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If I argued that Ro
y’s story was complete fiction — that he’d drugged me in the hopes of whoring me out for cash — it would destroy my cover that I didn’t know him at all. So I had to stand there, privately stewing knowing damn well, I could say nothing to defend myself.
Instead I shook my head as if the man were loony and said, “Butcher, this guy is whacked. Does he look like the kind of man I would hang out with? He’s probably crawling with Hep C. I wouldn’t spit on him if he were on fire.”
That part was true.
Butcher seemed conflicted. My reasoning was solid but Roy had the air of earnest desperation that was quite convincing.
I affected a bored expression. “Is there anything else you need? I was coming downstairs for food when this jerk-off,” I gestured to the man who’d grabbed me “bruised me with his giant man-hands. Is that the way I’m to be treated here?”
I held Butcher’s stare, demanding retribution for my treatment. Butcher growled at his man, “Don’t fucking touch her like that. Do it again and I’ll fucking cut your hand off.”
The man, immediately contrite, apologized. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” Butcher said, finished. He looked to me to see if I was satisfied and I gave a curt nod.
To Roy, I said, “Whatever you hoped to gain by coming in here with this story, you made a huge mistake in judgment. I don’t know you. You don’t know me and if you value your skin, you’ll apologize for insulting me and get the hell out.”
Roy’s hatred burned twin holes into me but I held my ground. Read between the lines, asshole, which was what I was trying to say to him but who knew if Roy was smart enough to listen.
Butcher dismissed me with a nod and I walked out, careful to keep my gait casual and unhurried. Guilty people hustled. I had to make sure Butcher had no reason to question my innocence.
Only when I was safely in the kitchen did I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm my hammering heartbeat.
This was a problem.
Roy was going to stick to his story (because it was the truth) which meant I had to be equally convincing that I wasn’t, in fact, lying.
I went through the motions of filling a bowl with fresh strawberries and sprinkled some sugar on top even though my appetite was dust.
However, seated on the sunny veranda, I put bite after bite into my mouth on auto-pilot seemingly lost in my book, but in fact, I hardly saw the words nor tasted the sweet fruit.
A half hour later, Butcher joined me, his gaze dipping to the nearly empty bowl and helped himself to the last one.
“Why would he lie?” he asked me, putting me on the spot.
I looked up from my book with a blank look. “Who?”
Butcher gestured impatiently. “The man back there, Roy.”
I set my book down, irritated. “Butcher, why would I know why some two-bit loser would come to you with a fairytale? I try to stay out of your business. I don’t want to know. I just want to read and relax. Finals were a bitch and I want to rest my brain.”
At the mention of my schooling, Butcher softened. He always took great pride in how he was the one providing me with an excellent education. I knew it was his Achilles Heel.
“I understand,” he said in a rare moment of concession. He leaned back in the chair, surveying the property. “The problem is that I have many enemies, Holly. Which in turn means you will have many enemies. It is the cost of doing business and enjoying the life we live.”
“Seems exhausting to always have to look over your shoulder,” I commented.
“With the right people watching your back, it’s not a problem,” Butcher said. “My people are the best at protecting me.”
“Then what’s that guy want?” I asked. “Money?”
“Revenge.”
I pulled a face as if the request were absurd. “And he thought you could give it to him? I don’t understand. Are you in the revenge business?”
My sarcasm made Butcher chuckle. “Your wit has always been my favorite part of our conversations. I look forward to getting to know you better.”
Ugh. I wanted to scream. GROSS.
I looked away. “Butcher, you said you’d give me time to process all of this. My mind is blown right now. I just want to read my book and veg out.”
Butcher seemed annoyed at the reminder of his offer but he didn’t take it back. I breathed a private sigh of relief and tried to return to my book but Butcher wasn’t finished yet.
“I’m sure you see my dilemma. I have a man who has no reason to lie, that I know of, coming to me with this fantastic story, and the knowledge that you were away from your place for a few days, and you saying that the man is lying. On the surface, it seems ludicrous to even think that you might know him — I know you don’t travel in the same circles — but why else would he come to me with this story?”
“I think that’s something you ought to figure out,” I said, shrugging as if it weren’t my problem. “How about the fact that people are always trying to find a way to weasel their way into your inner circle? What better way than to create some fairytale that creates a sense of solidarity? Personally. I think he’s just trying to find a way in, which would make me uncomfortable if it were me.”
“That’s a valid argument,” he agreed, adding with a narrowed stare. “Or, you could be the one lying.”
I swallowed the fear that’d risen in my throat but I pretended as if his comment hadn’t nearly stopped my heart. I closed my book and regarded Butcher with an exhale. “Butcher…why on God’s green earth would I ever be around someone like that?”
Instead of answering, he asked, “Where were you the other day? You weren’t home.”
“I already told Johnny, I was with Paula, the campus librarian. She and I are friends.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to. I didn’t realize I was on house arrest,” I shot back stiffly. “She and I have a lot in common. It was a very boring night by most standards but we both adore books so if you’d like a run-down of our activities, I can oblige you but I doubt you’d find it interesting.”
Butcher nodded as if my answer made sense. “You did spend a lot of time in the library. I like that about you. I need a smart woman, not just someone who looks good on her back.”
I cut him a dark look as disgust crawled my backside. “Butcher,” I warned. “Comments like that are offensive.”
Butcher pursed his lips but didn’t apologize. He reached out to caress my hand tenderly. I fought to remain still instead of jerking away from him.” “If I find out you’re lying…” he let the threat dangle.
I slid my hand out from beneath his, grabbing my book. “Have fun chasing shadows,” I said, leaving him on the veranda.
It wasn’t until I was in my room, safely behind a closed door, that I allowed myself to shudder with fear.
How much longer could I do this?
What if Butcher tortures Roy into giving up some vital piece of evidence that I couldn’t refute?
What would Butcher do to me if he found out about Cason?
I closed my eyes and prayed.
Please, Cason…hurry.
Chapter 32
Cason
Tied to a chair, gagged with a dirty bandana, Johnny didn’t look so full of bravado any longer. His face, swollen with welts, one eye blackened shut, and a few fingers broken had proven effective in breaking down his tough guy routine.
Tito, wiping away the blood from his knuckles, stepped back, breathing hard. He cut me a sharp look. “He’s all yours now.”
Letting Tito do the dirty work had helped take the edge of his rage but I knew nothing short of Butcher’s blood would truly slake that hunger.
I leaned in, bracing myself on the arm rests of the old chair. “All right, here’s the deal, your employer is a rotten son-of-a-bitch who enjoys hurting women. I have to assume that because birds of a feather flock together, that you must be a rotten bastard, too. And because of that, I don’t have a lot of patience for
your bullshit. I want answers and if those answers aren’t satisfying, I’m going to let you go Round Two with my friend here. Understand?”
Johnny choked on his own spit, gurgling as the bandana cut off his ability to create coherent words.
I grinned and removed the gag. “There. That better? Now sing like a bird, Johnny. I can’t wait to hear my favorite song.”
“I don’t know what you want,” he gasped, blood trickling down his chin, a missing tooth causing him to lisp. “What do you want from me? I’m nobody.”
“Wrong,” I disagreed, bending to pick up a pulpy tooth. I lifted it for Johnny to see and then tossed it away, the sound of it skittering across the dirty warehouse floor echoing. “You see, you’re the Number One guy for Butcher Brannon, a title you enjoy throwing around quite often. Must be pretty exciting to be insulated within Brannon’s circle. But with privilege comes expectation.”
“He’ll kill me if I talk,” Johnny stammered, realizing where I was going with my speech. “He’ll kill me, man!”
I leaned in, my voice low. “Johnny…I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
Tito crossed his arms across his chest. “Pick your poison, worm.”
I moved away. “I’ll make it easy for you. You tell me how I can get evidence that Butcher killed Shay Trunnel and shot Christine O’Connor and I’ll let you go, even give you a chance to run and hide so Butcher boy doesn’t come along and string you up for betraying him. Sound like a deal?”
“What evidence?” he cried, his bottom lip trembling. “Fuck man, there’s nothing that will pin that shooting on Butcher because he paid the cops to bury the report. There’s nothing. Butcher’s got the right people in his pocket. You’re setting me up to fail, man!”
I suspected as much but I had to try. “Maybe that was too on target,” I allowed with a nod. “You say Butcher has cops on the take…you got evidence of that?”
“Butcher keeps a book of everyone who owes him favors,” Johnny said, looking from me to Tito, hoping I would find this information useful. “Yeah, it’s a book he keeps with him at all times. He likes things old-school. Enjoys writing the names down, putting more people in his pocket. It’s his thing.”
