Page 96 of Ramsay

The irony of all this is although I got myself into the mess of drugs, I was a pill popper until Jagger held me down and injected me, again and again, and again until I could no more leave than stand. I was a whore junkie, and I didn’t care.

I’m not feeling anything in this picture, but pure need, and I would’ve sucked a thousand dicks if that’s what it took to get my fix.

Hm. The only other person in the room that night was Hate. They got to Hate, and he gave them the goods. I guess loyalty is dead. Fucker.

Strangely, I’m less humiliated by the entirety of the school, seeing this as I am Ramsay. As though my depravity is shameful in his eyes, and maybe it is, but I shouldn't care. The gaping hole in my chest shouldn’t matter.

Fuck.

All of a sudden, I laugh and laugh until tears are falling down my face.

Diem makes a strangled noise across from me, but I don't look. Nope, I don't even fucking care.

Numbly, I stand and look into Ramsay’s coldly beautiful eyes, the ones that could turn me to butter, and sneer, “I hope you didn't pay top dollar for this. The next shot is of five dudes fucking me at the same time.”

Ramsay’s brow jumps across his forehead as I turn to the entirety of the school, who are all staring at me with wide eyes, many of them snickering. Looking from face to face, I smile wide, using the bitter affectation as my mask because it's all I can muster.

“The dick wasn't half bad, but the blow was better,” I call out, chuckling when a series of jaws drop in astonishment. “Now you know, I suck dick like a queen, and this bitch is looking for a fucking king.”

With that, I walk away to a completely silent room. In the hall, I keep going, only slowing when I spy Mr. Goodlow peeking his head around the corner of his door.

When he spies me, he says with a smile, “Ah, Willow. Enjoying your lunch?”

But my face must show my rage because his smile drops, and he steps from the room, asking, “Are you okay?”

Cocking my head to the side, I ask, “Why doesn't Oliver want me to be alone with you? Is it you? Are you a creep? Or is it him? Hm?”

His face suffuses a gentle pink, and he eyes me disapprovingly as he tuts, “Willow, I don't know why Oliver does the things he does but I don't appreciate being called a creep.”

“Of course, my mistake,” I mutter, continuing to my next class, which I sit through numbly. During last period, I beg out and head for the parking lot.

My wrist is throbbing, and I’ve endured the most salacious comments possible in addition to being propositioned five times. I guess my statement about being open for business was taken seriously.

Whatever.

Exiting the doors with a sigh of relief, I slide to a stop when I spy Hate standing in front of a shiny SUV, one to rival Ramsay's wheels, with his arms crossed over his chest.

He’s huge and menacing, and if I were smart, I’d turn away, but I have a bone to pick with him. Stalking toward him, I demand, waving my good hand in the air, “Have you ever heard of loyalty?”

Scoffing, he says, his light blue eyes cold, “No such thing. More like price. Hey, I did you a solid. I gave him the least offensive picture I could find.”

“And told him!” I exclaim.

“I didn't tell him shit. Get in,” he orders, not bothering to open the door for me.

“Jerk,” I mutter, opening the door and sliding inside.

The interior is as sleek as the exterior, but by now, I’ve been inside Ramsay's digs too many times to be impressed.

Hate gets in and puts the vehicle in drive. As we pull out of the lot, I glance back and meet the burning gaze of Ramsay standing on the stoop before we pass out of sight.

My heart presses at my throat but I ignore the sensation and turn to Hate. “So, what’s the deal?”

“I’m calling in my favor.”

“So soon?”

He gives me an icy look, and I sigh. “What do I need to do?”

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