nightmare must claw at their soul, much like my own mistakes do.

“Yeah, she said he was nice looking, normal, you know? Like a dad. Anyway, I gotta go. Be careful, Cher,” Abbie says, rubbing my arm with a soft smile.

Returning the gesture feebly, I walk away on numb legs.

At my car, I collapse against the side and lean over, vomiting up the paltry contents of my stomach. I hope to whatever god there is, Carmen didn’t suffer.

But how can I believe any differently? How?

Chapter Nineteen

Willow

On Monday, I receive a text from an unknown number. There’s no greeting, just two simple words.It’s done.

With a shaky breath, I search my soul, but I feel no guilt, only relief. One fucker down, plenty more to go.

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