Page 16 of Butterfly

Yes, I’d make it right.

Even if that meant doing wrong.

Speaking of which.

Still holding Leslie’s pillow with one hand, I pulled my phone out of my pocket with the other, texting Emory.

You ever pull something like that again, I’ll fucking kill you.

He responded immediately.

Got it.

The dots appeared and disappeared as he considered what to say next.

You’re serious about her.

As a motherfucking war.

He thumbs-upped what I said.

That done, I messaged Tiffanie on Instagram. I’d already forced everyone at the pool that day to delete all the photos they’d taken of a naked and humiliated Leslie—from their phones and the cloud. I’d also threatened all of them, letting them know that if they’d hidden a photo somewhere, and it got out, they’d have to answer to me. And no one wanted to answer to me. The ways I’d fucked with Leslie wouldn’t even compare to the wrath I’d inflict on any and every single one of those assholes.

And Tiffanie? She’d pay for her crimes. I’d known she was up to something, and my mixed feelings about Leslie had stopped me from finding out what. I hadn’t noticed her untie Leslie’s bikini strings, until it was too late. Tiffanie had gone too fucking far. I was done with her, and she’d learn that—and that fucking with Leslie meant fucking with me.

I DM’d her.

You awake?

Her response was instantaneous.

Yeah, baby.

I pressed the Facetime button, and she picked up immediately.

And she was naked.

“Hey baby,” she said in a voice I’d once found sexy.

Now, I was all business. I screenshot her with her hands holding up her bare tits like she could serve them to me through the phone.

“That’s all I needed,” I told her.

“What?” she asked, confused and pouting.

“I just took a screenshot of you naked, Tiffanie. I’m barely resisting posting it online.”

“What the fuck?” the sexy voice disappeared, instead leaving a pissed off girl, close to shrieking.

“If you ever,ever, try to hurt Leslie Berger in any way, ever again, I will not hesitate to destroy you with this photo, and anything else I can come up with. Do you hear me?”

She shook her head, hair flying. “Fine, but what the fuck do you see in her, anyway?” She practically spat the words.

I didn’t bother to explain. Leslie was funny, feisty, beautiful, with an innocent vulnerability I ached to protect. I was obsessed with more than getting inside what I knew was going to be a tight, hot, wet pussy. I was obsessed with owning every part of her: mind, body, and soul.

“She makes me give a shit,” I told Tiffanie honestly. “And if you jeopardize that, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

Tiffanie sighed. “Well, good luck with that. She hates you.”

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