Butterflies & Vicious Lies (Fractured Rhymes Book 1)

THE DARK CIRCLES and redness in her eyes tell me I was right about her lack of sleep. Whether it was from the infestation of viceroy butterflies in her room or nightmares of me, is unclear. I can only hope that it was a healthy combination of both. I want to dominate her thoughts while she’s awake, but also while she sleeps. At any part of the day, I want to consume her.

“Hello boys,” Lark greets from her place next to Posie at the outdoor table. We’re nearing the months in Washington where we don’t see any sun and it’s nothing but gray clouds. Everyone is sitting outside soaking up as much of the good weather as they can before it’s gone. “Sorry I missed you at the party the other night. Everyone disappeared before I could say hi.” Deep-blue eyes narrow at me in suspicion. “That was a super weird speech, though. What was that about?”

Posie, who’s been looking anywhere other than directly at me since we walked up, stares at the barely touched cup of fruit in front of her.

That doesn’t stop me from staring at her while I answer Lark’s question. “I just wanted to welcome Posie home. She’s been gone for a long time and I’m just happy to have her back.”

The blonde frowns at this. “Posie, I thought you said you didn’t know Rafferty?”

Finally looking up from her food, her mouth opens and closes like she’s trying to come up with an excuse or answer.

Stepping around the table so I’m standing directly at her side, I respond to Lark for her. “It wasn’t a complete lie. It’s been a really long time since we’ve been around each other. We’re basically strangers now. Isn’t that right?”

When she hesitates to answer, I put my finger under her chin and tip her face up to look at me. The slender column of her throat moves as she swallows hard. “That’s right,” she mumbles, a noise just barely audible to my ears.

“Oh, okay. I just don’t understand why you didn’t say so the other day when I asked.” The look on Lark’s face remains skeptical. She’s been raised by politicians and has an excellent bullshit detector.

Eyes narrowing at Posie, I silently instruct her to add in on this conversation. I want to hear what she’ll say. How will she spin our sordid tale so she doesn’t look like the villain in it?

She clears her throat before explaining vaguely. “We… we just have a really complicated history. I grew up with Paxton and Rafferty, but I moved away a few years back and we lost contact.”

“I would have loved to reunite with her sooner, but I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait.” I love she’s the only one who understands the unspoken message in my words. “Speaking of which, I have a homecoming present for you, Posie.”

Dropping my hand from her jaw, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans. My fingers wrap around the leather of the object as her head shakes in refusal.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” She’s trying to keep her voice even and pleasant to not alert Lark to what’s happening, but she’s doing a terrible job. Posie excels at a lot of things, like ballet and destroying lives, but acting is a skill she sorely lacks. “Don’t you think you’ve surprised me with enough gifts lately, Raff?”

This has me smirking. The butterflies weren’t meant as a gift, but she knows this. They were to prove to her there’s nowhere she can go that is safe from my reach. Her bedroom is supposed to be her sanctuary away from everyone and everything, and I easily infiltrated it.

“I thought you could use one more.” Pulling it from its hiding place, I reveal the leather choker.

She made the sarcastic comment about me putting a collar on her in the cemetery, but little did she know, that was exactly what I planned on doing. The black leather is about an inch thick, and where there’s traditionally a silver ring in the middle, there’s a butterfly instead. The leather attaches to both hollow wings and, in the middle where the body of the butterfly is, is a tiny keyhole. Once this is on her, the only way she’s getting it off is if I allow it.

Her lips part in a silent gasp. “Is that a…” Not able or willing to say the words aloud, her soft whisper trails off.

Submissive collar? Why yes, yes, it is, Posie. “It’s a butterfly for my Butterfly,” I tell her in place of the truth. “Stand up.”

Pale brown eyes dance between me, Lark, Rome, and whoever else might be watching her humiliation. Every thought and conflicted emotion she’s experiencing are reflected in her face. I know she’s thinking about telling me to go fuck myself. It’s what she wants to do most, but I also know that she won’t. Not with her father’s well-being at stake.

The moment she concedes and gives up any semblance of a fight goes straight to my dick. Her pathetic look of defeat and acceptance is an intoxicating sight. Breaking her is going to be my greatest joy.

Pushing back from the table, Posie rises to her feet and stands before me. I’ll give her some credit; she doesn’t look away this time. Her perfect white teeth dig into her bottom lip as I push her long strands of hair behind her shoulders. The only time she flinches is when my thumb grazes the purple bruise I’d left on her throat the other night. As I place the leather around her slender throat, she searches for something in my eyes. For what? I’m not sure. Perhaps she’s searching for any remnants of the boy I used to be.

The sound of both sides locking together has her shifting on her feet, but she doesn’t try to pull away or stop me.

“There,” I say, tracing the metal butterfly positioned in the middle of her throat. Her jaw twitches in silent revulsion as I admire the new accessory. Wanting to see if I can make her snap, I tilt my head with a smirk. “I got you a present. What do you say?”

The flash of fury across her face is a stunning sight, but it’s even more beautiful when she’s able to completely rein it in and tell me what I want to hear. Doing this in front of our friends and anyone else in the quad was the right move. It verified to me just how willing she is to play my game.

“Thank you for my present, Rafferty.”

Running my thumb along her pink bottom lip, I praise her. “Good girl.” She’s anything but good, and we both know it. “Now, I have something next Saturday that I’m going to need you at. If you’re not already, make yourself available.”

Brows pulling together, she frowns at this. “I have a shift until eight that night, and then I have to be back at the studio at seven the next morning.”

“What part of that is my problem? Drink a coffee or do a line of coke, I don’t care what you have to do as long as you’re ready at nine Saturday night.”

“Fine. I’ll figure it out.”

“Of course, you will. We wouldn’t want you disappointing me so soon, would we?”

Her only answer is a single shake of her head.