Chapter 88: My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

[Erica’s POV]

I feel exhausted as I pull up to the small, nondescript house on the outskirts of Los Angeles. The Knight Industries private jet may be luxurious, but even first-class travel takes its toll after a while.

I step out of the car, my muscles protesting after hours of sitting. The warm California air envelops me. I take a moment to stretch, my joints popping satisfyingly as I work out the kinks.

The safe house is a modest single-story structure, its beige exterior blending seamlessly with the surrounding homes. Perfect for flying under the radar. I approach the front door, my footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path.

With a deep breath, I push open the door. “Yo,” I call out, my voice echoing slightly in the entryway.

Amelia appears almost instantly, emerging from what looks like a small kitchen to the right. Her auburn hair is pulled back in its usual neat bun, and her green eyes are alert despite the late hour. She’s exchanged her usual maid uniform for a simple black turtleneck and slacks, but her posture is as impeccable as ever.

“Miss Knight,” she greets me with a slight bow. “I trust your journey was uneventful?”

I nod, dropping my duffel bag by the door with a dull thud. “What’s the situation, Amelia?”

Amelia’s expression remains neutral, but I can see a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. “As requested, I have Ms. Carpenter secured in the guest room. She’s been... cooperative, though not particularly pleased with her accommodations.”

A grim smile tugs at my lips. “I wouldn’t expect her to be. Has she said anything?”

Amelia shakes her head. “Nothing of substance, I’m afraid. She’s been mostly silent because of the tape.”

“Show me,” I say, my voice low and steady.

Amelia leads me down a short hallway past a cozy living room filled with generic furniture. We stop in front of a closed door at the end of the hall. I can hear faint rustling from within, the sound of someone shifting against restraints.

Amelia reaches for the doorknob, hesitating for just a moment before turning it. The door swings open silently, revealing the dimly lit interior of the guest room.

As my eyes adjust, I take in the scene before me. Tessa is there, bound tightly to a sturdy wooden chair in the center of the room. Thick ropes encircle her torso, arms, and legs, leaving her completely immobilized. Her usually immaculate goth aesthetic is in disarray, her black clothes are rumpled and her dark hair is a tangled mess around her face.

But it’s Tessa’s eyes that capture my attention. Those grey eyes that once held such cold confidence now shine with unshed tears. A strip of silver duct tape is pressed firmly across her mouth, muffling any sounds she might try to make. As our gazes lock, I see a flicker of fear pass through her eyes before she quickly looks away.

I step into the room, a smile spreading across my face. The floorboards creak softly under my feet as I approach Tessa, circling her like a predator sizing up its prey. She refuses to meet my eyes now, staring resolutely at the floor.

I turn to Amelia, who stands quietly in the doorway. “How do you think I should do it?” I ask casually as if inquiring about dinner plans.

Amelia’s lips curve into a small, cold smile. “Snapping the neck would make for the easiest clean-up for me,” she suggests, her voice calm and clinical.

I shake my head slowly, my eyes never leaving Tessa’s trembling form. “No, a sow like her deserves something far more cruel,” I muse.

I circle behind Tessa, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. “You touched what’s mine. You violated the most precious thing in my world.” My fingers trail along her jawline, feeling her shudder beneath my touch. “And for that, you’re going to suffer.”

I move back in front of her, crouching down to meet her terrified gaze. “Prepare for a lot of blood, Amelia,” I say, my voice eerily calm. “I need to give my beloved her eyes, so let’s start there.”

Amelia suppresses a laugh behind her regal attitude. “Of course,” she replies, a hint of excitement creeping into her usually composed tone.

A memory surfaces, something Jason mentioned about his ordeal with Lyra. “Oh, do we have any spoons?” I ask. “Jason told me that would be better for this.”

Amelia nods, her green eyes glinting with dark amusement. “I’ll prepare everything. Just wait here, Miss Knight.”

As Amelia leaves to gather supplies, I turn my attention back to Tessa. Tears are flowing freely down her cheeks now, soaking into the duct tape covering her mouth. I reach out, gently wiping away a tear with my thumb.

“Shhh,” I coo, my voice dripping with false sympathy. “Cry as much as you can now, Tessa. Soon, you’ll have no eyes left to cry with.”

*****

I stand over Tessa’s mutilated remains, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. The scent of blood hangs thick in the air. Crimson stains my hands, splatters my clothes, and pools on the floor beneath my feet. What’s left of Tessa is barely recognizable as human. A headless, limbless torso, flesh carved and flayed beyond recognition.

My whole body thrums with adrenaline, every nerve ending alive and electric. I’ve never felt so powerful, so alive. A low, guttural moan escapes my lips as the full weight of what I’ve done washes over me.

“God, I wish I could fuck Jason right now,” I growl, my voice laced with need.

Amelia’s soft laughter breaks through my haze of bloodlust and arousal. I turn to see her leaning casually against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on her face.

“You’re just like your grandmother,” she says, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

I can’t help but grin at that. “Mom said that, too,” I reply. My smile fades slightly as curiosity overtakes me. “Was she really as passionate as I am?”

Amelia’s expression turns thoughtful. After a moment, she nods slowly. “Oh yes,” she murmurs. “She was a lot worse, actually.” Her gaze meets mine, a wicked glint in her eye. “But you still have plenty of time to get worse.”

I turn back to survey the gory scene before me, a strange mix of pride and hunger swirling in my chest. My eyes land on what remains of Tessa’s body, limbless and headless, on the blood-soaked floor.

“God, I wish I could fly back covered in blood,” I sigh wistfully. “Show Jason the trophy I’ve become for our love.”

I imagine the look on his face, the awe, the reverence, maybe even a hint of fear. The thought sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine. But reality sets in, and I know I can’t risk being seen like this.

“Is it cool if I take a shower?” I ask Amelia, gesturing to my blood-soaked clothes and skin.

Amelia nods her expression one of quiet understanding. “Of course, Miss Knight. Just walk on the tarps I’ve set up. I took the liberty of preparing the bathroom for you.”

“Thank you,” I say, genuinely grateful for her foresight.

As I carefully make my way across the room, following the path of plastic sheeting, Amelia adds, “I’ll start cleaning up here. Take your time.”

I nod, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me now that the adrenaline is fading. The bathroom door clicks shut behind me, and I’m left alone with my thoughts and the evidence of what I’ve done.

*****

I step out of the bathroom, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. The hot water has washed away the physical evidence of my violent act, but the memory of it still thrums through my veins like electricity. I’m dressed in clean clothes now, a simple black t-shirt and jeans that Amelia had thoughtfully laid out for me. My damp hair hangs loose around my shoulders, a few errant drops of water trickling down my neck.

As I make my way to the living room, I can’t help but marvel at how ordinary everything looks. It’s surreal, this bubble of normalcy just steps away from the scene of such brutality.

I hear the soft click of a door closing and turn to see Amelia emerging from the room where Tessa’s remains lay. She’s changed into fresh clothes, but there’s a smear of something dark, probably blood, on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed yet. It’s oddly endearing, this small imperfection in her usually impeccable appearance.

Amelia’s green eyes meet mine, and I can see a question forming in them even before she speaks. “Miss Knight,” she begins, her voice as calm and collected as ever, “if I may ask, why didn’t you interrogate Ms. Carpenter?”

I shrug. “For what?” I reply, my tone nonchalant.

Amelia’s brow furrows slightly, a rare display of confusion on her usually composed face. “I thought you might want to know why she kidnapped Jason,” she says, her voice tinged with curiosity.

A small smile plays at the corners of my lips. “I already know why she did it,” I say, my voice soft but filled with absolute certainty. “Jason’s perfect, and everyone wants him.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with the weight of truth. Amelia nods slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

“Don’t worry, Amelia,” I say, my voice cold and emotionless. “I trust you not to fall for him.”

A small, amused smile graces Amelia’s lips. “Of course not, Miss Knight,” she replies, her tone carrying a hint of mirth. “My loyalty is to the Knight family alone.”

*****

After my second six-and-a-half-hour flight of the day, I drag myself through the front door of our home, every muscle in my body screaming for rest. The intensity of Tessa’s murder and the grueling travel has left me utterly drained. It’s 3:30 am, and all I want is to crawl into bed and wrap myself around Jason’s warm body.

But as I step into the living room, I’m greeted by an unexpected sight. Jason, Justine, and Brooke are sprawled across the plush sofas, clearly still awake despite the late hour. The room is bathed in the soft glow of table lamps, casting long shadows that dance across the walls.

Jason and Justine are nursing what appear to be glasses of whiskey, the amber liquid glinting in the low light. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and the lingering aroma of popcorn. Empty bowls and discarded snack wrappers litter the coffee table, evidence of a night spent in carefree indulgence.

As I watch, unnoticed in the doorway, Justine leans forward, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulder as she fixes Jason with an intense stare. “But seriously, Jason,” she slurs slightly, her words punctuated by dramatic hand gestures, “you gotta tell me. Is Kanye rope gang or lava gang?”

Jason throws his head back, laughter erupting from deep in his chest. The sound fills the room, rich and genuine, a stark contrast to the tension that’s been hanging over him for weeks.

Brooke sits perched on the edge of the sofa, her posture rigid and her eyes heavy with exhaustion. Unlike Jason and Justine, she hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol, choosing instead to remain clear-headed and vigilant. Her hazel eyes flick between her brother and Justine, a mixture of concern and weariness etched on her face.

Jason’s laughter continues to fill the room, his body shaking. It’s a sight that both warms my heart and sends a heavy jealousy through me.

‘How long has it been since I’ve seen him laugh like this? And why is it Justine, not me?’

“Oh man,” Jason wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “Kanye... Kanye was maybe a rope gang during the Rosewood Era, you know? All that ‘No one woman should have all that power’ stuff.” He takes a swig of his whiskey, wincing slightly at the burn. “But after he divorced Kim K? He’s definitely lava gang now. All that chaotic energy, burning everything in his path.”

Justine nods sagely, her red hair bouncing with the movement. “I can totally see that,” she says, her words slightly slurred. “Lava gang Kanye is best Kanye.”

“Ew, no. Not at all.” Jason laughs in response.

Brooke sighs heavily, running a hand through her long brown hair. The sound is barely audible over Jason and Justine’s continued banter, but I catch it. Her eyes meet mine across the room, and I see a flicker of relief in them.

I step fully into the room, my presence finally registering with the others. Jason’s laughter cuts off abruptly as he sees me, his eyes widening in excitement.

“I said no fucking drinking,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. The room falls silent, the jovial atmosphere evaporating in an instant.

Brooke looks at me, her eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. She slumps further into the couch as if the weight of the night has finally caught up with her.

“I told Jason you said no drinking,” she says. “But he insisted, saying you’d never get mad at them if it was his idea.”

She runs a hand through her disheveled hair again, a gesture of defeat. “I tried to stop them, I really did. But...” her voice trails off, too tired to even finish the thought.

I sigh, my gaze shifting to Jason. But before I can say anything, he’s already up, moving towards me with surprising speed for someone so inebriated. His arms wrap around me tightly, nearly knocking me off balance. His lips find my cheek, peppering it with kisses that are clumsy but fervent.

The scent of whiskey on his breath mingles with his natural musk. His body is warm against mine, solid and real after the long hours apart.

Unable to resist, I grab him and let myself fall backward onto a nearby couch. We land with a lazy thud, Jason sprawled on top of me, his weight a comforting pressure. The leather of the couch creaks softly beneath us.

“You’re certainly a rambunctious one, aren’t you?” I say, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. My fingers find their way into his hair, gently carding through the soft strands.

Jason lifts his head, his hazel eyes meeting mine. They’re slightly unfocused from the alcohol but brimming with an intensity that takes my breath away. A lopsided grin spreads across his face, boyish and charming.

“I missed you,” he says simply, his words slightly slurred but filled with sincerity. He nuzzles into my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “So much.”

“I missed you too, Jason,” I say, unable to pretend to be mad at seeing him so happy.