Page 28 of Sincerely, Butterfly

I’m starting to see why the guys have this good-girl image of me. Maybe I do play ittoosafe.

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 wordsLafayette Cemetery No. 1are 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 instinctto 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.

“Whyherof 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, becausethatmakes 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 Idon’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 goodfor them.