The Gift: The Butterfly Effect, Book 1.

by Margaret McHeyzer

  Alfred’s face falters, though he quickly regains his composure. “Alfred,” he thrusts his hand out to me, but I can see he’s quite angry.

  Taking his hand in mine, I’m instantly transported into a shabby office. I’m standing with the edge of his desk behind me and I look around the room. It’s messy and dimly lit. There’s a knock on the door, and Alfred tells whoever it is to come in. A younger man opens the door. He’s got greasy, slicked-back hair, and he’s chewing gum.

  “Sit.” Alfred gestures for the guy to enter. Immediately I notice the severe limp.

  “It’s all set up,” Limpy says, sitting opposite Alfred and crossing one leg over the other. He settles back into the seat, relaxing like he belongs.

  I turn to search Alfred’s desk, but I see nothing of value except stacks of papers hopelessly strewn across his desk. They look more like trash than anything important.

  “Good,” Alfred replies.

  “What about Caley?”

  Alfred’s lips turn up into a snide smile. Smugness envelops him as he leans back in his chair and places his chubby hands under his chin. “Fuck him. He doesn’t need to know.”

  I turn back to look at Limpy. He obviously thinks Jude should know. “You sure about this?”

  Alfred’s laugh is loud and almost menacing. “I’ll take care of him.”

  “Alfre-.”

  I’m ripped away before I catch any more of the conversation.

  “I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, my beautiful Alexa.” Alfred walks away, and I’m left dazed and confused.

  “Are you okay?” Jude asks.

  “Give me a minute.” I’m not sure why, but this vision has drained me. I grab onto his bicep and steady myself as I try and regain my composure.

  “Do you need the bathroom?” Jude asks, worried. Nodding my head, he leads me down a hallway and opens the door to an exquisite bathroom. The faucets are gold, there’s gold trim around the huge mirror, and there’s marble lining the floors and walls.

  Jude leads me in, and locks the door behind us. This room is huge, a luxurious powder room like something you’d see in a movie where all the characters were rich and famous.

  Noticing a plush chair in front of the mirrored vanity, I head over and sit. Dropping my head in my hands, I take several breaths to regain myself.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I snap at him. Is he asking because he cares, or is he asking because if I become useless to him, he doesn’t have the advantage of my gift?

  “Hey,” he says in a gentler voice. He starts rubbing circles on my back, and although I welcome the touch—even through the fabric ‒ I know he’s only showing me this side of himself because he needs me.

  “Please don’t touch me.” Looking into the mirror, I notice my eye. It’s bluer than before. It seems to be changing when I have visions. “Alfred was sitting in a disgusting office, dirty and messy. A guy walked in and said ‘it’ was set. The guy who was with Alfred had a limp. He asked about you and Alfred said he’ll take care of you.”

  I look at Jude in the reflection of the mirror. His brows are drawn together as he stares at me. “Anything else?” I shake my head. I’m completely drawn to my eye, the color change is intriguing. “You’ve done well, Lexi. Put your gloves back on and enjoy the rest of the evening.” He stands and holds his hand to me.

  “Can we leave? I don’t want to socialize with anyone, and I did what you asked. Please?”

  “No, we have to have dinner. I don’t want to arouse any suspicions. Especially about you.”

  “Ugh, fine,” I complain.

  Jude stands and leads me out of the powder room toward a grand dining room. There’s several round tables set, all beautifully decorated with an abundance of fresh, colorful flowers. The lights are dim, though it’s still bright enough to see the extravagance, as if someone is showing off all their money. My eyes take in everything, from the two huge chandeliers hanging overhead, to the big band set up on stage. “Are you appreciating all of this?” Jude asks before taking my seat out so I can sit.

  “It’s over the top if you ask me. These things don’t impress me, what would impress me is if drugs and whatever else has bought this . . .” I sweep my hand across the room indicating the sheer opulence, “ . . . wasn’t so easily accessible to ruin people’s lives.”

  Jude scoffs and places his elbows on the table, steepling them together. “You never cease to surprise me, Lexi.”

  “Why?” I retort with a bark to my tone. He’s being condescending toward me, and I’m not about to let him think I’m a dumb schoolkid.

  “Because the war on drugs is futile. Someone is always trying to make a quick dollar, and what better way to do so than drugs?” he challenges me.

  I think long and hard about his response. He’s right about one thing, trying to stamp out drugs would be like trying to saving a sinking ship armed with only a bucket. Therefore, I speak on the terms he’d understand. “What about prostitution?”

  His brows fly up in surprise. He takes a deep breath, runs one of his hands over his face then lets out a small snicker. “What about prostitution?”

  “It’s the oldest profession in the world. Can’t you do away with drugs and run brothels?”

  “You’re suggesting I force women into the sex industry?”

  Whoa! “Back up a second, buddy. I said nothing about forcing anyone.” He sits back in his seat and crosses his arms in front of his chest, clearly amused at me. “Wipe that stupid smirk off your face.” He struggles, but he lowers the corners of his lips. However, the smile is now in his eyes. “What I’m saying, is offer a safe place to work, good money, good clientele, have certain standards for the women and for the clients, and make money that way.”

  People are still filtering in and filling the tables. The women are staring at Jude and quickly glancing over to me, basically ignoring me while trying to get Jude’s attention. His attentiveness doesn’t falter, and other than a few head nods and shaking of hands, he essentially shuts them out.

  “Interesting,” he mumbles while looking around the room. “You’re quite progressive in your way of thinking. Most people would say prostitution is as harmful as drugs or firearms. But you’re suggesting an alternative to drugs and guns. But is prostitution the answer? Unfortunately, this world isn’t pleasant. It isn’t glittery rainbows and unicorns. It isn’t nice. The moment I step down, or die, they’ll be a hundred-people waiting to fight it out for my position.”

  This of course raises more questions. “Then why haven’t you been killed off already? If it’s as cutthroat as you’re making it out to be, then you should’ve been . . . what’s the technical term you’d use? Bumped off?”

  A small plate is placed in front of me, I look down at the incredibly teeny tiny appetizer.

  “You amuse me, Lexi. The only way for me to die is if one of my own people kill me, or I die of old age. I’m well protected. Very well protected.” He inhales the tiny portion of food, and looks at mine. “You going to eat that?” He pointedly looks down at my small plate.

  “Yes, I’m going to eat it. Whatever it is. Sheesh.” I pick up my fork.

  In less than three bites, my plate is clean. Not a crumb is left on it. “You liked it?”

  “It’s food. Can we go back to why we’re even here?”

  “To raise money for a halfway house.”

  “Come on, seriously? You can’t see the humor in that?”

  “It’s a tax write-off for me.”

  Picking up the water glass, my hand stills and I laugh. “You pay taxes? Like, for real? You don’t strike me as a man who’d declare your income or how you earned it.”

  An unusual sound captures my attention and I turn to look. It’s like something’s being dragged along at even intervals. As I investigate the rhythmic clamor, my eyes go directly to the source. A man limping, almost dragging his leg behind him. “That’s him,” I whisper to Jude.

  “Who?” He leans over to l
ook at the direction my head is turned.

  “Him,” I whisper, turning back when Limpy’s gaze reaches mine. “The guy who was talking to Alfred.”

  “Ahhh,” Jude announces slowly. “I knew Alfred was going to cause me problems, but Mario . . . I’m surprised.”

  “Mario is Limpy?”

  “Limpy?” Jude questions me.

  I smack his leg lightly and laugh to myself. “I gave him a name because I didn’t know what his was. I shouldn’t judge, but that’s what stuck out for me.”

  Jude places his hand on my arm, and squeezes. My stupid heart decides right at this moment to spike in beats causing my stupid face to smile at his stupid touch. Stupid me.

  Ugh.

  “You really do amuse me.”

  One plate is taken away and another is placed in front of me. This one has more food than the appetizer. Jude and I quietly eat but the entire time his eyes are on me or on Alfred who’s sitting two tables away and has his back to us. Limpy is at another table altogether and nowhere near Alfred. “Did you know they knew each other?” I ask following his line of sight.

  “This business is large, but everyone knows everyone else. For instance,” he stops talking and grabs a waiter who’s walking past with champagne. “Who am I?” he asks the young male waiter.

  The waiter’s ears quickly turn pink, and he looks down at his feet. “You’re Mr. Caley, Sir.” Jude flicks his wrist at the waiter, who turns and gets away from us as quickly as possible.

  “Some of us don’t need introductions, and for some of us, our reputation is known quite widely.”

  “You get off on people being scared of you.”

  “I must admit, it has its advantages,” he adds cockily.

  “Because people are frightened. So, it’s a power thing for you?” I know at any moment he can snap at me, maybe even hit me, but if I’m stuck in his world at least I can try to understand him.

  “People’s basic nature is to control others, to tell them what to do, boss them around. For me, yes, it’s a power thing. I like walking into a room and watching people either quiver with fear, or be aroused and want to fuck me. I enjoy watching people and their reactions, and I love it even more when they’re begging for their lives in front of me. There’s a look a person gets when they’re about to die, it’s not in their face, or even the tension in their body. It’s in their eyes. Seconds before they die, they realize everything they’ve done that has caused that one particular moment to happen.”

  Jude’s words are quite horrifying to me, and I can’t help but think how much of an animal he is. His words are disturbing, but he says them with so much conviction and pride. He’s opening a part of himself to me that I doubt many people get to see, and I have no idea why he’s sharing so much with me. I know I ask questions, but this seems so personal to him, intimate . . . passionate.

  There’s a fire in his eyes, a spark which nearly crosses over into obsession, and maybe that’s what this is for him. I sincerely doubt Jude will ever leave this lifestyle, I can see how in love with it he is.

  “You’re a frightening man, Jude.” My words have interrupted his nostalgic recount of how he feels being the man he is.

  “But never to you.”

  “Oh no, you scare the shit out of me too. I’m waiting for the day you snap and kill me, or beat me.”

  He pulls his head back; his face stamped with concern and worry. “Because I’ve hurt you while you’ve been with me?”

  “Been with you? You make it seem like I want to be here.”

  “Well . . .” he begins saying but I hold my hand up to halt whatever he’s going to say.

  “I know the conditions, and I’m slowly learning to accept them, but it still doesn’t mean I want to be here.”

  Jude sighs, and then smiles. He stands abruptly and offers me his hand. “Dance?” he asks. I look around the room and notice not one person is dancing to the soft background music being played by the ten-piece orchestra.

  “No one’s dancing.” I straighten my back and realize a few people are turning their heads toward Jude. “And, people are staring.”

  “You worry too much about what everyone else is thinking. Dance with me.” He thrusts his hand closer.

  Defiantly I jut my chin out and say, “I don’t know how to.” Ha! He can look like a fool at my resistance.

  Jude tilts his head to the side and smirks at me. “Says the girl whose parents gave dance lessons to from the age of eight until fifteen.”

  My own grin quickly is wiped away and replaced with my mouth falling open. “Figures.” I stand and Jude pushes my chair in once I’ve stepped to the side. “I forgot you were a stalker.” I lay my gloved hand in his and he leads us over to the isolated dance floor. The entire room is quiet as all eyes are glued to us. “Great, they’re all staring.”

  “Why wouldn’t they? You look breathtaking, and they all want to know who you are.”

  He wraps his left hand around my waist, drawing me in close to him, and tightens his right hand around mine. He’s taller than me, and his broad shoulders are nothing but intimidating. “I’ve never been the type who loves being the center of attention, so I’m feeling quite uncomfortable right now.”

  “Because I’m holding you tightly or because everyone is staring?”

  Cocky asswipe. “Both,” I whisper and look around the room. “Most the people in here are staring at us, and I’m not liking it.” My heartbeat is steadily increasing, and my palms sweat. Thank goodness, I’m wearing gloves—even though they’re the most disgusting gloves ever made.

  “Don’t worry about them, just keep looking at me.” He moves his hand from my waist, and gently tilts my head to gaze up at him.

  His moves may work on others, but I’m not ‘others.’ “You’re not going to get laid, Jude. I don’t find you attractive at all.” It’s a lie, ‘cause I think he’s hot. It’s the whole ‘killer’ and ‘let’s kidnap Lexi’ thing turning me off.

  “Oh, I’m going to get laid, Lexi.” He smiles at me cheekily. “It just won’t be you.”

  My heart breaks a tiny amount, but I pull my shoulders back and smile at Jude. “Can we go now, please?” I ask again.

  “We still need to finish the rest of our meal.”

  Anger snaps through me and I step back, breaking the tight hold Jude has on me. “I’m going to walk out in five seconds, Jude. I no longer want to be here.”

  He lets go of my waist, and holds my hand. “Then let’s go home.”

  He’s taking such large steps out of the ballroom that I’m practically running to keep up with him. He’s tugging on my hand, dragging me behind. As soon as we’re outside, the car we came in pulls around to the front. Jude opens the door and almost forcefully pushes me in. “Jude,” I try and say, but his cold features and angry eyes tell me all I need to know.

  He leans over, pours a drink, and lifts the glass to his lips. Essentially, he’s telling me he no longer wants to discuss anything with me. Point taken.

  But here’s the thing, he’s taken me out of my home and is forcing me to stay with him and perform like a damn circus monkey for him.

  My anger is bubbling over, my leg starts to jump as I get madder with every mile traveled. He’s an asswipe. A self-centered, arrogant, asshole. It seems like the drive back is taking forever. The more he ignores me, the angrier I get.

  When the car pulls up outside his stupid house, I get out and slam the door with so much fury. “You’re such an asshole,” I finally yell at Jude. I walk around to the side he’s at, and poke him in the chest. “You kidnapped me, you brought me here, and you’re forcing me to work for you. And now, you’re being a total douche bag, creeper, asshole, prick!” I poke my finger into his chest again, then turn and walk toward the house.

  I hear him gurgle with laughter from behind me, but can feel him right there, close to me. The door opens and one of his stupid security guards is standing at the door. “Boss,” he says as I barge past him and head toward my roo
m.

  “Lexi!” Jude calls, but I ignore him and make my way up the grand staircase. “Lexi!” he says again from behind me. Still ignoring him, I stomp in the direction of my room. “Alexa!”

  I freeze with the sound of his voice. He’s not yelling, there’s more desperation than anger. It’s almost like his tone is laced with urgency. “No! No, Jude just no.” I come to stand face to face with him. “You do not get to call the shots here, buddy. You do not bring me into this lifestyle and make me part of it, then ignore me in the fucking car. You have no right to do the shit you’re doing. You have no right to say what you’re saying, and you have no right to be . . .” I wave my hand over him from head to toe. “ . . . to be like that!”

  He steps closer, my heartbeat increases. God, why does he have to look so good? Why does he have to affect me like this? I hate myself for finding him attractive.

  “Be like what?” he asks. A sly smirk tugs on his lips.

  “You’re an ass, Jude.” I shake my head at him and turn to walk away.

  I get no more than two steps before I feel his hand on my upper arm, stopping me from going anywhere. He swings me around, causing my body to fling into his. He looks down at me, and for a split-second I lose my concentration and the anger that was building inside of me.

  “You know, it’s unhealthy to go to sleep angry.” He lifts his hand to gently skim it down the side of my face. He almost touches my flamed skin, when he pulls back.

  “That’s only if we were in a relationship, and what we have is not a relationship.” I step back, slowing my uneven heartbeat, and calming my weak knees.

  I’m so angry at myself. He shows me his nice side and suddenly I like him. He dresses-up and acts like a gentleman, and I fall for it.

  “Lexi,” he calls again from behind me as I walk away.

  I ignore him, and go straight to my jail. Slamming the door, I stand and look around the room. This is definitely my holding cell. It might be pretty, it might look normal, but there’s nothing normal about it. Tears prickle my eyes as an overwhelming sense of sadness hits me in the chest.