Chapter 15
Reese
"Yeah, we had no idea Justin was planning to move to Thailand. Such a shock to all of us."
I nod sympathetically into the phone while rolling my eyes so hard they might fall out of my fucking head.
Mrs. Chambers' voice wobbles with what I'm sure she thinks is convincing concern, but I can hear the country club gossip wheels turning.
They need a story to tell their friends about why their golden boy vanished without a trace.
"No, we weren't together anymore," I say for what feels like the millionth time. "We broke up weeks ago. Different paths in life, you know? I'm focused on dance; he was…well, whatever he was focused on."
Not hitting women, clearly.
"If you hear anything from him, you'll let us know, won't you, dear?" Mrs. Chambers presses, desperation leaking through her perfectly modulated voice.
"Of course," I lie smoothly. "I hope you find him soon."
I hang up and stare at my phone for a long moment. It's been two weeks since Justin disappeared. Two weeks since that night. Two weeks of Justin's parents calling me, his friends texting, police asking questions.
Two weeks of me pretending I have no fucking idea what happened to the guy who slapped me across the face and called me a Blackwood whore.
I know exactly what happened to him.
Or rather, I know exactly WHO happened to him.
I walk into the living room where Ramsey is sprawled across our couch, one arm behind his head, the other holding the remote as he flips through channels. He doesn't look up when I enter, but I know he's aware of my presence. Ramsey's always aware of everything.
I sit directly in front of him on the coffee table, my knees almost touching his. He continues ignoring me, eyes fixed on some basketball game, though I can see the tiny smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
I cross my arms over my chest and stare harder.
Finally, Ramsey raises an eyebrow, clicks off the TV, and sits up. His long legs shift to cage me between his thighs, his knees brushing against my outer thighs. The sudden proximity makes my breath catch.
"What did I do now, baby girl?" His voice is a low rumble, amused and just a little dangerous.
I lean forward slightly. "Justin's parents just called me."
"Oh?" His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in those blue eyes. "What did the lovely Chambers want?"
"They wanted to know if I knew Justin was planning to run off to Thailand." I keep my voice neutral, watching his face. "Apparently he withdrew all his money, packed a bag, and just...vanished."
Ramsey's lips twitch. "Thailand, huh? Interesting choice."
"Yeah, super interesting." I narrow my eyes. "Almost as interesting as having a best friend who plays around on the dark web like it’s child’s play." I raise my own eyebrows meaningfully, not backing down from his intense stare.
Ramsey hums, his eyes darkening as he leans forward until our faces are inches apart.
"Don't ask questions like that; you don't really want the answer, star.
" His voice drops to that low, gravelly register that makes my skin prickle.
"You know what it is, and you knew what it was going to be as soon as it happened.
Whether you called me or not, I would have found out, and it was always gonna end up this way.
He did it once, he'd do it countless other times.
No one is losing sleep over him, and you know me well enough, no one is ever gonna find him or trace any of that shit to us. "
I swallow hard, the confirmation hanging heavy in the air between us. Part of me has known from the moment I woke up the morning after that night, that it would play out like this. I've spent two weeks pretending I didn't know, didn't suspect.
"You killed him." It's not a question.
Ramsey doesn't flinch, doesn't look away. "Would it matter if I did?"
I should be horrified. I should be running to the police. I should be terrified of the man sitting in front of me right now. Instead, all I feel is a sense of...relief.
"No," I whisper, the truth of it settling into my bones. "It wouldn't matter."
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my cheek where the bruise has long since faded.
"You know what I am, Reese. What I've always been." His voice is soft, but there's steel underneath. "I don't regret it. Not for a fucking second."
I lean into his touch, my eyes closing briefly. "I know."
"I did get my ass handed to me by your psychotic ass brother though for not letting him help," Ramsey admits suddenly, his thumb still tracing circles on my cheek.
I roll my eyes and pull back slightly. "You say that as if he isn't literally your cousin. Why is it always he's my brother when he acts up?"
Ramsey's laugh is rough and unexpected. "Because he’s fucking dramatic. Penn practically threw a tantrum because I didn't invite him."
I shake my head, trying not to laugh at the image of Penn throwing a fit over not getting invited to a murder party. God, my life is so fucked up. The Blackwoods have completely warped my sense of normal.
The fact that I'm sitting here, not running for the hills, probably says more about me than I want to examine.
"You know what? I don't want details," I announce. "I don't need to know what happened, how it happened, or where he is. What's done is done."
Ramsey watches me with those intense blue eyes, waiting to see where I'm going with this.
"Instead, we're having a spa night," I declare, crossing my arms. "And you're going to get us snacks."
He rolls his eyes dramatically before standing up, his crotch suddenly right at my eye level since I'm still sitting on the coffee table. My breath catches for a second, and I try not to stare at the bulge in his gray sweats, but fuck, it's right there.
Ramsey stretches, arms reaching toward the ceiling, his shirt riding up to reveal a trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
He grabs his keys from the side table, still smirking. "Anything specific you want me to bring back?"
"All the chocolate. And those spicy chips I like. And ice cream. The good stuff with actual calories."
"Fine, but we aren’t watching that weird ass baking show again."
“You’re watching whatever I put on and you’re going to like it," I call after him as he heads for the door.
The door slams behind him, and I'm suddenly alone with my thoughts. Thoughts I'd rather not have right now.
I head to the bathroom and start gathering supplies: sheet masks, that fancy moisturizer Reagan got me for Christmas, nail polish. Normal shit. Shit that has nothing to do with the fact that my best friend murdered someone for me and I'm completely fine with it.
By the time Ramsey returns, I've changed into leggings and an oversized t-shirt, my hair pushed back by one of those fluffy spa headbands.
For a big ass man, he sure as shit pays attention because Ramsey bought this for me, making note to point out it had an octopus on it to match the stuffed animal he won me at the campus crawl carnival months ago.
I've got everything laid out on the coffee table by the time Ramsey kicks the door open with his foot, arms loaded with way more snacks than I asked for.
"Holy shit, did you buy out the entire store?" I laugh, getting up to help him.
"Fuck off, I got exactly what you wanted." He dumps the bags on the kitchen counter, pulling out package after package of junk food. "Plus some extras because you always say you want one thing then eat all my shit."
My heart does this stupid little flip when he pulls out a blue Ramune soda bottle, the one with the marble that you have to push down to open.
"You went all the way to the Asian market?" I grab the bottle, turning it over in my hands. "That's like thirty minutes in the opposite direction."
Ramsey shrugs like it's nothing. "You said you wanted spa night and all your favorites. Go hard or go home."
"I'm not letting you put that glittery shit on my nails again," he warns, dropping onto the couch.
"Relax, I got you matte black this time." I hold up the bottle. "Very manly. Very brooding. Suits your whole murder vibe."
He narrows his eyes at me, but there's no heat behind it. "Hilarious."
"Give me your hands," I demand, patting my lap. "I'll do yours first."
Ramsey sighs dramatically but doesn't resist as I shake the matte black polish. "Fine, but don't fuck them up."
I roll my eyes and get to work, carefully applying the black polish to his nails. His hands are strong, clean, and with neatly trimmed nails. Not that I'd ever tell him that because he’d never let me live it down.
"All done," I announce after finishing. "Now it's my turn."
I wiggle my toes expectantly, and Ramsey grabs the pale blue polish he picked out. He pats his lap, and I swing my legs up, resting my feet on his powerful thighs.
His thumb presses against a fresh blister, and I wince. "Sorry they’re so gross."
"Shut the fuck up," Ramsey says, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the harsh words. "Your feet aren't gross. They're powerful. Strong." His fingers massage my arch, sending shivers up my spine. "These feet tell stories, baby girl. They show how hard you work, how dedicated you are."
I swallow hard as his thumb presses into a sore spot, the pain-pleasure of it making me bite my lip. "Still ugly though."
"Nothing about you is ugly," he says firmly, opening the polish and starting on my big toe. "Not a single fucking inch."
The way he says it, like it's an indisputable fact, makes my chest tight. I watch as he carefully paints each nail, his massive hands surprisingly delicate with the tiny brush. His face is screwed up in concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips.
"You have always been weirdly good at this," I observe as he finishes the first foot without a single smudge.
"I'm good at everything," he says without looking up, already starting on my other foot.
When he's done, he blows gently on my toes, his breath warm against my skin. Something hot and liquid pools in my belly at the sensation.
"Your turn," I say, maybe a little too quickly. "Facial time."
Ramsey groans but doesn't fight me as I pull out the charcoal mask. "This shit better not stain my beard."
"It won't, you big baby." I squeeze a dollop onto my fingers. "Close your eyes."
He complies, his face relaxing as I start applying the cool mask to his forehead. His skin is warm under my touch, and I find myself lingering longer than necessary, tracing the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones.
"What?" he asks without opening his eyes, clearly sensing my hesitation.
"Nothing. Just..." I swallow. "You have good bone structure."
One eye cracks open. "Are you hitting on me, star?"
"Shut up and let me finish." I smear more mask over his nose, maybe a little rougher than necessary.
When I'm done, Ramsey looks ridiculous—his sharp, dangerous face covered in gray goop, only his eyes and mouth visible. I snap a quick picture before he can protest.
"Delete that," he growls.
"No way. This is going in the blackmail folder with all the others."
I set my phone down and apply my own mask, enjoying the cooling sensation on my skin. We sit in companionable silence; the TV playing some mindless reality show in the background while our masks dry.
"Ten minutes and we can wash these off," I say, settling back against the couch cushions.
Feeling restless, I grab my dance notebook off the table and take my pen out of the binding.
"What are you doing?" Ramsey asks, glancing over as I flip to a blank page.
"Something I should have done a long time ago." I tap the pen against the paper, thinking. I chew on my pen cap, staring at the blank page.
My hand moves quickly across the page, scratching out a list of all the things I've been too scared to do. All the risks I've never taken. All the chances I've let slip through my fingers because I was playing it safe.
I've spent my whole life being careful, following the rules, making the right choices. And for what?
The list grows longer as I scribble frantically, my heart pounding as I commit each item to paper. Some are small, some are huge, some are downright filthy. Things I've thought about but never dared to say out loud, much less do.
This is who I want to be. Bold. Fearless. Taking what I want instead of waiting for permission. More like Reagan and less like the pretty dancer that my father wanted me to be.
I glance over at Ramsey. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady. The mask has dried completely on his face, cracking slightly around his mouth where he's been smirking at whatever he's thinking about.
And suddenly I realize the first thing on my list is sitting right fucking next to me.
I nudge his arm. "Hey, phantom. Time to wash this shit off."
His eyes open, impossibly blue against the gray of the mask. "About fucking time. My face feels like it's being shrink-wrapped."
I stand up and stretch, my shirt riding up slightly. I catch Ramsey's eyes flicking to the exposed strip of skin before looking away.
We walk down the hall to his bathroom. It’s pristine, black and white. Very monochromatic.
"Ladies first," he says, gesturing to the sink.
I lean over and splash warm water on my face, working my fingers in circles to dissolve the mask. It feels good, the tight sensation giving way to softness underneath. I grab one of Ramsey's ridiculously expensive hand towels and pat my face dry.
"Your turn."
He takes my place at the sink, hunching his tall frame to reach the water. I watch as he methodically removes every trace of the mask, those strong hands gentle on his own face. Water drips down his neck, darkening the collar of his shirt.
When he straightens up, water droplets cling to his dark lashes, and something inside me just...snaps.
I grab Ramsey by his faded hockey t-shirt, yanking him down to my level, and crash my lips against his. For a heartbeat, he freezes completely—like I've short-circuited his entire system.
Then his hands are in my hair, gripping hard enough to hurt in the best possible way. He walks me backward until I hit the bathroom counter, his body pressing me into the cold marble.
And all of a sudden he’s kissing me and drawing my breath out of my body. He’s taking everything out of my lungs and filling it with his own oxygen. He’s in me, and I didn’t know kissing could be like this. Should be like this.