Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
NOLA
The smile on my face is big and frantic. “Wrong floor.” I laugh out as I jam my finger against the button to close the door.
“Not so fast,” he says, stepping forward to shove his arm between the doors as they start to close.
“So close,” I groan.
“Nola, want to tell me why you’re here in the middle of the night? And where the hell is your shirt?”
“Oh.” I look down at my bra. “Shit.”
“Cover up,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes as he takes his hoodie off and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I mumble, taking it like a child who’s just been scolded and putting it on. Nothing is more awkward than your dad seeing you indecent.
“Better,” he tells me once I’m fully clothed once more. “Okay, let’s try this again. What are you doing here? I thought you were at a party.”
“I was,” I tell him.
“And now you’re here with…” he looks down at the gurney. “Nola… is that a body?”
“No!” I say quickly. “It’s uhh… um… a gator.
I hit it on the way home. Not wanting to leave the poor guy to die in an undignified way, I took him off the street so he wouldn't get hit again and make a mess. And you know he could have caused an accident. You should be glad I’m okay. And that I saved other people, too.”
“Uh-huh,” he says slowly. “So rather than throw it in a ditch, you thought you would bring it here? To what?”
“Cremate him,” I answer meekly. “I’m gonna spread his ashes in the Bayou tomorrow,” I quickly add.
Damn, look at me go. I’m killing this covering my ass thing.
“Yeah, I’m not buying it,” he says, and my smile drops. “Let’s start again. Is this a body, Nola?”
Biting my lower lip, for the first time tonight, I grow nervous with fear. Not because I think he’s going to call the cops, but I would hate to disappoint my dad.
“Maybe,” I grumble, casting my eyes down.
“Want to tell me how you ended up with a dead body?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I found it on the side of the road and I’m trying to do the right thing by disposing of it properly?” I ask hopefully.
“No,” he replies with a blank face.
“Fine,” I huff in frustration as I throw my arms in the air. “The bitch had it coming, okay? You should have heard the things she was saying to me, Dad. She was mean, fucking cruel. And!” I shout. “She tried to take my men away from me. They’re mine, dad. Mine!”
“Men?” His brows furrow. “As in more than one? Who the hell are you dating?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I wave my hand in dismissal. “What does matter is I had to shut her up… with my knife… in her throat.”
“So… you killed her?” he asks me slowly.
“I did. And I’m sorry. Not the part where I killed her, but because I very much enjoyed it.
I’m sorry because I disappointed you. I didn’t mean to.
It’s just… there's only so much I can take, you know? I tried, I really tried to keep my impulses and intrusive thoughts to myself. I’ve been doing really fucking good.
Trust me, Dad, you should be proud this didn’t happen a lot sooner. ”
My chest heaves as the word vomit just spills out at an alarming rate.
I blink at him, waiting for him to get upset, to yell, to tell me how fucked up I am, or how wrong all this is.
But he doesn’t. He… laughs. Is he laughing?
“Holy shit. This is amazing!” he cheers.
My lips part in shock. “It is?”
“Hell yeah, it is. I’m so proud of you, Nola.”
I’m sorry, he’s what?
“Proud?” I ask slowly, wondering if my ears are working correctly.
“I always wished you would take after me. I was worried it was never going to happen. I would have still loved you no matter what and been just as proud, but now…” He trails off with a laugh, one with pure glee on his face as he looks at the body. “Here we are. Your first body.”
“I’m so confused right now,” I state plainly. My brain is trying to compute, to process this whole situation, but I'm getting nothing. My brain is blank as fuck.
“Come on,” he chuckles, grabbing the gurney and pulling it into the room. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“Alright, spill,” I demand as we sit in Dad’s office. I curl up in the chair, wrapping my arms around my knees. My eyes are heavy, the excitement of tonight beginning to dissipate.
“Me spill?” he asks with an amused look. “I think I should be the one asking you to spill.”
“I already told you why I killed her,” I point out.
“You gonna tell me who she is?”
I chew on my lip nervously. He might not be losing his mind about this—for some odd reason that I can’t wrap my head around in this moment—but I’m not so sure he’s still gonna be proud when he finds out that I killed the daughter of one of the Brotherhood’s top families.
“Not until you tell me why you’re not losing it over the fact you just caught your daughter trying to get rid of a dead body,” I argue. “Proud. You said you were proud of me. Why the hell would you be proud of your kid murdering someone?”
“Because that means you’re just like me.” He grins widely, from ear to ear, truly looking proud.
“Okay, so I wasn’t hearing things before when you said you’d always hope that I’d take after you.” I cock my head to the side. “Dad, are you telling me you’ve killed people? Were they for the Brotherhood?”
He snorts out a laugh. “Of course not.”
“Okay, I was gonna say.” I blow out a breath.
“I ended my killing career years ago.”
“I’m sorry, what?” My eyes widen at that little tidbit.
He leans back in his chair, a smile still on his face. “The eighties were amazing. Nola, you should have seen me. I was in my prime.”
“Prime… of killing people,” I say slowly, making sure I’m hearing things right.
“I was a big deal, you know.” He winks. “On the news and everything,” he states, puffing out his chest. “They even made documentaries about me.”
“They did?” That has me sitting up with interest. “Holy fuck. Dad, were you a serial killer? Like, no joke?”
“No joke,” he chuckles. “The real deal.”
“Oh shit.” I laugh, excitement flooding me again.
“Holy shit, my dad was a serial killer. A famous one?” I ask again.
“I’ve never heard your name as any serial killer.
But I’m guessing you went by an alias, seeing as you're not behind bars and have been living a pretty normal life here in New Orleans. Well, as normal as it gets with the Brotherhood society.”
“I’ve never even been close to being caught. I knew what I was doing.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “But yeah, they had no clue who I was. So, they called me the Midnight Shadow.”
My. Jaw. Drops. To the ground.
“Hold the front door,” I say a little too loudly, but hello! My father just told me he was my favorite serial killer. How fucking cool is this? “You’re the Midnight Shadow. As in the best serial killer of all time?”
His eyes start to water as his grin grows warm with satisfaction. “You really think I’m the best serial killer of all time?”
“You have got to be fucking with me, right?” I ask, laughing in disbelief. “Of course! Dude, you were known for leaving bodies all across the UK. Your body count is, what? In the hundreds?”
“What?” My dad’s eyes widen, his cheeks turning bright pink. “No! Of course not. I’ve only been with your mother and maybe three other women.”
“Oh my god, Dad, no. I mean body count, as in how many people you killed.” I can’t help but laugh. And this man is telling me he killed people before. He’s too cute.
“Ohhh,” he chuckles. “Then yes, around that. Actually, there are a few more that they never found,” he admits.
The Midnight Shadow was a serial killer who killed over a hundred men across the UK back in the eighties.
Surveillance cameras were a new thing back then, and not every place had them. At least not in the areas where the bodies were being found. So there were no witnesses, no video proof, and no DNA evidence that was left behind. Not that DNA was much of a thing back then, either.
None of the victims seemed to be connected to the killer, so the police were calling it a random act of violence.
Others called him a vigilante because the men who were being killed were linked to some fucked up crimes.
To this day, there are still a lot of unknowns, despite this being a big case the police were determined to solve.
And now I get to know everything.
“You have no idea how fucking pumped I am right now.” I giggle. “Holy shit, my dad is my favorite serial killer. I can’t believe this.”
He just smiles back at me, not sure how to take the compliment.
“I have so many questions. Like, how did you start? What was your reasoning? Why those specific men? Why did you stop? And when was the last time you killed?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he chuckles. “Slow down there. One question at a time. Let’s take this one at a time.”
“Okay.” I nod, getting comfortable and leaning in, eager to listen like he’s telling me some amazing bedtime story.
How is this my life right now? It’s like meeting your favorite celebrity and getting to consider them your friend. Only he’s my dad!
“Do you know who Ilya Petrov is?”
My brows furrow, trying to remember where I heard that name from. “I think so…” It takes me a few moments before it clicks. “Wasn’t he like a part of the Russian mafia or something a while ago?”
“Not just a part of, the leader,” Dad corrects. “And your great-grandfather.”
“Wait, what?” My eyes practically bug out of my head. “You’re fucking with me?”
“Nope,” he chuckles. “You see, my father spent his whole life working to be just like his dad. And he ended up doing just that. He’s a very powerful man who was determined to shape me in his very image.
And for a while, it was working. But the older I got, the more I realized I didn’t want that life.
When I was eighteen, I moved to Poland, changed my name, and started over.
Life was good. I was happy, had a good job, met a girl…
” He gives me a look that tells me this story doesn’t have a good end for him.