Butterflies & Vicious Lies (Fractured Rhymes Book 1)

“OKAY, THAT’S ENOUGH,” Rome suddenly announces at my side. “You have to stop. You’re starting to freak me the fuck out.”

Turning my head, I raise a brow at my friend who stands with me at the wooden bar. The varnish is starting to fade on it and every inch of it is covered in something slightly sticky. I’m electing to believe it’s from spilled drinks because if I let myself think about any of the other possibilities for too long, I’m going to end up throwing Posie over my shoulder and leaving this decrepit hole-in-the-wall dive bar.

Seriously, of all the bars in Seattle, why the hell would Rome pick this one? I’d rather get drunk in my own living room over this. At least I know it’s clean there.

“What?” I ask, confused at what he’s yapping about now.

Grimacing, he waves a hand in my face, and I promptly smack it away. “This,” he repeats. “You’re smiling and it’s weirding me out.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I bite, taking a sip of the bottled beer in my hand. “I’m not.”

“False.” His hand points out at the dance floor and then back at me. “You’ve smiled three times since she started dancing with Lark. Which, for anyone else, wouldn’t be a lot, but for you, it’s a fuckton. It’s making you look … happy.”

In the middle of the busy makeshift dance floor, Posie and Lark dance to the country music blasting through the speakers. They’ve both had enough to drink that they’re a little slap-happy and having the time of their lives pretending they know how to line dance. No one else here is trying to line dance, they’re just in their own world enjoying the night. It does something to my chest to see Posie smiling freely like that. There hasn’t been much for either of us to smile about for a long time, but we’ve finally reached a point where that’s changing, and it feels good.

Astor Banes’ words come back to me. You’re allowed to be happy, Rafferty.

Shoulders shrugging, I lean against the bar and the wood digs into my back. “I wasn’t aware that it had become a bad thing.”

The annoying dumbfounded look remains on Rome’s face as he continues to examine me like I’m an alien anomaly. “It’s not a bad thing, it’s just a little jarring to see you like this. It’s like watching a goldfish suddenly learn how to ride a bike. I’m not going to lie. I didn’t know you knew how to smile. Just kinda figured you were born without the necessary muscles or something.”

“I’ve smiled before,” I scoff, trying to casually brush him off because I know he’s right. He’s never seen me like … this. Rome’s only ever known the “after” version of me, and that version was pissed at the world for a very long time.

“Yeah, but it was never a happy smile. It was a I’m going to put my fist down your throat and make you eat your teeth smile. Surprisingly enough, I find that one less unsettling than whatever this new shit is.”

“Rome. Just stop.” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers and sigh. “I’m not talking about this with you.” There’s only one person I’m willing to have conversations like this with, and even then, I’d still stumble through it and struggle to find the right words.

Lifting my head, I find him staring at me. All the humor that’s been on his face has disappeared. It’s a rare sight to find Rome taking something seriously, so when it happens, you take notice immediately and pay attention.

“So, you didn’t hate her as much as you originally thought, did you?”

Eyes locked on where she spins around Lark with an elegance out of place for an establishment like this, I shake my head. “No.”

I love her.

I think I always knew I never stopped loving her. It was always in the back of my mind, whispering incessantly at me. I refused to acknowledge it because the very notion that I could still feel that way for the girl I held responsible for ruining everything was an unbearable thought. I tried my best to bury the unwanted emotion by piling every ounce of rage I carried with me onto her memory. For the longest time, I naively thought it was working but I figured out I’d simply been lying to myself that night in her bedroom.

“For what it’s worth, I think this is a good thing. You can only head down the path you were on for so long before you let it permanently change you. I’m glad she pulled you back.” The fact that Rome Valentino, the heir to the Italian syndicate, thinks I was going too far into the darkness proves it was time for me to let go.

“Me too.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a faint smile. “What are you going to do now? What’s the plan for you two?”

I don’t know where we’re going or what our future holds, but I do know one thing. “I’m never fucking letting go of her again. I’ll attach a goddamn chain to her collar if I have to.” Almost six years was long enough for us to be apart, and I have no desire to let it happen again. Fuck, one night away from her makes my chest ache in a place I can’t reach. Maybe Kason is right, and I should be trying to find a new place in Seattle instead.

“It makes me so warm and tingly inside when you’re all possessive and shit.” And just like that, the humor returns to my best friend’s face as he slaps me on the shoulder. “Pussy-whipped looks good on you, dude. And don’t worry, if I can get used to my mom’s wack-ass facelift, I can get used to your smile.”

He grunts, doubling over when my fist connects with his ribs.

“I fucking hate you,” I growl, taking another drink of my beer.

I didn’t hurt him that bad. If I did, the fucker wouldn’t be laughing like he is. Eyes rolling, I turn my attention back to the dance floor and stand up straighter when I don’t find her dancing where I’d last seen her.

Whatever concern that was shooting through my system fades when she, hand in hand with Lark, pushes through the edge of the crowd and heads directly for me. She’s talking to Lark about something that has her laughing. The ponytail she’d thrown her hair into before we left has pieces falling out around her face and there’s a light sheen of sweat on her forehead from dancing. She’s completely at ease.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t pick up on the notable change in her after that night in the ballet studio. She needed to hear those words from me more than I could have guessed. At night, she sleeps soundly at my side. The restless shifting that I hadn’t paid much attention to before has all but stopped and the dark circles under her eyes have faded.

She releases Lark’s grasp when they’re close enough and takes the hand I hadn’t realized I’d offered her. It’s an action I did absentmindedly like it’s just second nature for me to reach out for her. She allows me to pull her in close and she settles in at my side.

“Damn, princess, you look like you were rode hard and put away wet,” Rome teases Lark.

The blonde pushes the hair that is sticking to her forehead back and huffs out a breath. Her cheeks are red and her makeup, which is usually perfect, is smeared around her eyes. “You just say the sweetest things, Valentino. You sure do know how to flatter a lady.”

“A lady?” He repeats incredulously with a quirked brow. “You’re anything but a lady and you know it.”

Lark’s dark blue eyes flare as she glares at him with her lips pressed into a flat line. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

Rome holds his chest like he’s offended by her question. Everyone here knows that couldn’t be further from the truth. “That is the second time someone has told me that tonight. Keep it up and you guys are going to seriously bruise my ego.”

“Yeah right. Like that’s possible,” she scoffs as she pushes around him to get the bartender’s attention. Rome grins at her like a fool as he turns to stand next to her.

Posie tilts her chin and gives me a look that tells me she’s also starting to pick up on the weirdness between those two.

Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she turns her full attention onto me. Without thinking about it, I dip my head and press my lips to hers in a brief kiss. She smiles against my mouth, and when I try to pull back, her fingers thread through my hair and keep me in place.

“Do you want another drink or are you ready to go?” I ask her when she lets me go. After that kiss, I’m ready to get the hell out of here. Or at the very least take a brief trip out to my car. It’d be a tight fit, but it’d be better than fucking her in the scummy bathroom here.

I’m never letting Rome pick the bar again. His aunt owns a nice one not far off campus. I don’t understand why we didn’t just go there instead of this place.

Eyes lighting with mischief, she runs her fingers down my chest and over the ridges of my abs before skimming them ever so slightly over the zipper of my jeans. My dick jerks in my pants at the light touch.

“Seems to me you’re the one who needs us to leave.” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she fights a knowing smile while she palms me through the black denim of my pants.

The amused look vanishes from her face when I lock my hand around her wrist and yank her with me toward the exit door.

Over my shoulder, I yell out to Rome and Lark. “We’re fucking out of here.”

They can figure out their own ride home. I have more pressing matters than being their goddamn Uber driver.

The cold night air hits us when we shove through the glass door of the bar. Posie laughs behind me, finding it funny that she’s all but having to run to keep up with my fast pace. I’m staring at the back of my Jaguar wondering if she’ll be able to fit on my lap if I put the seat back as far as I can when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

I’ve been waiting for a call from Kason all day about a client who owes money, or I wouldn’t bother checking it right now. Growling, I yank the device out of my pocket and look at the screen. It’s an unknown number. Usually, I’d ignore it or send it right to voice mail, but something in my gut tells me I need to answer the call.

Coming to a stop at the driver’s side door, I accept the call and bring the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

Posie steps in front of me, a wicked smile still on her face as her hands slip under my shirt and her nails rake down my abs.

“Is this Rafferty Wilde?” an unknown woman asks me. There’s something about her voice that puts me on edge instantly, and everything fades around me. Even the girl who stands before me ceases to exist for a moment.

“It is.” I gruffly answer, dread already making my chest tight. It’s not until she starts talking that my world completely turns on its axis and my body loses all sense of feeling. I can no longer feel the chill of the wind or the heat of Posie’s hands on my skin.

Posie, sensing the change in my demeanor, stills in front of me, her hands freeze in their exploration of my abdomen and big brown eyes stare up at me with concern.

“I’m calling from Seattle Medical Center. Your brother Paxton was brought into our emergency room an hour ago. It appears to have been an overdose…” She says more about how he was found in his parked car with the engine running somewhere on campus, and the cops and an ambulance were then called, but I’m not really listening. I’m waiting for her to say the one and only thing I care about.

When she doesn’t, I manage to get the words out to ask myself. “Is. He. Alive?”

It’s the longest seconds of my life while I wait for the answer. I can physically feel each second that passes.

“He’s stable. The medicine the paramedics administered put him into immediate opioid withdrawal. We’re trying to regulate his heart rate and blood pressure by letting him sleep through the worst of it.” She tells me what floor he’s on and what nurse to ask for at the reception desk when I get there before the line goes dead.

Backing a step away from me, Posie drops her hands to her side. “Raff?” she says softly, immense concern dripping off the single syllable.

I’m numb. I think it’s my body’s way of protecting me as I’m flooded with the memories of my mom and the night she took those pills. I don’t want to feel that pain again.

“Pax overdosed.” Those words feel like razor blades in my throat and on my tongue as I say them. “I have to go to the hospital.”

Her hand flies to her mouth and her skin pales. “Oh my god.” Her head shakes like she’s in denial. “Is he okay?”

“He almost fucking died. He’s not okay,” I snap, a familiar rage flaring in my chest toward her. It’s the very emotion I thought I’d finally put to rest, but that phone call was like kindling on the dying fires of anger, and I can feel it burning under my skin again.

When I move robotically toward the driver’s door, she scrambles around the car. “I’m coming with you.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her no, but I stop myself. Debating with her will waste time I don’t have. My priority is getting to my brother.