Page 127 of Sincerely, Butterfly

“Sometimes I wonder why I fucking do this,” Jasper grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Deal with you two adult children,” he hisses.

“Hey!” I raise my hands. “Can’t blame us. You’re the one who agrees to do this shit with us. I think you secretly like our chaos.” I smirk, shooting him a wink.

“I’d secretly love to wrap my hands around your neck and watch the life drain from your eyes,” he snipes back.

“I think you have me mistaken for Nola,” I taunt, unable to stop myself from picking on him.

“The question is, was the girl we fucked last night the same one who we invited over?” Wesley asks, blowing out a stream of smoke.

“She fucking better be.” Jasper looks around the room.

“You don’t think she’s still here, do you?” I ask.

Jasper strides across the room, throwing open the bedroom door. He looks inside before heading over to the bathroom. “She’s not here.”

His eyes lock on something near the kitchen. “The girl we were with was the one we invited,” Jasper confirms, picking up a piece of paper. “This is hercontract.”

Wesley joins me on the couch, still smoking. He grabs the remote, turning the TV on.

“Could you put some boxers on or something?” I ask.

“Nope,” he replies, lifting his legs up to rest his feet on the coffee table. “Why don’t you?”

I look down and curse, remembering I’m still naked. I get to my feet and find my jeans nearby, my boxers close to them. Grabbing them, I yank them on.

“Better?” Wesley chuckles.

“Oh fuck you.” I laugh, grabbing his boxers off the floor and tossing them over to him.

“That’s it?” Jasper asks, looking between the two of us, as I sit back down next to Wesley.

“What?” Wesley asks, leaning forward to flick the ash into the cup on the table.

“We don’t remember anything from last night, and you’re just okay with it?”

I shrug. “Not much we can do. The drug was a bust, I’ll make sure to give my personal feedback to the lab techs. The girl signed the contract, so what’s your issue? She won’t say anything.”

“I don’t like this,” he growls.

“You don’t like much of anything,” I tease.

“Uh, guys,” Wesley mutters. “You might wanna see this.”

We both turn our attention to the TV as Wesley turns up the volume, where a field reporter is standing in front of the camera with the headlines that readBreaking News regarding the safety of our city.

“Breaking news. Hello, my name is Tammy Westbrook, reporting live from in front of the NOPD headquarters. At six o'clock this morning, a group of older ladies out doing their morning walk stumbled upon the deceased body of a young girl around twenty-one years of age. The NOPD has made no effort to notifying the public of this incident. However, we, the reporters of News Flash, believe that you, the citizens of New Orleans, deserve to be informed of the dangers lurking within our city. We have also heard, from an anonymous source, that the NOPD had found some evidence that could possibly tie a murder tothree missing persons reports. We now believe that there is a dangerous man running loose in New Orleans. So far, we’ve only been able to confirm one murder, although we believe there to be more. As of now, we are unable to determine his motive or a connection between the victims at this time, other than gender and age range. If you are a woman between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, we advise you not to go anywhere alone. We at News Flash, are naming this murderer The Butterfly Killer due to the fact that the body found today had a preserved butterfly attached to it as well as a Polaroid picture of the victim and the killer, which appears to have been taken by the killer in a selfie style. These items seem to be the killer’s calling card. Last night, detectives found a Polaroid picture of one of the missing girls with a butterfly on her lips, leading us to believe that we may be dealing with a new serial killer. We are asking the residents of this city to be aware of the people around you and to….”

The reporter continues to talk, but the three of us all turn to look at each other.

“Soooo,” I say. “Guess the creepy dude from the party is back at it?”

“Why the fuck did that bastard not fill me in before it made it into the hands of the fucking news outlets and went on live TV?” Jasper barks, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling his phone out. “Fuck,” he shouts.

“Let me guess, he called you, but your phone is on silent?” I can’t help but smirk.