Page 95 of Ramsay

“Yeah well, it’s time to stop fucking around. End this,” Oliver says, and I grind my jaw.

“Why? Maybe we can use her? Maybe–“ Diem says but Oliver smacks his hand against the table.

“Stop thinking with your dick,” Oliver sneers.

There’s a beat of silence before Diem’s brows slam over his eyes and he says, “Fuck you. You fucking psycho.”

Oliver shoves back from the table and I step between them with a sigh. Fuckers will be the death of me.

“Enough. I’m working it out.”

∞∞∞

Willow

The following day is a shit storm. Jensen and Sabrina are still going at it, the rumors about what they all received on their phones circulating like wildfire.

Dixie is absent, so I sit at my table at lunch and absently think about my next move because this isn’t enough, but I honestly don’t know what is. I guess I could continue to dole out information, but that’s a lot of favors to owe Hate.

Ugh.

The din of the cafeteria drops as it always does when the doors to the cafeteria swing open and the sinners appear. Ramsay looks perfectly yummy in an expensive polo shirt and pressed jeans—freak. Diem’s showing off his pretty arms again with a ripped-up tee and track pants, and Oliver looks like he just got out of a faculty meeting.

Seriously weird dudes.

When they bypass their normal seating and make their way toward me, I slump in my seat with a scowl. I have a feeling I know what’s coming, and it’s going to take some stellar acting skills to convince them I had nothing to do with the texts.

Without an invitation, Diem pulls out the chair across from me and smiles, his fiery eyes eating me up as he drops into it.

Oliver steps up behind him with his customary scowl as Ramsay stops before my seat and says, “You’ve been a naughty girl. I thought we agreed, hm? You disappear like the trash you are, and we leave you alone.”

Raising my eyes to his, I smile with all my teeth, and sneer, “I’m over here minding my business. Invisible and all. Careful you don’t want the plebs to think you care.”

He smiles icily, but I ignore the warning and him, turning back to my drink. Except the fucker grabs it from my hand, gulps it down, and throws it in the trash, making the shot from several feet away.

“You just can’t go the fuck away. This is your fault. You brought this on yourself,” Ramsay says with a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Fuck you. Everything you do is your own fucking choice,” I mutter, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

His brows slam over his eyes, and he grabs my wrist, which is covered in a set of colorful bruises from Hate’s vehemence the other night.

“Ow,” I cry, and he drops me like he’s been burned.

Across from us, Diem growls, “Ram.”

“Fuck off, it wasn’t that hard,” Ramsay mutters.

I don’t want to show weakness to these guys, I don’t want to show anything, but my wrist fucking throbs. Fighting back tears when they all stare at me silently, I mutter, “Whatever. Commence with the humiliation.”

Ramsay’s jaw tics but he pulls up his phone and presses send. The room explodes with the sounds of various texts received. I drop my gaze to my phone and wait. Do I want to open it here? In front of everyone?

Gasps break out, followed by titters and then laughter. Ramsay leans into my face and whispers in my ear, “This is what a text from the Sinners really looks like.”

Fumbling over the phone with my left hand because I’m clutching my throbbing right to my chest, I open the text and stare at the picture uncomprehending.

Until it comes into focus, and not unlike the picture I sent to myself, this is one of me doing drugs but what’s different is that this is from before. Before I got clean and created a facade for the world. I’m sitting before a line of coke, my eyes drowsy, my makeup halfway down my face, my hair greasy and unwashed but that’s not what’s shocking.

No, it’s Jagger’s fucking dick rolling around in that coke. I remember the day clearly, which is saying a lot because I was strung out with need, so desperate that when he told me I had to suck it off his dick, I did.

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