Butterflies & Vicious Lies (Fractured Rhymes Book 1)

AS A GENERAL RULE—ESPECIALLY as a female—it’s never wise to get into random cars with random men. The black Escalade with heavily tinted windows pulled up in front of my apartment complex right when Rafferty said it would, and the only reason I got into the back of the vehicle after hesitating several moments was because of the text I received from an unknown phone number.

It simply read “Get in” with a butterfly emoji following it.

If my father knew I was currently letting a mysterious man drive me God knows where at this time of night, he would be calling every available squad car to come find my stupid ass. Of course, this would have only happened prior to his accident back when he was still captain of the police department. Now, he doesn’t remember I exist. The letters I write to him each week are nothing more than tales from a random pen pal that Aunt Jo reads to him.

After we saw how agitated my dad got when I was around, Jo and I decided it was best I kept my distance for the time being. While he’s lost the ability to speak, his frustration over the fact he can’t remember who I am is clear. Jo also admitted a few months back that she has a theory he thinks I’m my mother. I’ve seen pictures of her when she was young, and our resemblance is undeniable. If Jo is right, his agitation at my presence makes that much more sense. Why would he want the woman who abandoned him and their child around?

Understanding why I can’t be around my dad doesn’t make it any easier. I miss him every day.

The depressing thought has my eyes and nose burning as the SUV comes to a stop behind a building I recognize. The entire campus is laid out around the brick structure, and I just studied here two nights ago.

Why would he have me come to the university’s library?

Last week, when Rafferty told me to make myself available tonight, a million different theories came to mind. Not once did it occur to me that he’d want to meet here.

The driver, a man with a graying mustache and bald head, turns in his seat. “Go through that metal door. You’ll get further instructions inside.”

The alarm system that is wired into me sounds off, telling me I should stay right where I am, and when I do just that, the middle-aged man grunts at me.

“I don’t have all fucking night, girl. Now get out.”

This might be where I die. Though, if it’s between this and the graveyard from before, I’m picking the library every time. The unwanted thought floats through my head as I reluctantly climb out of the car. The soles of my shoes barely touch the pavement before the driver is peeling out of the parking lot like he’s fleeing a crime scene.

Well, it might be too early to call it a crime scene seeing as I’m still breathing.

Checking for any signs of life lurking in the surrounding bushes or shadows as I go, I walk the few yards to the door he’d pointed to. The reddish paint is chipped, and the door handle is rusted. What lies behind it is completely beyond me. Every horror movie I’ve ever seen comes to mind as I contemplate the possibilities.

Turning my head, I lean close, hoping I can get a clue about what I’m walking into, but the only sound I can hear is my pounding heart and the wind blowing between the buildings. About to give up, I start to pull my face away from the metal surface when the door flies open.

I jump back just in time to avoid a broken nose.

“Jesus!” My body preparing to flee from any possible danger has adrenaline shooting through my veins and into my limbs.

“Afraid not,” Rafferty’s voice fills the night air. “Although, I do have a knack for getting you on your knees, so maybe I do have something in common with the Almighty.” For a second, I’m taken aback by the joke. It’s precisely the kind of thing he would have said back in high school. The only difference now is the humor is lacking in his tone. The nostalgia is a fleeting sensation because he wastes no time reverting to his regularly scheduled programming. “You’re late,” he snaps.

“You’re lucky that I’m here at all.” I stifle the yawn that appears on cue with my hand. Chasing after little kids in leotards for multiple hours with little to no breaks is exhausting. I almost cried when I got home from work tonight and saw my comfy bed. The fact that I had to come do whatever the fuck this is for Rafferty instead of snuggling down in my sheets broke my fatigued little soul. “I’m so tired.”

I can’t cut back on hours at the studio because I need every penny I make. My schedule was already going to be tight when it was just work and school, but now having to add in Raff’s extracurricular activities, I’m burning it at both ends.

“I’m failing to see how that’s my problem.” He doesn’t bother waiting for me to step inside on my own accord. Taking a handful of my simple black long-sleeved T-shirt, he drags me inside behind him. His legs are several inches longer than mine, and I have to take twice as many steps to keep up with him. “We need to get you changed.”

“Changed?” I repeat like a dumb parrot as I finally take in his attire. Gone are the faded jeans and scuffed boots he’s worn forever. In their place is a pair of black slacks and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. I haven’t seen him wear something like this since the night of the winter dance. “Why are you dressed like that at the library?”

“Because we’re not in the library, we’re in the library’s basement.”

I’m more confused than I originally was, but all questions go out the window when he walks through another dingy metal door. It’s one big room, and at some point or another, I’m sure it was filled with things that belong to the university, but now it’s been turned into an underground poker room.

It feels kind of like walking into a secret speakeasy. Once you’re on the other side of the door, you completely forget that you’re in a basement.

The lighting is dim, creating a moody and mysterious ambience. The brightest source of light comes from the red pendants hanging above each of the four green velvet-covered tables. At each table sit men and women dressed like they are spending their evening at the opera and not some random campus basement. Along the perimeter of the room, through the haze of cigarette and cigar smoke, I can see various sitting areas set up. Each area is illuminated by a cluster of candles that sit on the tables in front of each of the leather couches. Some people sit alone, enjoying their drink in peace, while others sit huddled together, sharing a bottle of champagne.

The source of their alcohol sits on the far wall. The bar is a large dark wood structure that looks completely out of place. Then again, everything down here is out of place. Two men in white shirts and red velvet sport coats make drinks behind the bar. One of them passes a drink off to the woman sitting at the bar top, but the other passes a couple glasses off to a girl wearing nothing but scraps of black fabric. Her outfit looks as if it’s being held together by a single string and sheer will. It crisscrosses and wraps around the curves of her body. The only parts of her that are covered are her nipples and crotch, and even then, one wrong move could have the miniscule pieces of fabric shifting. Since her entire ass is displayed in the thong, it really is a wonder why they bothered concealing her anatomy at all.

The dark-haired girl puts the drinks on her tray and teeters off in her six-inch heels to deliver them to players sitting at the closest table. She looks nothing but confident as she smiles flirtatiously and places her hand on one of the men’s shoulders. Even with the gold ring around his finger, he doesn’t shy away from her attention.

Scanning the room, I find two more girls dressed in similar attire.

It suddenly dawns on me what I’ll be doing here tonight. A complex mixture of repulsion, embarrassment, and annoyance mixes in my stomach. Arms crossing over my chest, my eyes slide to the mastermind behind all of this. “You can’t be serious. That’s what you want me to do?” My chin nods in the direction of the girl flirting with the married man. “You want me to pass out drinks and flirt with your patrons?”

He ignores me and asks a question of his own. “What makes you think they’re mine?”

I roll my eyes at this. “You’re the only person I know who could create something like this on a college campus and get away with it. Something as big as this can’t go unnoticed forever, so campus officials must know about it. If they could have done something to stop it, they would have by now, which means they can’t. My guess is you’ve made a deal with someone powerful to remain in business.” In many ways, Rafferty has become a stranger, but I would wager that I still know him better than most. Being apart for as long as we have doesn’t mean we forget our past. “It’s the same old games you used to play. You’ve just upped the price and scale of them.”

He doesn’t confirm that I’m right, but he doesn’t have to. We both know I am.

“I don’t want you to wait on and flirt with the players,” he says, going back to my earlier sentiment like we hadn’t been talking about something else entirely.

“You don’t?”

“No, I want you to wait on me. Remember how I told you that you’d be my bitch, entertainment, and whore?” The smirk on his face used to make my heart skip a beat, but now it only fills me with dread. “Welcome to the bitch part of your punishment.”