Page 6

four

Smells Like Teen Massacre

Tate

" T hey're both there, for sure," I tell Silas. "Charlie just posted a picture, and they're both in it. You can pull up to the gate now."

"What about Noah?" he asks.

I clench my teeth, biting back the rage boiling to the surface at just the mention of her fucking name. "We talked about this already, and I'm not going to do it again. Noah is a fake fucking bitch, and she means absolutely nothing to us. If she's there, then she'll get what she deserves, too."

"I get that, but—"

"They killed my fucking sister, Silas."

"I know; that's why I'm here. I'm here for Mia, and I'm here for you—"

"No one leaves there alive. If you want to back out, do it now. I've got shit to do."

I crush another pill between my teeth and wash it down with water. It won't help with the way the adrenaline has my leg bouncing, but I'll need the pick-me-up .

But the truth is I've been looking forward to this, foaming at the fucking mouth for it. It's the same feeling I got on Christmas morning when I was a kid…or the first time I slipped my sister's best friend's panties off of her. I think if Silas and I are both honest with ourselves, we've known for a while that we're not only capable of taking a human life, but that we'd end up doing it, eventually.

At least we have a good reason this time. What better motive than revenge?

"Backing out? This was my idea. You won't be able to pull this off and get away with it without me," Silas says.

"Well, I don't care about getting away without you."

"Good. Because you can't. And you won't have to."

I smile, leaning in and placing a hand on the back of his neck before bringing my lips to his.

Breaking away from the kiss, he says, "You know I'd do anything for you. I just don't know if I can kill her."

I sigh. "Maybe she won't even be there. A good person wouldn't be—not after what they did to Mia. And you still think she's good."

Silas shrugs, shakes his head, and looks out the window, but I know it's true. Even though a part of him hates her for breaking his heart, and he's still angry about it, he still thinks Noah is a princess.

Sweet, innocent, and everything else is our fault.

"But if she is there…"

"She hurt you," I interrupt .

"Yeah, but—"

"She abandoned us. You said yourself that it still hurts to think about. If she's gone, you won't have to think about her anymore."

"I'm not so sure it'll work like that."

I place my hands on his cheeks. "That's okay. I'm sure, and I'll show you. I can kill her for us. But…you can't help her. Promise me."

Silas nods slightly. "I promise. I won't help her."

"That's a good boy," I tell him, diving back into his lips. Our kiss turns hard, violent more quickly than usual—maybe because of the rush of what we're about to do.

I picture it in my head—blood splattered across the front of my body, their screams, their tears. God, I hope they cry; few things feel better than watching someone cry.

I hope they fucking beg.

I slide my hand up the inside of Silas's thigh, gripping his thick cock through his jeans. He reacts by biting my lower lip hard—hard enough that I taste blood and see it on his own lips when I pull away.

"Take it out," I demand, giving it another squeeze. "Now."

Silas quickly appeases me, pulling his jeans and boxers down over his hips until his dick springs free. He leans his seat back a little, and I pump it in my fist before leaning down and teasing the tip with my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head and flicking it with my tongue ring.

"Fuck…" he groans. And then he can't take it anymore; he grabs me by my hair, holding me steady as he rolls his hips in the front seat, thrusting in and out of my throat .

I let him use me like that for a few minutes, sliding in and out of my mouth and through my fist. I love it when he loses control like this; I can't wait to watch the flood gates open later when we're tearing through those spoiled fucking Holbridge Academy brats. I bet it'll be days before he fucks that high out of his system. I picture him naked and rock hard, stroking his dick in one bloody hand while the other wraps around my throat, and my own swells painfully against my tight black jeans. He slows just a little, and I hear that sound from somewhere in his chest that means I'm about to get his cum.

I squeeze his balls hard to let him know it's my turn; I want to be back in control.

"Ahhh!" he cries out, releasing his grip on my hair. Instead, he grips the steering wheel with his right hand and the left armrest with the other, still thrusting into me just a little bit because he can't resist as I take him deep into the back of my throat, pumping and sucking, working every inch of him.

"Fuck, I'm so close. Just like that, don't stop," he rasps.

I don't mean to, but I think of Noah. I think about that first night when I made her get on her knees in front of him and how her mouth stretched as far as her lips would allow just to fit him inside. And how I kneeled right beside her with one hand on his thigh and rubbing her back with the other, urging her on.

I moan around his dick, feeling it jump in my fist before hot cum paints the back of my throat, and I swallow down every last bit.

"Feel better?" I ask, wiping my mouth before sitting back in my seat .

"Yeah."

"You ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready," he says. He exhales, still breathless, and pulls his pants back into place. "Did you get the code?"

"Yep. He just sent it."

"We'll have to leave the car at the gate. We should take the plates off, too, in case there's a camera."

"They're stolen plates, and I don't plan on them not knowing it was us," I tell him.

"I know that, but it will make it a little easier for us to get away. I've got tools in the trunk."

After throwing the plates in the car's trunk, we pull up to the gate, parking before entering the code and walking down the winding driveway to the isolated mansion in the woods.

"He said they're all by the pool. You should take care of the cars and then wait for me inside. I'm going to head out back."

"All right," Silas says. "Hey, wait."

"Yeah?"

"You can't just walk out there and fucking lose it. You know that, right?"

"I know. Look at me," I say, gesturing to myself. "I'm calm. See? Don't I look calm? "

"Yeah, you look calm," he says, flipping open his knife and shredding the tires of the truck furthest from the house. "Too calm. That's never a good sign."

"I'm fine. I'll see you in there."

I turn toward the house and enter through the side door. It's an open floor plan with a cabin-style interior—all exposed wood with a stone fireplace. The windows along the backside of the house make it easy to find the pool. I pause at the door, taking a moment to become…well, less myself, before stepping outside.

I scan the space, looking for Charlie, and when I find him, he's standing there…talking to her. My heart drops in my chest.

"Oh, hey! Over here!" Charlie says from the other side of the pool.

She's here. Fuck.

Well, she didn't have to be. She sealed her own fate.

Our eyes meet, and she goes white as a ghost. My body buzzes with electricity. I have to keep my cool, like Silas said; I know that. I head in that direction, forcing a smile, and once I'm in front of Charlie, he pulls me into a hug and kisses me on the cheek. "It's nice to finally meet you in person," he says. Then he turns to Noah and another girl, whom I know from my research is Brielle, and says, "This is the guy I invited. This is Tate."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Brielle; this is my house," Brielle says.

"You, too. Hi, Noah," I say, smiling.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Charlie asks. "How weird."

"What are you doing?" Noah spits out quickly .

"Nothing, I'm just—what was that?" And I shouldn't do it, but I can't help it. I reach out and grab her by her chin.

"Stop!" she shouts, trying to shake me off. "Get your finger out of my mouth!"

"What did you do to your teeth?" I ask after she shoves me away.

"Nothing!"

"Why did you do that?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"What the hell, dude? Are you okay, Noah?" Brielle asks, protectively wrapping her arm around Noah.

"I'm fine," Noah says, tears welling in her eyes.

"It was a weird moment," I say. "I'm sorry that your fake teeth took me by surprise, Noah."

"I'm sorry—her what?"

"Okay…what's going on?" Charlie asks.

"Nothing. Noah and I used to go to school together—that's all. We were friends, right, Noah?"

Before she can answer, Kendall jumps in. "Well, we don't have the best luck with people from Noah's old school, do we?" she laughs. "You didn't know the dead girl, did you?"

Noah's eyes widen like saucers. She's terrified of how I'll react, and she should be…but I'm not going to react right now.

"Kind of," I say calmly. "Did you?"

Kendall laughs again. "Um, yeah. My boyfriend, Zach, was the one she was stalking and obsessed with before she died. She made up this entire relationship—"

"Did she make it up, though?" I interject.

"Well, yeah," Kendall scoffs. "She did make it up. "

Liar. Maybe she even believes it, though. Maybe she's so fucking gullible that she actually thinks this whole relationship happened in Mia's head—that she made those videos of herself on her own and somehow planted them on her boyfriend's phone.

What's more likely is that she doesn't believe it, and she did all of that and went along with the lie because the alternative would have embarrassed her in front of her friends and family.

But I saw Zach sitting in the same Audi that's in the driveway right now, waiting for Mia outside of our school and our apartment for months.

It was weird that he never got out of the car. I didn't think much about it, though; I just thought he was a douchebag. I didn't think he was dangerous.

But he's about to learn the real definition of that word.

"Okay," I say, shrugging. I laugh a little, just to make sure she knows I don't believe her—that I know her boyfriend was fucking Mia. And that's the part that gets her. Rage flashes in her eyes.

"I'm serious! We were scared of her. She was like…weirdly obsessed with us."

"Yeah, I learned my lesson," Zach says, joining the conversation. I tense a little, just in case he recognizes me. We never met, but surely, Mia mentioned her twin brother. Surely, he recognizes the eyes staring back at him as hers. It'd ruin everything if he did, but it makes me a little sad he doesn't…for her. "Don't accept random follow requests from girls online," he continues, laughing. "You never know which ones will end up be ing crazy. We even had the cops coming to our houses for a few days."

Mia wasn't crazy, either. Her only crime was that she was a little too much like me—too angry, too reactive.

Too passionate.

We didn't really know how to be anything else. Our entire existence hinged on chaos. We never knew quiet in our house—not with death always looming over our heads, threatening to tear our world apart.

So, when Mia found out Zach had a girlfriend, she was heartbroken and angry. Having lived the other side of it, she wanted his girlfriend to know he'd been cheating on her for months. She sent her screenshots of conversations they'd had where he told her he loved her, photos of the two of them together. Mia considered it a kindness.

But Zach told Kendall it was all fake. She slammed her on social media—got her friends to bully her, too. And when that wasn't enough, she put nude photos and videos of Mia online with her name, address, and phone number.

Mia live-streamed her suicide a couple of weeks later.

"Yeah, they were trying to blame us for her death, but it's not my fault her stupid mom died and she went insane."

Zach laughs, and I just about lose it.

"Kendall, Jesus," a guy says from behind me. This one I don't recognize. "The girl is fucking dead. Can you stop now?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, Leo. I'll consider it."

"Okay…" Charlie says, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Why don't we go inside and get a drink, Tate? What do you like? "

"Whiskey," I say while my eyes shoot daggers at Kendall. If she were smarter, she'd be afraid, but instead, she returns the same look.

This is your last day on Earth, you fucking bitch. This is the last day you'll ever laugh at my fucking sister. I hope it was worth it.

"Okay, well, we don't have that," Brielle says. "My parents only allow clear drinks in the house."

I snort. "What?"

Brielle scowls. "Honestly, Charlie, I made an exception for you and let you invite a friend, which I never do, but if he's going to be disrespectful, you'll both need to leave."

I throw my hands up innocently. "I'll be good."

"Everything we have is inside behind the bar," she says, narrowing her eyes.

"Great," I say. "Thanks."

I let Charlie put an arm around me and steer me toward the house.

"God, I'm so sorry about that," he says once we're out of earshot. He smiles and opens the door for me like this is a real fucking date or something.

But I guess he thinks it is, doesn't he?

"It's fine," I tell him, stepping back inside the house.

"I know how bad that all sounded, but I swear, Kendall isn't a bitch. I feel terrible about what happened, but like…she was a crazy stalker. It looks like we have…rum, vodka, and gin."

Gritting my teeth, I reply, "Gin."

"Okay, and for mixers…we also only have clear or pale drinks. "

"Just hand me the bottle. And how do you know she was a crazy stalker?"

He slides the bottle toward me and then pours himself a vodka with pineapple juice.

"Well, Zach is one of my best friends. We play baseball together, so I saw him almost every day all last spring, and just the sheer amount of messages and photos she sent to Kendall…and, I mean, there were thousands of messages and hundreds of photos…it would have been impossible for him to have been that involved with someone else and none of us even knew about it."

"So, where did it all come from?"

"They're fakes," he says confidently. "I'm a photographer, and I can tell they're all edits. I told Kendall I could tell; it's obvious if you know what to look for."

"Oh, I get it," I say. "So, if you're his best friend, you know whether or not he owns the clothing in the pictures or whether or not they were taken at his home or in his car. Because a photo generator wouldn't know what those things looked like."

"Well, no…" he starts. "I mean, yeah. But I didn't even need to look at it like that; there were other clues. And she was always the only one on camera in the videos."

"Got it," I say, taking a swig from the bottle.

Silas enters the room through the side door, pausing for only a second when he spots us. But Silas is always calm, collected. His surprise at not finding the house empty would only be evident to someone who really knows him.

"Um…hi," Charlie says. "Who are you looking for?"

"That's actually a friend of mine," I answer before Silas can .

"Oh…I didn't realize you were bringing someone," he says, looking Silas up and down. Unlike Silas, Charlie is easy to read. He's insecure, which made this whole thing a lot easier for me to do, and he's wondering if Silas and I are just friends.

"I'm Silas," he says, taking a seat beside me at the bar.

"Charlie." Annoyed, he turns to me and says, "Can I talk to you in private for a minute?"

I smile. This is going to be easier than I thought. "Sure."

"Um, feel free to make yourself a drink," he tells Silas as he steps out from behind the bar.

But his tone says, Don't fucking touch anything, asshole.

I follow Charlie into a downstairs bedroom and close the door behind me.

"Okay, I don't want to make this awkward, but we're a really close-knit group of friends, and I had to beg them to let me invite someone else, so I don't think they're going to be super happy that you brought a guest without even telling me."

"I get it, but look at it from my perspective—you're a stranger who invited me to a secluded house in the woods. I've watched enough true crime television to know that doesn't always end well. I kind of freaked out, and I asked someone to come with me at the last minute. That's not that big of a deal, is it?"

"I guess not," Charlie says. "He's not your boyfriend or anything, right?"

"No."

I turn, locking the bedroom door.

"Oh…" Charlie says. He sits on the edge of the bed .

I walk toward him until I'm standing between his legs. "I lied," I tell him. "Silas is my boyfriend."

"Oh…well...do you guys have some kind of arrangement? Because I thought this was—"

"Yeah, we do," I say, grabbing him by the throat. At first, he's excited, but then I apply more pressure, my eyes hardening, and he realizes he's supposed to be scared. It's thrilling…in more ways than one. My dick has been rock solid since I sucked Silas dry in the car; now, it's throbbing so hard, I'll be surprised if I don't come in my pants.

I could make him suck it first. I could slit his throat while I come down it.

But he doesn't deserve the privilege. And if I can wait until we're done, god…think of how good it'll feel.

"The arrangement is that we're here to kill all of you."

It's when he tries to speak and can't get a sound out that fear finally takes over. He thrashes against my hold, and I pin him to the bed with a hand over his throat and a knee in his stomach.

"Ew, you should just kill yourself, you gross bitch. No one cares about you," I quote to him, and his eyes widen. "That's what you told my sister. That's one of the many things you sent to my twin sister the week she died."

With my free hand, I pull my knife from my pocket, flipping it open with my wrist. " I cared about her. And she wasn't fucking lying."

I drive the knife into the side of his neck, and when I pull it out, blood spurts from the wound. It's darker and thicker than I expected—it must have something to do with the volume that comes with hitting a major artery, which is new for me. With my knee still pinning him to the bed, I watch as he chokes and flails beneath me.

It's so satisfying—even more so than I expected. As his blood saturates the white down comforter, my own continues rushing to my dick; it has its own pulse now. It's all I can do to keep from pulling it out and stroking it.

Yeah. This is so fucking good, but so very bad.

"Sorry, Charlie," I say, and then laugh. "Actually, I'm not sorry."

I drive my hunting knife into his chest eight or nine more times—until his shirt is nothing but blood-soaked ribbons and I'm sure he's stopped breathing. Then I take a moment to catch my own breath, admiring my work.

He looks like a painting—white, tattered, bloodstained shirt against the matching blood-soaked comforter; cold, dead, dark eyes.

It's art. I pull out my phone and take a picture.

Now I'm a photographer, too.

I lock the door from the inside before leaving the room and closing it behind me. An involuntary smile spreads across my face when I meet Silas's eyes.

"That was…quick and quiet," Silas says.

"It was too good," I tell him. "One down, seven to go. I should go wash my hands."