Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
NOLA
“What does one wear to a party?” I ask Skittles as I face my closet. There's not much in here to choose from, and the clothes that I do have wouldn’t fit this kind of occasion.
There are a few sundresses, but they would just add to the incorrect view the guys have of me. I’m not some modest woman.
“What about this?” I pull a tank top off the rack and hold it up to Skittles.
He’s sitting on his perch, watching me. He cocks his head to the side, and I sigh.
“I know, I know.” Guess we’re not going with the bright yellow crop top.
“Then what?” I grumble, hastily moving hangers to the side, trying to find something that isn’t there.
I stop on a plain white crop top and hold it in front of myself as I think it over.
Normally, I don’t wear white since it tends to be too see-through and shows off my bra.
But maybe this party would be the right place to wear it?
Pair it with my ripped jeans and black combat boots, and it could be a fit.
Pulling the shirt from the hanger, I swap it with the one I’m currently wearing, then grab my jeans from the bottom drawer of my dresser.
“Hope they still fit,” I pray aloud. It’s been years since I’ve worn real pants.
It’s not that I don’t have other clothes to wear besides hoodies and leggings, I just hate the attention I get when I do.
I can hide in my overly large sweaters, which makes life feel safer.
I know I can’t hide myself forever, though, especially not from these guys.
I want their attention, I want them to see me for who I really am.
I guess this is a start.
“What about this?” I ask Skittles once I’m dressed, spinning around to face him, so he can see my entire outfit.
He tosses his head back, making a clinking sound, and I smile.
“Then this is what I’m going with.” I nod.
Not one to really do much with my hair, I give it a good brush through. It’s naturally straight, and I think it looks fine as it is. I do, however, apply a bit of mascara and some pink lip gloss.
“Perfect.” I smile at myself in the mirror. “Alright, Skittles, you ready to go?”
Tonight is a casual mission, so there is no need to strap the camera to him. Plus, I have my phone with me; I’ll use that to take any photos I need.
Skittles lets out a sound of agreement. “Can’t forget this.” I grab my blade from the dresser and shove it into my back pocket.
You never know when you're going to need to protect yourself. And after the incident with Mr. Robinson, I’ll never be too safe.
“I’m heading out now. I shouldn’t be back too late,” I call out, letting Mom know as I head for the front door.
“Have fun, sweetie! Be safe. Don’t get into trouble.” She laughs as if that would be the last thing I’d do.
For her sake, I’ll let her believe that.
It’s not that I wouldn’t do things that could get me into trouble, it’s just that I haven’t found something that would make it worth it if I were to get caught.
I’m starting to see why the guys have this good-girl image of me. Maybe I do play it too safe.
Having wild, fucked-up intrusive thoughts of all the things I wish I could do, versus actually following through with them, are two completely different things.
“You know I will,” I tell her.
No one seems to party at people’s houses around here. Not unless it’s a formal event.
You wanna know where they party instead? Cemeteries. Mostly the ones that are not open to the public, because rules don’t apply to the elite. They’re allowed to do whatever they want whenever they want, especially the founding families of the Brotherhood.
When I arrive at the cemetery, I worry that maybe I’m at the wrong place.
Pulling into a parking spot, I frown, looking around, but I hardly see any cars.
When I park and open the door, the sound of music and chatter filters through the night air from deeper inside the graveyard.
The party is, in fact, here. But where are all the cars?
“Guess if you’re planning to get drunk out of your mind, driving here isn’t the best idea,” I mutter as I lock up the car.
The sound of flapping wings has me looking up. I smile when I see Skittles land on the metal arch over the entrance of the cemetery. The words Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 are cut out in an iconic Southern Gothic design. Ominous, indeed.
“Ready to party?” I ask Skittles. He chirps before taking off into the cemetery.
When I tug the bars of the gate, they don’t budge. “Locked.” I frown. But if they’re locked, how did everyone get inside?
“Couldn’t help me find a way in before taking off?” I grumble as I start to walk around the property, looking for a possible entry point.
My eyes scan the stone walls but find nothing. “How the hell do I get in?” I sigh with annoyance. I’m starting to wonder if it was even worth coming out tonight.
“You wanted to see the guys one more time before they leave. It’s worth it.
Just find a way in, observe for a bit, and then go home.
Simple as that.” I try to give myself a pep talk, but my inner introvert just wants to go home and spend time with my butterflies.
I have a few that have dried out, and I want to get to work on pinning them.
Just as I’m about to give up and go home, I come across another entrance. Checking around to make sure no one is watching, I step up to the gate and give it a little tug. When it creeks open, I sigh in relief. “Thank god.” Slipping in, I head deeper into the cemetery toward the music.
How do they get away with this? There are houses all around this place. I guess if the cops are called, it won’t matter, considering the police reside in the pockets of the Brotherhood.
As soon as I see the crowd of people, I feel a rush of unease. It’s not a cold night, but now I wish I’d brought my hoodie. The instinct to burrow into the baggy fabric makes me wrap my arms around myself.
Thankfully, no one seems to notice me, especially since everyone is already intoxicated or too busy socializing.
I keep to the outskirts of the party, ducking between gravestones and scanning the crowd for the guys.
It takes a little while for me to find them, but when my eyes land on Sylas, a smile spreads across my face. My heart starts to race, and nervous, disoriented butterflies flutter inside my stomach.
He’s leaning casually against a gravestone with his feet crossed at the ankles, drink in hand. I’m not at all surprised to see him shirtless again. Once more, he’s in only a pair of black ripped jeans, and damn, his tattoos look good under the flickering light of the campfire.
I bite my lip, reaching for my phone in my pocket, and manage to snap a few photos.
Jasper sidles up to him and leans down to whisper in his ear. Sylas nods and winks when he pulls away. I quickly get a few photos of Jasper, too, before he disappears.
Using the gravestones as coverage, I do my best to follow him. He looks around, as if he can sense someone watching. I quickly duck into the shadows, waiting momentarily before continuing after him.
“Why her of all girls?” I hear Jasper say. Peeking around the stone, I see him standing by a mausoleum beside Wesley. Wesley, as always, has a cigarette between his lips. He takes a puff, tilts his head back, then blows it out.
“Because I fucking hate her,” he chuckles lightly.
“Yeah, sure, because that makes sense. You hate her, yet you take her up on her offer to fuck us?”
My whole body goes rigid. They’re talking about fucking someone, and that’s the last thing I want to hear. It makes my stomach hurt and my anger rise.
I know they’re not mine, not yet, but it still fucking hurts knowing how many women they’ve been with.
Sure, it makes it a bit better that they seem to call these women by my name—that they’re pretending it’s me they’re with—but I don’t want to pretend. I want them to have the real thing. I want to be the real thing.
It makes me that much more determined to come up with a way to show them that I’m not too good for them.
“Scarlett is Lola’s biggest tormenter. Don’t you think that’s going a little too far?”
My whole body tenses at the mention of that cunt’s name. Are you fucking kidding me? They’re going to fuck her? Out of all the girls they could be with, why HER?
“I know, and that’s why I hate her. She’s a desperate little whore who’s been trying to get on our dicks for years.”
“Then why give her what she wants?” Jasper growls, frustrated. Me too, my dude, me too.
“Because,” he sighs with a heavy breath.
“What better way of telling her she will never be ours than doing deranged fucked up shit to her while we call her by the name of the girl she hates the most? Nothing will hurt her ego more than that. She can’t do shit now that she signed the contract.
The moment she signed her name, she became ours to do with as we please.
She can yell stop, she can cry no all she wants, but we get her until we’re done with her.
She knows the rules and the risks involved. She read it all before she signed.”
I’ve wondered what their contract consists of. I’ve seen what they do and know their sexual appetites. They’re beyond intense. Sick is what it is. Still, that’s what I want, every single crazy thing they do, I want it done to me.
Soon, I’ll be all they need for the rest of their lives. No random women, no contracts. Just a lifetime of me meeting their every need.
“You’re lucky I’ve been wanting to watch that bitch cry. To make her beg and plead for mercy. If it wasn’t for the fact that her father is part of the Brotherhood, I’d have killed her the first time she fucked with Lola.”
Okay, swoon, because any time a man kills for you, it’s romantic as fuck.
“We’re going to have to settle for making it a near-death experience for her. It’s been a while since I witnessed the watery fear in their eyes when they think that they’re not going to make it out alive,” Wesley says, closing his eyes and groaning as if he was imagining it.