Page 4 of Pretty Poisoned

"Okay, that is a little weird," Blakely says. "But again, this sounds like drugs."

"The place where she was found is about twelve miles away from where the brothers, Luca and Declan, grew up and still spend a lot of their time. But…people say things about them, too, Blakely. There's an entire subreddit for superfans and people who have partied with them before…and they all claim that they drink blood."

"I'm sorry…what?"

"They say they lace the food and drinks with blood. You actually have to sign a waiver acknowledging that you know some of the items contain bodily fluids when you get tickets to these things. There are videos of them cutting fans and the fans cutting themselves during concerts or backstage. I've found videos online of people cutting themselves or drinking another person's bloodfor the band…as a way to show their devotion. And they make people cut themselves to get into their parties. If you listen to the lyrics of almost any of their songs—really listen—they're all about blood and death, disguised as love songs."

"Sounds like some rich kids trying to make themselves look hard to me," she says. "I'm not impressed. A lot of celebrities do that shit for attention."

I frown again. "I think there's more of a story here, Blake. There's this other girl, Layla. Her mother posted a letter online begging her to come home or at least call them. They said they haven't heard from her in over a year and a half now. They know she's with the band because they've seen her in some of thepictures online. And it's not just these girls, either. Other people on the sub say the same thing—that they have friends or relatives who have pretty much disappeared or come home completely changed. They'reobsessedwith blood and death."

"You mean like you?" she asks.

"No," I tell her. "Not like me. I think they're hurting people, Blakely."

"Well, what's your plan?" she asks. "How are you going to prove it?"

"They like to take pretty girls with them on tour, so…I'm going to get on the tour. Or try to, at least. I got a backstage pass to the show in L.A. tomorrow. And from what I hear, this one…" I pause, bringing up a picture on my phone and zooming in on Luca De Rossi, the guitar player with the long blonde hair, "is the easy one. If I can get him to like me, then that's it—I'm in. Shouldn't be that hard. I memorized all of their songs. I know everything there is to know about him. I'm his biggest fan."

I smile.

"You really think it's going to be that easy to get on a tour bus with rockstars?"

I shrug. "Heidi and Bridget did it. Why not me?"

"Let's say this doesn't work, and you come home tomorrow night after the concert. What then?"

"That's a loser mentality. I'm not considering that."

She looks at me like that's the most deranged thing I've said all night. "What if you come home, and you wish you'd gone to the interview? Or you regret what happened with Hunter?"

"I never wanted to work for Austin. And Hunter was always going to leave. He never understood me."

And that's the truth. Hunter was just someone I swiped right on who kept coming around—probably because he was too busy with grad school to try to find anything better. It was always going to end just like this. I'm not surprised; I'm not hurt, either.I have never been in love, but I've read about it, and I've seen it. I have this idea of how it's supposed to feel.

It never felt anything like that with Hunter. The sex was good, though.

Admittedly, maybe a lot of it is my fault. I've gotten used to being alone; I don't mind it. But it's been so long since I felt a real, genuine connection with another human being that I can barely remember what it's like, and sometimes, that's difficult to wrap my head around.

"Okay, Teagan."

"You don't believe me, either, do you?"

She shrugs and holds up a picture of the band. "He has kind eyes, too," she says, pointing to Luca. "Doesn't really look like a serial killer or a vampire."

Great. She's mocking me. She isn't wrong, though—the younger brother and guitar player smiles in the photo; long, dirty blonde hair falls around his face as he plays the instrument with his shirt off like he always does. Tattoos cover the entirety of his tanned torso and arms, down to the fingertips. The man is an entire snack.

"Look at the older brother, Declan," I say, pointing to the lead singer. "He's the one in charge. He's the only one who talks to the press; he's the one who makes all the decisions. I thinkhe'sthe one killing women, but I think the others are aware of it." The older brother has jet black hair and, with eyes just as dark, stares straight ahead in the photo, emotionless in black denim pants and a black v-neck t-shirt. His own muscular arms are bare—no tattoos like his younger brother. "Do you thinkhehas kind eyes, Blakely?"

"I…"

The front door opens and closes. "Blake?" Austin calls out. "Are you home? I picked up dinner."

"Yeah, I'm here," she shouts back. "It's not that I don't believe you, Teagan. I love you—you know that. I just worry about you, that's all."

She sets the papers in her hands aside on the bed and walks toward the door, looking back to add, "If you end up needing a ride tomorrow, call me, okay? We can come get you. I don't want you taking a ride by yourself that late."

"Okay," I say, knowing I won't call regardless of the circumstances. I plan on driving to L.A. anyway.

---