Chapter 31
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
NOLA
It’s been a week. A whole week since I poured my heart and soul out to the three men who own me.
And even after spending the night together, sharing the most intimate moments with them that left me with bruises and scars I cherish, they’ve ghosted me.
Straight up fucking ghosted me. No call, no texts, nothing.
Skittles hasn’t been able to find them., Callie hasn’t seen them come home, and they haven’t been at school.
I’m honestly going out of my mind. Did I mess this up? Did I read the situation wrong?
Did they ever really want me, or did they just like the idea of having me? And now that it’s become a reality, are they backtracking?
Dad told me that the girls I killed during Mardi Gras made the news, and now everyone thinks there are two murderers running around New Orleans because there weren’t any calling cards left by the Butterfly Killer. The only thing similar is the age of the women and a slit throat.
So now the NOPD thinks there's a copycat killer as well.
I fucked up. I know I did.
There are so many things I wish I could have changed about the way I went about doing this.
For one, I wish I had never created the Butterfly Killer persona. As much fun and thrilling as it was, I let my excitement of following in my father’s footsteps overpower the real reason I was doing this in the first place.
Sure, I enjoy killing. Ten out of ten, would recommend. But I should have just disposed of the bodies like I did with Scarlett. Burned them, never to be seen again, and leave the world wondering where they went and if they would ever come back.
Maybe the mass amount of missing girls would have made the news, but it wouldn’t have gotten as much attention as the chaos I left in my wake.
I’m going to be brutally honest, I’m kind of ashamed of myself.
I know how to get away with murder. I know how to dispose of bodies and never get caught. I know all about human anatomy and forensic DNA.
Yet, I chose to let the thrill of the kill take over logic, and I know for a fact that if it wasn’t for my dad being on my side, working with his connections to make sure none of this came back to me, I’d have been caught a long time ago.
While I was careful with the photos I left behind, making sure that you can’t see anything but our faces up close, I’m sure I left DNA behind, or that I was caught on some kind of CCTV footage.
The way the world is now, if I were just some regular girl with no links to the people who run this town, I’d have been caught.
In a way, I became the kind of person I hated. Reliant on Daddy, on my connections, and the power my last name held.
It might not have been for money or to get the job of my dreams, but it was used in my favor to literally get away with murder.
I’m eighteen, and I’ve killed over fifteen people in the span of seven months.
Not many people can say they've accomplished that.
But what's the point of it all if I end up losing the men I love?
I didn’t even think about how all of this would look on them, how the Brotherhood would react to it.
When I told my dad how the night went—minus the sex part—and how I haven’t heard from the guys since, he told me that they’re most likely having to deal with the fallout.
Because not only do they know who’s been causing chaos in New Orleans, but now people think there are two killers on the loose.
Like I said, I fucked up. Big time.
And I want to help them fix it, but how do I do that without making it worse?
If they’re not going to talk to me, how am I going to know what's going on inside their minds?
Do they hate me now? Are they going to turn me into the Brotherhood? Try to kill me for the trouble I’ve caused them.
My father wouldn’t let them do that. He would come out of retirement, get my grandfather involved, and have the whole Russian mafia on their asses if they tried to hurt me.
I don’t want any of that to happen.
I just want my men.
I’ve done so much to prove to them I’m their perfect girl. The one they can unleash their deepest and darkest desires on at night, while still loving and taking care of them during the day.
I don’t want their money, their power, or the life that comes with that. I just want them.
Can’t they see that?
Or are they so broken that they don’t want love in any form?
“I know what you’re going to ask. And no, I haven’t seen them since Mardi Gras.” Is the first thing Callie says to me when I pull up to her house.
Callie slips into the passenger's side of my Jeep.
“Did I fuck this all up?” I ask Callie, trying to keep myself together, but I’m freaking out on the inside.
“No.” Callie shakes her head. “You told me about the things they said to you when you revealed yourself. That you were amazing, perfect, a fucked up little freak.” She grins at the last part.
I bite my lip, smiling as I remember how that night's events unfolded. Every word they said, every touch of their hands, their cocks, their mouths; it’s been on repeat in my mind.
“What if they had time to think about it, and they’ve realized how much trouble I am to them?”
“Babe, breathe. I’m sure they’re just working, dealing with Brotherhood stuff.”
“Can you ask Garrett if he knows anything?” I beg, giving her my best puppy-dog eyes.
She glares at me, so I stick my lip out farther.
“Ugh, fine!” she huffs. “But you owe me.”
“Thank you.” I grin widely as she pulls up his number on her phone.
She puts it on speaker as the phone rings.
“Hello, my Little Poppy Seed,” Garrett purrs through the phone.
Callie rolls her eyes, but I see the slight blush on her cheeks. As much as she likes to act like she despises this man, she doesn’t.
“Whatever, Gary,” she mutters. “Look, I’m calling for answers.”
“And what answers would you like, my love?”
“I’m not your love,” she scolds, annoyed by him. “My brothers, have you seen them?”
“I might have.” His voice is filled with amusement. Normally, I’d think it’s charming, but I don’t have time for games right now.
I want to demand that he tell me where they are, but Garrett is more likely to do what Callie asks than what I do.
“Where are they?” she huffs.
“Are you hurt? Dying? Is this an emergency?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” Callie answers. “But…”
“Then I can’t tell you.”
“But it is an emergency!” Callie growls.
“Is Nola dying or hurt?” he asks.
“Well, no… But–”
“But Nola is going out of her mind because she can’t get a hold of them,” he chuckles. “Hey, Nola,” Garrett greets me.
I look at Callie with wide eyes. Her shoulders slump, and I sigh heavily. “Hi, Garrett.”
“I love you, boo. You're my second favorite girl. But, I’m sorry, I can’t betray my boys. When they’re ready to see you, they will.”
My stomach sinks, and I fight back the tears prickling my eyes.
“Can you at least tell me if they hate me?” I despise how broken I sound. For the first time in my life, I feel like just a regular teenage girl desperate for the guys she likes to want her back while being terrified to lose them.
“No,” he replies with no hesitation. “They don't hate you. I don’t think that's possible. But you caused quite a mess, Lola. And now they have to figure out a way to clean it up without throwing you under the bus.”
A wave of relief hits me knowing that they don’t hate me, that they’re trying to protect me, but it’s quickly followed by guilt over the fact that I’ve put them in this position.
“Listen, shitshow aside, I gotta say, girl, you are one badass bitch,” he chuckles. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
I can’t help but laugh. Knowing the guys’ best friend approves is nice. “Just don’t hurt my bestie, and I won’t.”
Callie shoots me a look. I just smile and shrug.
“I’d never hurt my girl. I’d rather die.”
“Then go die,” Callie huffs.
I slap her arm. “Hey! Be nice.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side!” she gapes at me.
“I am. But Garrett is a good guy. You’re being mean.”
“I am not!”
“Are too,” Garrett chuckles on the other end of the line. “But that's okay, my cock gets hard every time you bully me.”
My eyes widen, and I laugh in shock.
Callie’s cheeks grow bright pink. I love how embarrassed she is.
“You’re such a pervert, Gary,” she scoffs.
“Only for you, hot stuff,” he responds playfully.
“I’m hanging up now.” Callie goes to hang up, but I quickly speak again.
“Can you tell them that if they ghost me for much longer, I will come looking for them.” Maybe that’s not the right thing to say, but I feel like I’m losing my mind, and my crazy is going to start showing soon.
“Don’t worry. I think you will be hearing from them sooner than you think.”
Garrett wasn’t wrong. A few days later, I came home from school to find a letter on my bed.
Heart racing, my fingers graze the matte black envelope. I know it’s from them before even opening it.
Picking it up, I turn it over, finding a teal wax seal with the fleur de lis symbol.
Carefully, I remove the seal and pull out a card.
Dear Ms. Edwards,
We would like to cordially invite you to our annual masquerade gala on the night of Saturday, February 13th.
This invitation extends to you and you alone. Anyone else will be turned away at the door.
Please come dressed in the outfit provided with this letter.
Party begins at ten PM sharp. Do not be late.
— Your Dark Monsters.
The smile stretching across my face starts to hurt as utter joy rushes through me.
They signed it ‘Your Dark Monsters’. They still love me. They still want me. They’re admitting that they’re mine.
This is the best news ever!
Wait…. I don’t see an address anywhere on this letter. How do they expect me to go to this thing if I don’t know where it’s being held?
And it mentioned an outfit that came with the letter. What outfit?
I look around my room, trying to figure out what it might be referencing, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. No boxes, no bags. Nothing.
“Huh,” I breathe, reading the letter over again and again.
Who put this here? Did they, or did my dad? If it were my dad, maybe he’d put the outfit somewhere else?