Butterflies & Vicious Lies (Fractured Rhymes Book 1)

I GOT a text from him as I was locking up the studio and about to start walking home.

There’s a mountain of assignments waiting for me there. I’ve worked back-to-back shifts for the past week and have fallen behind on my schoolwork. I can’t complain about the extra hours at work because I’m the one who asked for them. I had to buy new textbooks and needed to make up the money I lost on them so I can pay rent at the end of the month. And afford food.

My dad’s pension is mostly going to his expensive therapies, doctors, and all the medical equipment he now needs. There really isn’t much Aunt Jo can spare for me, and I understand. I’d much rather the money go toward Dad anyway. I can take care of myself. I just have to hustle and spend my time wisely to do it.

It’s been over a week since the night at Rafferty’s poker game and I’ve been picking up as many shifts as I can while Rafferty’s been radio silent. I take advantage of his absence to make some money since I never know when he might be calling me away to service him.

I haven’t heard a word from him since that night.

He got quiet after we were done and had rushed me out of the building. He hadn’t let me get properly dressed either. Just had me slip on his button-down and made me carry my own clothes and shoes out in my arms.

He loaded me into the same SUV that dropped me off and wordlessly closed the door once I was inside. I attempted to roll down the window to say something to him. What was I going to say, you ask? I have no freaking idea, but it felt weird leaving without saying anything after doing what we did in the dressing room. But, of course, the grouchy driver with the mustache had the windows child-locked. Rafferty stood outside the dark building as I was driven away. The look on his face was completely unreadable to me.

Which was fair because I also couldn’t decide how I was feeling after our encounter. The whole ride home, while his cum dripped out of me onto the leather seat beneath me, I tried to process what I’d done. In so many ways, sleeping with Rafferty felt as familiar to me as my own touch, but in the same breath, it was like fucking a guy I’d only just met. The opposing emotions made it confusing and only left me feeling shameful that I’d allowed it to happen in the first place.

And I say “allowed” loosely seeing as telling Rafferty no has ceased to be a real option for me. It’s a meaningless word that doesn’t hold any weight with him. He’s made sure of that by holding the roof over my dad’s head hostage.

That’s why I couldn’t refuse his text ordering me to come to his house tonight. It was either I went voluntarily, or he would show up with more drugs and force me. Tired, I chose the path of least resistance.

I thought about calling Lark for a ride, but I didn’t want to bring her into whatever mess I might be walking into. Instead, I tapped into the money I’d only just recouped to call an Uber. Rafferty’s firehouse is over two miles from here, and I didn’t feel comfortable walking that far in the dark.

The driver is still three buildings away from his house but I can already hear the music. The heavy bass line and loud voices come through the windows. When we come to a stop in front of the brick building, I spot the partygoers milling about with red SOLO cups in their hands. From the way they’re all swaying and stumbling on their feet, I would bet this party has been going on for hours.

I thought he said he wasn’t going to have any more parties?

With a heavy sigh, I thank the driver and climb out of the back seat of his Honda Accord. I can’t decide if I’m happy that there are other people here tonight or if I wish it were just going to be us. At least with other people around, there will be witnesses if Rafferty is in an exceptionally bad mood tonight.

One thing I know for sure is I’m not dressed for a party.

If he hadn’t ordered me to come right away, I would have changed out of my work clothes. I have an oversized black loose-knit sweater over the black leotard and pale pink tights I’d worn today. Before leaving the studio, I’d changed out of my flats for a pair of black combat boots to walk home in. The only makeup I have on is some mascara and blush. My hair has been up in a claw clip all day, so I’m sure it’s full of kinks. In other words, I’m not party ready.

Arms crossed tightly to my chest, I keep my head down and make my way into the loud and overcrowded house. It was easier walking in here last time with Zadie at my side, but ever since that night, I haven’t seen much of her. I was paranoid for a couple days, thinking I’d done something to make her want to avoid me, but I concluded the other day it’s probably just our conflicting schedules. Or I guess, I really hope that’s the case.

I’ve managed to still catch up with Lark on the days we both have class. It’s nice being around her. She doesn’t know the gritty details of my story, but at least with her, I don’t have to hide it. She knows just enough for me to feel comfortable around her. Plus, having someone to confide in has been beyond nice.

Shoulders and drunken bodies bump into me as I make my way farther into the house. Over their heads, I search for his familiar face. I don’t know the reason I’m here tonight, but I’d rather just get whatever it is over with.

I spot Rome before Rafferty. The look in his brown eyes instantly has me on edge. Every other time I’ve been around him he’s had this carefree energy about him. Tonight, he looks concerned. When he sees me approaching, his lips form a silent curse.

This isn’t good.

Boots feeling like they’re suddenly made of lead, I approach Raff’s friend. “What’s going on?” I search around us for signs of the man who’s wreaking havoc on my head and heart, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Rome scrubs a tan hand over his face. “You probably shouldn’t have shown up here tonight, baby girl. He’s on one.” Dropping his hand, he sighs. “Not that I can really blame him. Today’s always a rough day for him.”

“Why is it a rough day?” I question, going through all the dates of our shared bad days in my head. We’re still a couple months away from it being the anniversary of the night the cops showed up at his house, and the anniversary of Mollie’s death isn’t till the second week of January.

Rome stares at me for a second. I can’t tell if he’s offended on behalf of his best friend that I don’t remember what today is, or if he’s surprised I’ve forgotten. Maybe both.

“Today is his mom’s birthday.”

My heart turns to ice in my chest and my stomach rolls. How could I have forgotten this? Every year on her birthday, all Mollie wanted was to decorate sugar cookies and watch a movie with us. The older her boys got, the less interested they were in decorating dessert, so by the time I was twelve, it would just be me and her. She never took a single bite of the cookies, but she would always lick the frosting off the spoon. The boys would show up again when we put on the movie, and they always ate all the popcorn.

I celebrated Mollie’s birthday with her more than I ever did my dad’s. He was always working and never made a fuss about his birthday, and that fact only makes it hurt more that I forgot.

My throat burns when I attempt to swallow the emotion building there. “Where is he?” I question. “And what about Pax? Have you seen him today?”

Rome nods. “Raff’s got him in his room sleeping off the damage that he did last night. Pax was a mess when he got home this morning, which only further set off Rafferty.”

“Pax has been sleeping all day?” My heart breaks for the little boy I once knew. We all tried so hard to protect him.

“More like passed out. You can’t wash down your opiates with a bottle of whiskey without there being some repercussions.” At my panicked expression, Rome keeps talking before I can suggest anything. “Don’t worry too much. He’s done it before. He’ll probably sleep for another four or five hours and then be okay.”

“Okay?” I repeat, not convinced. I didn’t know Pax had turned to pills. When I saw the bottle in his hand at the last party, it was easy for me to deduce he may be drinking too much, but I never would have guessed drugs. Especially with his family’s history with pills.

Rome’s wide shoulders shrug under his white hoodie. “Well, whatever Pax’s version of okay is. The boy’s been a mess since I met him.”

Feeling an immense surge of protectiveness for Pax, I snap, “You would too if you went through what he did.” People think they know what happened, but they don’t. No one knows the full story, and I will die making sure they never do. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

Instead of Rome being angered by my outburst, he seems impressed. His eyes flick up and down my body and the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk.

Feeling a little self-conscious, I cross my arms tighter to my chest. “What?

“I think I’m starting to figure out why Rafferty’s been hung up on you all this time. You’re kinda the whole package. Hot, but smart. Strong, but submissive. Hell, if Rafferty wouldn’t chop my balls off with a rusty axe, I might even make a play for you.”

I scowl at him and choose to ignore the flirty bits of his comment, focusing only on the first part. “Rafferty isn’t hung up on me. He hates me.”

“I’m a firm believer you have to first care about someone to truly hate them.”

“You sound like Lark.”

This has him grinning. “She’s a very smart woman. Maybe you should listen to her.”

Interesting.

Someone screams joyfully in the living room, bringing me back to the real issue at hand. Pressing my fingers to my temple to alleviate the headache growing there, I sigh. “Do you know what I’m doing here? Or why he’s even having a party?”

“I don’t know,” Rome answers truthfully, the worried look from before returning to his angled features. “Maybe he thinks if it’s loud enough, he won’t be able to hear his own thoughts. If that doesn’t work for him, the amount of alcohol he’s had might do the trick.”

“So, what you’re telling me is not only do I have to deal with an angry and grieving Rafferty, but also a drunk Rafferty.”

“That is correct.”

My headache intensifies. “Fuck.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t have come here.”

I throw my hands up and point at the collar around my throat. “It’s not like I had much of a choice.”

“You’re absolutely right about that.” Completely unsympathetic to my current situation, Rome snags a beer out of the bucket behind him on the kitchen counter and pops the tab. He takes a long swig before handing the can off to me. “To take the edge off.”

I look between him and the offered drink with a frown. “No, thank you. The last time I drank something here I was drugged, and I’d like to avoid waking up on top of a grave again if I can.” I’m just going to add that to the list of things I never thought would come out of my mouth.

“That’s fair,” Rome offers as a loud voice comes from behind me.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite liar.”

Turning, I find Raff leaning against the kitchen doorway with a bottle of scotch in his hand. It gives me déjà vu of Pax from a few weekends ago. His blue eyes are glassy and a little red. He sways on his feet when he pushes away from the door hinge. The laces of his well-loved boots are undone, and I worry for a moment that he’ll trip over them.

But those things aren’t what have my hands sweating and dread snaking down my spine. It’s the length of chain currently hanging over his shoulders like a scarf. On either end of the four-foot-long chain are leather cuffs. I don’t have to waste my breath wondering who will be wearing those.

“What took you so long to get here?” he questions.

Dragging my attention away from the small padlocks on each of the cuffs, I scowl at his question. “I got here as soon as I could. I had to wait for an Uber since I don’t have a car.”

His fingers snap. “That’s right! And you can’t very well borrow your dad’s either since his is now nothing but scrap metal. That’s what happens to a car when it’s hit by a semitruck, right?”

My muscles turn into rigid pieces of stone beneath my skin and fury bubbles in my chest. “Don’t talk about my father,” I snap, loud enough that the people lingering around us turn their heads. The last thing I want is to draw attention to this conversation, but Rafferty isn’t giving me a choice.

Taking another long drink from the bottle in his hand, he prowls closer to me. “I’d ask if he’s planning on purchasing a new one, but if he can’t even remember who the fuck you are, he probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel.” Once he’s close enough, he reaches out to skim his fingers down my face. It takes everything in me to not slap his hand away. “That’s what he gets for trying to be a hero.”

This has me jerking out of his reach. How dare he say that? “My dad is a hero.”

His entire career was dedicated to helping people, and he got hurt trying to do just that. He was on his way home from a statewide law enforcement conference when he passed a car that was flipped on the side of the road. It had only happened minutes before he got there, and he was the first on the scene. There were small children in the back and a young mother pinned in the front seat. The doors were too bent for Dad to open them, and he’d run back to his vehicle to call in the accident. The driver of the semitruck going twenty miles over the speed limit didn’t see my dad’s car before it was too late. It slammed into it with my dad sitting in the driver’s seat. Dad’s car became an unrecognizable ball of metal.

“You Davenports are always fucking trying to save people. Look how well that’s worked out for the both of you. For his efforts, Daddy Davenport ended up with brain damage, and you… Well, you don’t help people, do you? Not really. You just kill them.” His rage and hatred drip from each of his words like poison. “Just ask my mom. Oh wait, we can’t because she was one of your casualties.”

The silence that falls over the party is deafening. My skin runs cold as thirty pairs of eyes stare at me in horror. One sentence is all it’s taken for me to become the campus pariah. After tonight, I won’t be able to walk to class without the looks I’m getting now. I’ll be followed by a chorus of whispers everywhere I go. There she is! She’s the one who killed Rafferty and Paxton Wilde’s mother. And I’ll have to grit my teeth and take the gossip because I can never set the record straight. Rafferty has once again fucked me, but this time it’s in a completely different way.

Out of the corner of my eye, Rome slips out of the room through the other kitchen entrance. I wonder if he didn’t want to watch this train wreck?

“Rafferty…” There are a hundred things I want to tell him, but a thousand things I can’t. The saddest part in all of this is if he’d just look past his rage, he could discover the truth himself.

“Give me your wrist,” he orders, cutting me off. Not that I really have anything else to say to him. An apology is the last thing he’d ever want to hear from me because there’s only so much damage the words “I’m sorry” can fix. We’re so far beyond that, it’s not even in our rearview mirror anymore.

I hold my breath and clench my teeth to keep from releasing the sob building in my chest. The physical things he demands from me are tolerable. He wants me to be his whore and wear his goddamn collar? Fine, I can do that, but the emotional warfare might just kill me.

Holding my arm out for him, he wraps the brown leather around my wrist and locks it in place. Not bothering with the other side, he turns, and as if I’m a dog on a leash, he drags me out of the kitchen and into the living room. People wisely jump out of his warpath. Rafferty’s current state isn’t one they should fuck with.

He reaches the brass fireman’s pole and stops. Roughly yanking me closer to it, he wraps the chain around it and reaches for my free wrist.

Panic builds as realization hits. My attempts to pull away from him are futile, and with little effort on his part, he’s got the other cuff on my wrist, and I’m officially shackled to the pole. The leather is tight on my arm and no matter how hard I pull against it, I can’t slip through it. I will be stuck here until Rafferty decides otherwise.

Moving away, he leans on the back of the leather couch directly in front of me. “You used to take pole dancing class from your friend Ophelia in New York, didn’t you?”

It shouldn’t surprise me Raff had been keeping an eye on me while I was away. The fact he knows about the classes Ophelia taught tells me he was keeping very close tabs. I met Lia at a coffee shop totally randomly and we got to talking about what we did. She was a student at NYU but taught these classes on the side for extra cash. We bonded over our respective dances and the fact we were both from Washington. We hung out occasionally and she let me join the classes for free. I liked what a good workout they were, and it was a nice break from the stricter dance I was accustomed to.

“Yes, I did,” I answer.

His strong arms cross. “Dance for me.” Turning his head back and forth, he takes in the rest of the people watching me with curiosity. “For us. Dance for us.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. The chain is long enough for you to move.”

He’s right, I could probably do a few moves before running out of slack or getting caught up. “Yeah, I know. That’s not the problem. I can’t do it while wearing tights and a sweater,” I correct through gritted teeth. “I wouldn’t be able to get a good grip on the pole.”

Grinning, he reaches into his jeans and retrieves his pocketknife. It looks like the same one he had all those years ago. “I can fix that.”

Returning to stand in front of me, he takes the neck of my beloved sweater in his fist and cuts down the front of it. Once he’s made a big enough cut, he’s able to tear the rest off my body. He tosses the ripped fabric on the floor before squatting in front of me.

My breath hitches when he pulls on the pink fabric at the apex of my thigh. Doing my best to not flinch or move to avoid being cut, he runs the blade down the front of both of my legs.

“Take off your boots.

Once I’ve toed them off, he cuts the tights down to my ankles. He rips and slashes the thin fabric until he’s able to pull them completely off.

I stand before him and a roomful of strangers in nothing but my spaghetti-strap leotard. Seeing as the last time I was with him, Rafferty had me dressed in that leather outfit, I shouldn’t be embarrassed now since this is far less revealing. The difference is, at poker night I wasn’t half naked in front of my fellow classmates. I will have to spend the next year and a half with these people doing group projects and presentations.

“No more excuses. Dance.”

I glare at him, my pulse pounding in my ears and my skin growing hot with anger. His nostrils flare when I remain in place. Then he does something I never would have expected him to do. He pulls a gun from the waistband of his jeans. With no hesitation, he marches forward and presses the barrel of it to my forehead.

Why the hell does he have a gun?

My heart seizes in my chest, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. On their own accord, like they can’t bear to see him like this, my eyes squeeze shut. Adrenaline shoots violently through my veins, making my limbs shake.

The people who had become our pseudo-audience scream and shout, the sounds of their feet against the floors as they run for the doors fill my ears. A smart move on their part, because I always knew Rafferty was a wildcard, but I never would have considered him to be unhinged. Right now, that’s exactly what he is. He’s blinded by his sadness and anger and not thinking this through. The booze in his system also isn’t helping matters.

I yearn to be the girl that could once calm him down, but now I’m the very reason for his violence.

“Do you really want to kill me, Rafferty?” I question. Opening my eyes, I discover we’re completely alone. All witnesses have left me to face this by myself. I don’t know what his plan is, but I don’t intend on giving him the satisfaction of seeing me scared if that’s what he’s craving. “Will me being gone finally bring you peace?”

“I want you to feel every agonizing moment my mom felt those few weeks. She always felt everything more deeply than us. She couldn’t handle the scrutinization and shame. I want you to feel as defeated and hopeless as she did before getting into that fucking bathtub.”

The awful image of Mollie submerged underwater comes to me. I never saw it myself because I was already at the school in Massachusetts when it happened, but the picture I’ve created in my head feels as if I had been. Even if I had been brave enough to face Rafferty, my father told me it wasn’t smart for me to come back for the funeral. I knew he was right, but it hurt all the same.

“I never wanted that to happen,” I choke out, my voice more even than it probably should be. “I wanted to protect you.”

“I’m so fucking tired of hearing you say that.” The gun presses harder to my face and my whole body flinches. “I didn’t need you to protect me. I was fine.”

Swallowing hard, I lift my chin and meet his eyes. “Show me the scars on your back and tell me you didn’t need help.” The first time I saw them, my heart shattered for him. He tried to brush the matter under the rug like it wasn’t happening, but it was all I could think about. I was blinded with rage. That emotion hasn’t lessened any over the years. I’m as angry for Rafferty now as I was then. “Show me the scars that he left on your skin for no reason at all and tell me you were fine.”

“As long as my mom and Pax were safe, I could take it.” He stumbles back a step, still unstable on his feet. The pressure of the gun lessens. “I had to protect them from him.”

The tears that have been building in my eyes fall down my face in hot streams. “And I had to protect you.”

For the first time since we reunited, the walls wrapped with barbed wire he’d built around himself drop, and I’m staring at the boy I fell in love with. He looks at me like he’s finally seeing me and not the enemy I’d been forced to become. The only way I can describe the sensation that overtakes me is it’s like returning home after being away for too long.

I’m not sure how long we stand there staring at each other. It could have been just seconds or it could have been minutes; I’ve lost all sense of time.

It’s Rafferty that breaks the silence. Shifting the gun, he repositions it on the center of my forehead and asks a question that physically hurts my heart. “Do you hate me yet, Butterfly?”

“No.” My answer is a barely audible hoarse whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because when I still look at you, I still see the boy who stole my first kiss and danced with me in the rain.”

That’s what finally has him dropping the weapon. As if I shoved him in the chest, he staggers back a step with the gun at his side. The distressed look on his face has me wanting to wrap my arms around his middle. His hand shoves through his slightly wavy hair, forcing the strands off his forehead. He turns away from me, still holding his head in his hand.

“Rafferty… Please look at me.” My soft plea doesn’t work, but the loud, fast-moving footsteps coming down the stairs does.

We both turn and look at Rome who stands at the base of the staircase with a troubled expression.

“What?” Rafferty manages to ask.

“Pax isn’t here. I’ve checked the whole house.”

Like a switch being flipped, the walls fall back into place around him, and the rigidity returns to Rafferty’s muscles. Whatever breakthrough I’d just had with him is gone in a blink of an eye.

“Fuck!” he roars, already storming toward the front door. Whatever drunken state he had seemed to be in just moments before now vanishes with the knowledge Pax might be in trouble.

I attempt to follow, momentarily forgetting about the chains around my wrists. “Let me go with you. I can help look for him.” It’s been too long since I was properly there for Pax. “I need to do this. I need to help him, Raff.”

Rafferty glares at me over his shoulder as he shoves the gun back into his waistband. “You’ve done enough to him.”

Rome goes out the door first and Rafferty slams it behind him. Not knowing what else I can do, I slump to the floor in defeat.