Chapter 35
Reese
My muscles ache in that perfect way that only comes after nailing a piece I've been working on for weeks. Ms. Leighton's praise still rings in my ears—"Exquisite tension, Reese. Your control during that final sequence was breathtaking"—as I slip into the back room, still riding the high.
I grab my socks and sneakers from my cubby, then pull Ramsey's old hoodie over my head.
It's massive on me, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips, but it smells like him.
I've stolen it so many times he's stopped asking for it back but I catch him wearing it randomly after catching me sniffing the collar when his scent starts to fade.
The door creaks open behind me. Oli stands there, her perfect ballerina posture making her look like she's got a rod shoved up her ass. Her thin lips curl into a sneer as she tosses her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder.
"I'll lock up, Ms. Leighton," she calls out sweetly before turning her attention to me. Her accent thickens when she wants to be a bitch. "The dark one was watching in the back. It's disgusting how he looks at you, just like a whore."
I freeze, my bag halfway to my shoulder. "What did you just fucking say to me?"
Oli's smile sharpens. "See? You are disgusting, vulgar whore. You let men fuck you with their eyes."
Heat floods my face. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous because Ramsey was here?"
"Ramsey," she mimics, making his name sound dirty. "He watches you like you are piece of meat he wants to devour. And you? You perform for him, arching your back, spreading your legs. Everyone sees it."
I drop my bag and step toward her. "Listen, you stuck-up bitch. Just because no one looks at you like that doesn't mean you get to talk to me like I'm trash."
Her eyes narrow to slits. "He is dangerous man. Everyone knows this. But you? You beg for his attention like a desperate little slut."
"You don't know shit about either of us," I spit, turning my back on her to finish putting on my socks. I need to get out of here before I do something I'll regret. My hands shake as I reach for my sneakers.
What the fuck is this bitch’s problem and why is she so fucking concerned about who someone sleeps with? Newsflash, sex isn’t a fucking crime, and not being a virgin isn’t a curse.
"I know more than you think," Oli says, her voice dripping with disdain. "Your precious dark one isn't the saint you think he is. Did you know he fucks anything that moves? Giving away pieces of his soul to useless whores. That's what all these demonic men do—they're weak. Just like him."
Something snaps inside me. The room goes silent except for the blood rushing in my ears.
I'm on my feet before I even realize I've moved. One second I'm bent over tying my shoe, the next my hand is around Oli's throat, pushing her against the wall hard enough that her head makes a dull thud against the plaster.
"Listen to me, you fucking ballet rat," I hiss, pushing my face close to hers. "Talk all the shit you want about me. Call me whore, slut, whatever gets your frigid cunt wet. But you don't say a goddamn word about Ramsey. Not fucking ever."
"Get—off—" she chokes out, clawing at my wrist.
I lean closer until my lips nearly brush her ear. "If I ever hear you say his name again, I'll show you exactly what a vulgar whore like me can do." I release her suddenly, and she stumbles, gasping for air.
Oli rubs her throat, eyes watering, but her mouth twists into a vicious smile. "You stupid bitch. I hope his diseased body rots and if you spread your legs for him, you’ll rot also. Nasty whores, the both of you."
My vision narrows to a pinpoint, focused entirely on her sneering face. I lunge forward, tackling her to the ground with a force that surprises even me. Her head hits the hardwood floor with a crack that should concern me, but I'm beyond caring.
"Shut your fucking mouth!" I scream, straddling her chest, my knees pinning her arms.
She tries to buck me off, but I grab fistfuls of her blonde hair and slam her head against the floor. The sound is sickening, but I do it again. And again. Her nails claw at my thighs, but I barely feel it.
"You don't know shit! You don't know him!" Each word punctuates another slam.
Blood sprays across my face, warm and metallic. It spatters on Ramsey's hoodie, but I don't stop. I can't stop. Years of being the good girl, the understanding one, the peacemaker—all of it evaporates in the red haze of my rage.
Oli's struggling weakens, her eyes rolling back. Some distant part of my brain registers that I should be horrified, but all I feel is satisfaction watching her hair darken with her own blood.
Suddenly, strong arms wrap around my waist, lifting me bodily off her. I thrash wildly, elbowing backward and connecting with something solid.
"Fucking let me go!" I hiss, twisting violently to face my attacker.
I freeze. Ramsey stands there, one hand to his jaw where my elbow connected. His dark eyes bore into mine, unreadable as always, but something burns in their depths I've never seen before.
"Jesus Christ, Reese," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me.
I look down at my hands, covered in Oli's blood. My breathing comes in ragged gasps.
"Let me go," I snarl, still struggling against his iron grip.
"Not until you calm the fuck down," he says, his voice low and controlled. "You're about to beat that bitch to death."
I look past him to where Oli lies moaning on the floor, blood pooling beneath her head, smeared across the polished wood.
"She deserved it," I say, my voice eerily calm now. "She was saying things about you."
Ramsey's grip loosens slightly, but he doesn't let go. "What things?"
"Doesn't matter." I shake my head, suddenly aware of how I must look covered in someone else's blood, and wild-eyed. "She shouldn't have said your name."
Something flashes in his eyes—possessiveness, hunger, surprise—I can't tell which. His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, coming away red with the dumb bitch’s blood.
Ramsey's eyes darken as he stares at his thumb. Then his gaze shifts to me, something flickering across his face. Before I can say another word, he crushes his mouth against mine, tasting like peppermint. His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me gasp against his lips.
When he pulls back, his pupils are blown wide. "My little fucking bruiser," he murmurs, voice rough with something that sounds like pride. "Never thought you had that in you."
I'm breathing hard, blood still pounding in my ears. "No one talks about you like that."
He glances over at her crumpled form. She's still breathing—barely—making these pathetic little whimpering sounds. His face hardens into something cold and calculating.
"I'm gonna take care of this," he says, pulling his phone from his pocket. His fingers fly across the screen before he puts it to his ear. "Penn? Yeah, I need you to come get Reese from the dance studio. Now. There's been…a situation."
I grab the phone from his hand before he can say anything else. "No, you don't, Pennywise," I snap into the receiver. "I'm staying with Ramsey, but thanks though." I hang up without waiting for a response and hand the phone back to Ramsey.
"What the fuck?" he growls, looking at me like I've lost my damn mind.
"I did it," I say, crossing my arms over my chest, Oli's blood drying sticky on my skin. "I don't need my brother-in-law to come babysit me while you clean up my mess."
Ramsey sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Baby, please just do this for me."
"No." I plant my feet wider, making it clear I'm not budging. "I'm not a fucking idiot. She's barely alive and she can't stay alive, so you're gonna do my dirty work for me and kill her and make her disappear. There’s no way you let her live and have that come back on me. I freaking know you."
His eyes widen fractionally, the only sign he's surprised by my bluntness. "Christ, Reese. You don't know what you're asking."
"I know exactly what I'm asking," I say, stepping closer to him. I can feel Oli's blood drying on my face, tacky and tight.
Then his lips curl into a smile that's equal parts admiration and something darker. "Look at you," he says softly. "All grown up and orchestrating hits."
"Is that a yes?" I ask, holding his gaze.
He steps closer, cupping my face in his hands. "You have no idea what we’re about to do."
"I know exactly what I'm getting into," I say, holding his stare, refusing to back down.
"You're not gonna let this go no matter how much I beg, are you?" he finally asks, his voice low and gravelly.
I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. Blood has dried under my fingernails, flaking off in little crimson chips.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," he mutters, shaking his head. "Glad I brought the fucking truck. I was planning on bending you over the tailgate, but guess we'll play clean up crew and then you can make it up to me after."
My stomach does a weird flip at his words, heat pooling between my legs despite the fucking morbid situation we're in. Something must show on my face because his eyes darken even more.
"Stay here," he commands, then looks around the room. He grabs a rolled-up yoga mat from the corner and brings it over to Oli's still form. With practiced efficiency that I probably should find disturbing, he wraps her inside it, securing the ends with some resistance bands from a nearby shelf.
"Go get whatever cleaning supplies they have here," he orders, his voice strictly business now.
I nod and hurry to the janitor's closet at the end of the hall.
Inside, I find a bunch of regular cleaning shit, but behind those bottles is something I've never seen before—a gallon jug with a skull and crossbones on it.
The label reads: BLOOD-B-GONE: Industrial Strength Organic Material Dissolvent.
When I bring it back to Ramsey, his eyebrows shoot up.
"Why the fuck does a dance studio have that?"
I shrug because I don’t actually fucking know. "Ballet dancers' feet bleed all the time. Plus, you know, periods happen."
"Jesus," he mutters, taking the jug from me and reading the label. "This'll work. Get some gloves and paper towels from the bathroom."
By the time I return with an armful of supplies, Ramsey's already dragged the wrapped body to the emergency exit that leads to the back parking lot.
"We work fast," he says, pulling on the gloves I hand him. "You start on that side; I'll do this one. Saturate the blood first, let it sit for thirty seconds, then wipe."
I follow his instructions, watching in fascination as the chemical eats through the blood, turning it into a weird foamy substance that wipes away easily.
The metal smell is fucking overwhelming, making my stomach churn.
We work silently for a good twenty minutes, wiping away every trace of what I've done. I steal glances at Ramsey as he works so fast, which I guess makes sense if I think about how many times he’s probably done this.
I bend down, scrubbing at it. "You're weirdly good at this."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "You have no fucking idea." He stands, surveying our work. "That'll do. Let's get the hell out of here."
He wets a paper towel and steps closer, gently wiping my cheek, my forehead, my neck.
Ramsey gathers our bloody paper towels and gloves into a garbage bag, ties it off, and tosses it into a duffel I hadn't noticed before. He shoulders it, then grabs one end of the yoga-mat-wrapped body.
"C'mon, let's go get rid of ballerina Barbie," he says, nodding toward the emergency exit.
I grab the other end, surprised at how fucking heavy she is for such a skinny bitch. We awkwardly maneuver through the door and into the dark parking lot where Ramsey's black pickup sits waiting, tailgate already down.
We heave the body into the truck bed. Ramsey covers it with a tarp, securing the corners. My heart's racing, but not from fear—from the fucked-up thrill of it all.
"Go back inside," he says suddenly, wiping his hands on his jeans.
I stare at him. "What? No way."
"Walk out by yourself and lock up like normal," he continues, like I hadn't spoken. "Use the front door."
"Why the fuck would I do that?"
He points to a small camera mounted on the corner of the building. "Because I'm gonna have to splice and loop the cameras, and I'll use you as a body double for this one." He throws a thumb at the tarp-covered shape in his truck bed.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hiss. "You think I look anything like that skinny blonde cunt?"
"It's dark, you're both in dance clothes, and no one's gonna look that closely," he says. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing."
"And what happens when someone realizes she's missing?"
"They'll see her leaving alone on the cameras." His eyes lock with mine, intensely. "Then they'll never find her again. Now go."
I hesitate, then nod. "Fine. Where do I meet you after?"
"Meet me at the coffee shop two blocks over."
I hesitate, then nod. Before I turn to go back in, he catches my wrist, pulling me against him. His mouth crashes down on mine, hot and demanding. My body responds instantly, pressing against him as his tongue slides against mine.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with hunger. "You're so fucking hot when you're covered in blood."
"Shut up," I mutter, but I'm smiling as I push him away.
Walking back inside, it looks like nothing even happened here. I shut the lights off and walk out the front door, locking up and heading down the street.
Just how Ramsey told me.