Page 81 of Ramsay

He taps his finger against his mug, and I swear to god he’s doing it on purpose. It doesn’t surprise me he’s picked up on my need because he’s an observant fucker.

Finally, he speaks just when I’m on the verge of saying something because my chest is tight in anticipation of the next blow and this, too, is probably calculating on his part.

“First, we need to discuss the matter of Jagger,” he says with a raised brow.

I hate that brow and the way my fucking heart speeds in my chest when he uses it. It’s like crack for my hormones.

“There’s nothing to discuss, you said it was a problem, and I’m taking care of it,” I say firmly, pushing back my chair.

Of course, I know he’s not done, but I have to have the upper hand somehow.

“Sit,” he commands icily, and I drop back into the chair.

Fuck me if his tone doesn’t make me all kinds of wet. Yes, I know, I’m fucked in the head.

“I want to know the details. I decide how this plays out.”

“That’s too bad because I have no intention of sharing them. I don’t trust you, and it’s none of your fucking business.”

He quirks that fucking brow again, adding a tiny, vicious smirk, and I brace myself. Holy fuck, here it comes.

“Be that as it may, you will tell me. I don’t care if you trust me. I don’t care if you don’t. You’re in my fucking world, and I’m the fucking king!”

“Ha!” I mutter, “More like—dictator.”

His eyes light up with genuine amusement, and I turn my head away, acknowledging with a tight feeling in my chest that his fucking smile is my kryptonite. It’s like the sun finally peeking through dark clouds after months of rain.

Unfortunately, in my bid to avoid Ramsay, I meet Oliver’s gaze, and find him looking at me with a weird expression that alters to a blank slate as soon as I do.

Hardening my stare back to granite, I turn away and look over Ramsay’s shoulder instead, because between the two, I’m bound to fucking fail at some point.

“Amusing, to say the least, but not the topic at hand. You will tell me what I want to know, or the whole fucking school will hear about sister dearest and your guilty fucking conscience.”

Flinching, I lean back in the chair and stare at him blankly. It’s one of my most painful secrets but whatever, I already feel naked, and fucking beaten. What’s one more hit?

“Ram,” Diem says, but I ignore him and the hurt pulsing through my chest cavity, where my fucking dead heart resides.

Pushing back from the table with trembling limbs, I sneer, “Bring it. Bring it all. Because you soulless fuck, I’d rather the whole world know I betrayed my sister and she fucking ran away, than ever, ever allow you to hold something over my head.”

“Fuck!” Diem swears behind me, and I jump and spin when he punches a hole in the wall.

Oliver makes a strangled sound in his throat while Ramsay stares at me through his ice-blue eyes, his jaw clenched tight.

“I’m done. I did what you asked. You want me to disappear? I’m a fucking ghost already!” I bellow. “Leave me the fuck alone, and I’ll fade away like you wanted.”

Walking from the room, I leave, once again trudging down the drive and this time no one appears to take me home. Eventually, I see past the anger and sorrow to call a rideshare before locking myself in my room when I get home.

Chapter Seventeen

Willow

It’s Christmas break. I’ve successfully avoided the Sinners and they appear to have taken my words to heart because I haven’t had a single interaction with them. They pretend I don’t exist when we pass in the halls, and I pretend I don’t fucking care.

Sabrina’s been suspiciously quiet, and I’ve retreated into myself. I go to school, come home, and do my homework, pretending my soul hasn’t been ripped from my chest.

At times, I have to fight every urge in my body to seek out the drugs my mother takes to function every day. This is my penance for opening the gates.

I allowed hell through.

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