Chapter 30
Ramsey
Family is supposed to be this magical fucking thing that makes everything better. That's the biggest lie ever told.
My skin feels too tight after dinner at Penn and Reagan's place. The twins—little hellspawn that they are—spent the entire evening screaming, throwing food, and using me as their personal jungle gym.
I love my family, but they are a lot to deal with, and their ragging on Reese and me tonight about sex set me over the edge.
The blood itch crawls under my skin like a thousand red ants, demanding to be fed.
I can feel my pulse throbbing in my temples.
I haven't said more than ten words since we left dinner.
Reese doesn't push it. She never does. Just sits there next to me, legs tucked under her, occasionally glancing over when she thinks I won't notice.
I notice everything about her.
"I know you know I'm stressed the fuck out right now," I finally say, my voice rougher than intended. "And I never want to take that shit out on you." I run a hand through my hair, pulling slightly at the roots. "I usually go out with Copeland."
"Well, if you need to go out with him and do whatever you two do then go. I'm not gonna be someone who's gonna be up your ass and demand you stay here or something. We're best friends, have been for four years, and I've never done that, so don't act like you need to explain yourself to me now."
I study her face, the curve of her lips, the way her black hair falls across her collarbone. Fuck, I want her. Have always wanted her. She has no idea what going out with Copeland means. But she wants to, number five on her list screaming at me.
Find out where Ramsey disappears to every couple of months with Copeland.
I stare at her a beat too long, watching her pick at a loose thread on the couch. She has no fucking clue what she's asking for. But maybe that's exactly what I need right now—to show her a piece of me I've kept hidden.
"Fuck it," I mutter, standing abruptly. I reach down and grab her hand, pulling her up beside me. "C'mon."
Her eyes widen. "What? Where are we—"
"You wanted to know where I go, right?" I turn my back to her, bending slightly at the knees. "Jump on."
"Are you serious?" She laughs, the sound hitting me right in the chest.
"Dead serious. Hop on, star."
She jumps on my back, her thighs squeezing around my waist as her arms loop around my neck. I hoist her higher, hands gripping under her knees as I carry her up the stairs to her bedroom.
I head straight for her closet, still carrying her.
"Ramsey, what the hell are you doing?" she asks through giggles as I start pushing hangers aside, scanning her clothes.
"Finding something for you to wear." I pull out a black top, examine it, then shove it back.
She slides off my back, standing beside me with her hands on her hips. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
I glance at her oversized St. Charles University sweatshirt and leggings. "Nothing, but I'm taking you with me this time, so we need to make sure you're dressed for it."
"Oh." The single syllable hangs between us, her eyes widening as she processes what I'm saying.
"You mean…where you go with Copeland?"
"Yes," I say, nodding while reaching into her closet. I grab a pair of black jeans and a white crop tank top, tossing them onto her bed.
I crouch down to rummage through her mountain of fucking shoes. The girl has more footwear than a department store. Finally, I pull out a pair of black lace-up boots.
When I turn around, Reese is jumping up and down, trying to pull her jeans on, her ass bouncing as the denim is forced over it.
"Wait, do it all over again so I can watch for longer," I say, not even trying to hide my smirk.
She freezes mid-jump, jeans halfway up her thighs, and shoots me a look. "You're disgusting."
I grin, all teeth. "If you want disgusting, I'd tell you to bend over so I can stick my tongue in your ass."
Her mouth drops open, cheeks flushing bright red. "Ramsey!"
"What? You asked where I go with Copeland. You're getting the unfiltered version tonight." I toss the boots next to the clothes. "Better get used to it."
She yanks her jeans up the rest of the way, avoiding my eyes. "I didn't know it involved a wardrobe change."
"Everything about where we're going involves a change." I lean against her dresser, watching as she pulls her sweatshirt over her head.
She’s not wearing a bra, and I am about to choke myself out so I don’t walk the five feet, suck a nipple into my mouth and throw her on the bed before corrupting her.
Pulling on the white shirt, her breasts strain against the fabric, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’m obsessed with this look.
We’re pulling up to the warehouse district where BEDLAM is held tonight.
"You stay by my side the entire time. No wandering off. No going to the bathroom. Nothing, you got it?" I don’t smirk or fidget. She needs to take this seriously.
"Yea, I’m not that stupid. You’re bringing me to some creepy ass place late at night. I have no desire to not be by your side."
The lot is packed with cars, but we manage to find a spot in the far corner. I kill the engine and get out, walking around to her side. She's already climbed out, eyes wide as she takes in the massive warehouse looming ahead. Bass thumps from inside, vibrating through the asphalt under our feet.
"This is it?" she asks, voice small but excited.
I nod, placing my hand on the small of her back. "Remember what I said. Stay close."
We walk toward the entrance where a hulking figure stands guard. Archer. Fucking perfect. Of all the nights for him to be working the door.
His eyes light up when he spots us, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look at the adorable matching couple."
Reese's brow furrows. "We're not matching—" She stops, looking over at me, then down at herself. Her eyes widen as she realizes we're wearing identical outfits—black jeans, white t-shirt, black boots.
A blush creeps up her neck as she stares at me. "Did you do this on purpose?"
Before I can answer, Archer’s laugh cuts through the air.
"Shut the fuck up, Arch," I growl.
He just smirks wider, leaning against the door frame. "Didn't think I'd see you tonight, Ramsey. Reaper is already here."
My stomach tightens. Copeland being here complicates things. I wasn't planning on actually participating tonight, just showing Reese what BEDLAM is. But if Copeland spots me watching from the sidelines with her, I'll never hear the end of it.
West reaches for a red marker from the table beside him. I shake my head quickly.
"Nah, blue for her and for me."
Archer fucking loses it, doubling over with laughter. "Well, okay then, Ghost." He wipes tears from his eyes. "Blue it is."
He grabs the blue marker and swipes it across our forearms, leaving thick streaks of luminescent paint that glows under the black lights.
I pull Reese through the entrance, her fingers clutching mine.
"What the hell was that about?" she asks, looking down at the blue mark on her arm that seems to pulse in the darkness.
"Color coding," I mutter, pulling her closer as we push through the crowd. "Red is for participants. Blue is for spectators."
Her eyes narrow. "Participants in what?"
I don't answer, just guide her deeper into the warehouse. The main floor is packed with bodies, some dancing, others just watching. Smoke hangs in the air, mingling with sweat, perfume, and adrenaline.
"Welcome to BEDLAM," I say, guiding her deeper into the warehouse. "Where the rich and powerful come to let out their darkest impulses."
The main floor is packed with bodies, some dancing, others just circling, watching. Most are dressed in black, with various colored marks on their arms. Some are barely dressed at all.
"Jesus Christ," Reese breathes, pressing closer to me. "This is where you come with Copeland?"
I nod, scanning the crowd. "This is where I come when I need to let the darkness out. When it gets too much." I look down at her, searching her face for disgust or fear. "You still want to see the rest?"
She nods, her pupils blown wide as she takes it all in. There's a hunger in her eyes.
"Show me everything," she says.
A flash of red catches my eye—fake blood cascading down from the ceiling in sheets, soaking dancers below who writhe against each other with abandon. The smell of copper fills the air. It's synthetic, but close enough to the real thing to make my pulse quicken.
I spot Copeland on the far side, his face and chest streaked with red, a woman on her knees in front of him. He doesn't see us yet.
"Fuck," I mutter, pulling Reese toward the nearest wall. The crowd is getting thicker, bodies pressing closer as the music builds to a crescendo. I maneuver us until our backs are against the concrete, then pull her in front of me, caging her between my arms.
She's trembling slightly, her breathing shallow as she looks around at the chaos—at a couple fucking against a pillar twenty feet away, at the blood-soaked dancers, at the man with a whip sending red welts across his partner's back.
"This is...a lot," she whispers, her back pressing against my chest.
I lower my head until my lips brush her ear. "Yeah, I know. I am a lot." My voice is rough, raw with honesty. "You know I got something in me. I have to let it out somehow; otherwise I'd end up with a body count as long as Penn's."
She turns her head to look at me, our faces inches apart. "Is that what you do here? Let it out?"
"Yeah, in the fights. I’ll get in the makeshift ring. Sometimes even with Cope. I don’t participate in a lot of the other things here, baby girl."
Her eyes follow my gaze, widening. "And which one are you tonight?"
"Tonight I'm your guide." I tighten my arms around her, feeling her warmth against me. "Blue marks, remember? We're just watching."
A guy stumbles too close to us, eyes fixed on Reese with unmistakable intent. I bare my teeth, pulling her tighter against me.
"Mine," I growl, the word slipping out before I can stop it.