Chapter 17
Bunny
“What do you mean we can’t fucking extract her?!” screeches an unfortunately familiar feminine voice.
Beverly.
Beverly. McAdams.
The square root of mommy issues.
I knew she’d come sooner rather than later for me.
She always has.
She’s always backed her precious, overgrown child’s decisions.
Enabled them.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Physically.
Financially.
Beloved baby demon wants for nothing.
Correction.
Wanted for nothing.
The only thing I’m sure he wants now is to be alive and stalking versus ripped to shreds by bears.
Or wolves.
Or hungry, horny vultures that start at his mutilated balls first.
“I want her extracted! ”
Slight thrumming in my head convinces me to momentarily keep my eyes closed.
Shield my face further with my shoulder.
Pretend the drugs are keeping me dormant and docile the way they used to.
“I want her extracted. Now! ”
Mumbles of rebuttal are faintly heard this time.
They’re low and unclear.
Seemingly uncombative but then again everyone in comparison to that Aristocunt is nonhostile.
“The weather?! ” she hisses, words eerily echoing around me, sending a chill up my spine.
More muttering.
“ No! That’s unacceptable! ”
There’s barely a beat before she’s yelling again.
“ No! I wanna talk to the fucking pilot!” Audible stomping can be heard. “ We’ll see if he doesn’t change his mind for the right price! ”
Slamming of a door – or what I envision is a door – definitively precedes a meek male voice stating, “ She’s gone. ”
Much like the shrill shrieks, I recognize the mousey masculine one.
Curtis.
Curtis McAdams.
The man responsible for providing the seed that sprouted my greatest nightmare of all time.
“I know you’re awake, Bunny,” he gingerly announces, tempting me to redirect my attention to him. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
My face thoughtlessly twitches.
“I know you don’t believe me, but…” slight clanking noises are followed by a small thud, “I never wanted us to find you again.”
The thing is I do believe him.
I believe him because during a brief second of non-poison clarity he heavily aided in my escape.
Inspired by the declaration and the dropped object, I slightly crack my lids to see a thick blanket on top of orange bedsheets and two small, ugly pillows. Rather than reach for them, I simply shift my gaze to his and note his cloudy crystal stare that rarely changes.
Drugs keep him repressed.
Easier to manipulate.
I used to wonder why and how he could let such atrocities happen under his watch, why and how he could let the woman he chose to love, to marry, to have his child, treat him like a prisoner tasked with being nothing more than a face the world thought she was fucking, when in reality he was usually just watching his son, his own flesh and blood, fulfill his role in every way possible.
And then I experienced exactly what being chemically controlled does to you.
Not saying I excuse him or his behaviors.
Just saying I understand.
Sympathize.
His wrinkled tanned face attempts to smile and offer solace as he gestures to the bedding below him. “It’s supposed to get below freezing tonight.”
Once more, I opt out of speaking.
Briefly drink in my new surroundings.
Decide to make mental notes while it’s possible.
There’ll be plenty of time for panic and worry and panic again but for now, I have to stay focused.
Determined.
Figure out where the hell I am and how the fuck to get out.
Between the wooden panels surrounding me and the tiny metal bar opening that appears to slide open along with closed, it’s easy to assume my location.
Especially if you also take into account the terrible fucking smell.
Combined that with how many places close to town that actually have these, and the mystery is solved.
We’re on the farthest side of the property that houses the barn they do weddings and host our townhall in.
Findable.
Reachable.
Escapable.
At least for now.
Wonder if my engagement ring could double as a weapon or a tool.
My thumb immediately goes to graze the band only to touch nothing.
They took my ring?!
They took my fucking ring?!
“It’s not a heated horse stable,” Curtis informs on a small shiver, interrupting my mental outrage.
“That’s bad for the horses.” He defeatedly rests his arms on the edge followed swiftly by his chin on top of them.
“I’d know. I grew up with them.” His head tilts just the slightest. “I always wanted some of our own but Beverly…”
Whatever the end of the sentence is dies in his own head.
Although, it’s not hard to figure out.
She controls him the way Brad controlled me.
We’re possessions.
Not people.
“Thirsty?” quietly leaves Curtis prior to him revealing a bottle of water.
“I heard the pharmacist tell Beverly that his new knock out formula would leave you with a really bad case of dry mouth, which she believed worked in her favor. You’d need water, and she’d have the perfect opportunity to begin drugging you like normal.
” The clear object is extended in my direction.
“That’s why I got you a fresh – completely sealed bottle – from the mercs supplies.
They didn’t even notice. It means you’re gonna have to fake being drowsy.
” He dangles it a little more playfully.
“If I had to venture a guess, I’d say you remember how. ”
I wanna smile.
Reminisce.
Thank him for what he’s done for me in the past and is currently trying to do for me now.
I wanna put these in the “good human” column yet can’t deny that that would be an oversell.
Good humans don’t help captors kidnap or keep victims…especially not pregnant ones.
“ Drop it ,” I command in a hushed tone, grateful when it’s immediately done. “ Back. ”
Curtis eagerly nods and retreats.
Gives me the space I need to carefully crawl closer to grab the supplies waiting for me in what I imagine from her yelling was meant to only be a temporary cell.
From a safe distance he watches me collect and scurry away to the furthest wall before resuming his previous beside the bars position.
“ Because I helped you escape once, ” he begins in a whisper, voice shaking in sadness and fear alike, “ just know that she’ll be watching me harder to make sure that I don’t do that again… ”
An undeniable knot of tears and dread begins to grow in my throat.
“But please remember that just because I can’t save myself, Bunny, doesn’t mean I have to harm you.”
“ Preposterous! ” bellows Beverly upon her reentering of the space prompting Curtis to cower. “ Utterly! Preposterous! ”
The Devil does wear Prada.
And Fendi.
And Cartier.
And Valentino.
And every other high dollar label or haute fashion designer she wants to use to help remind the outside world that she’s better than them.
Wealthier.
More powerful.
Her son thought dressing me to look like her – in her things at times – was a sign of love instead of sickness.
May blowflies and beetles enjoy his body.
“There is not a single pilot willing to fly in this weather!”
Quickly screwing off the lid occurs in order to swallow a few sips to aid in keeping her suspicions about her husband’s non-nefarious actions low.
“Do they not know who I am?!” Additional clacking on the cold stable floor is heard. “Do they not know what I could do to them?! Their careers?!”
Words and phrases I could easily slide into the “repeats” section of my mental spreadsheet.
They’re her default when the world doesn’t go her way.
They were his too.
Like maniacal mother, like mentally deranged son.
“What about the extraction team, sweet pea? Could they not put you in contact with an alternative?” Curtis inquires, entire six foot plus frame continuing to crumple, preparing to fall to his knees upon request. “Could they not-”
“What did I just say, Curtis?!” She shrieks at the same time she arrives in front of him. “ Why were you not listening? ”
“I was. I was,” he pleads but is still forced to endure her physical wrath of a harsh ball grabbing – a controlling technique that Brad always got hard watching. “ I’m sorry, sweet pea. I’m sorry. ”
“ Listennnnnnnn ,” criticizes the demon in tandem with squeezing tighter given how he whimpers. “You know how much I hate when you make me do this.”
Her husband rapidly nods and drops his head in submission.
That’s not love.
That’s fear.
And despite what she wants or expects from me, I refuse to give her that.
I refuse – even locked up in a cell like this – to be afraid.
Not again.
Never. Fucking. Again.
“You will remain in there for the night,” Beverly announces, eyes finally gliding over to me.
“We will leave first thing in the morning once the flying conditions prove to be viable. Until then you will stay right there like the filthy creature you are, unchained only as to not add additional stress on my baby.”
“ My. Baby. Beverly. ”
“ No, ” she harshly hisses on a sharp point. “You took my precious baby from me, so I am gonna take his baby from you and make it mine . ” An uncomfortable longing appears in her icy gaze. “ Ours. ”
My water free hand protectively places itself on my stomach while I smugly state, “This isn’t his baby.”
“ So predictable. ” Her eye roll is accompanied by a heavy sigh.
“ So pathetic. ” Having her pale face crane closer should push me to recoil or clamor further away, practically up the wall, yet I refuse.
I merely clutch my stomach tighter and present her with an unwavering expression of strength.
“Brad knew you were going to try to lie to me, which is why he told me if I found you without him, to remember what a liar you. How you’ve always just been afraid of his love. Of the way I love him. ”
“ Loved, ” vengefully slips past my lips.
Seeing her entire jaw tremble is what leads to me smirking.
Enjoying another sip of water.
“ Where. Is. His. Body? ” To no surprise, my lack of response spurs her shouting, “ Where is it?! ” The harsh hitting of the bars doesn’t rattle me. “ Where is it?!?! I wanna hold him! I wanna kiss him! I wanna bring him home! I wanna bring my baby home! ”
Another vindictive grin grows during my ceaseless cradling. “ Which. Piece? ”
Loud, unhappy screams precede her seething into the open gap, “ I will do worse to you than whatever you and your worthless duo did to my everything. ”
Anxious to keep her rattled, I viciously coo, “ Doubtful. ”
Frustrated, furious roars are the last thing I hear prior to seeing Curtis forced to his knees.
Beverly violently slides the flap over to cover the small gap, curls her fingers around the bars, and holds my stare hostage with hers.
Despite the fact her eyes aren’t moving elsewhere, her body is.
It gradually angles itself from one side to the other as though working on removing something or rearranging.
Perhaps even repositioning it.
However, the instant her vision hoods, I know exactly what’s happening.
What she’s attempting to do.
Lewd, dramatic moans begin filling my stable space while she slowly sways her head back and forth.
Back and forth.
Cracks her mouth wider and teases her tongue to her top lip and whimpers, “ Brad… ”
Punishment.
Pure and fucked up punishment.
I always thought the moments I witnessed like this when I would stumble around their manor in a drug infused haze trying to leave weren’t real.
That she wasn’t forcing her son to watch her with his father.
That she wasn’t scolding him between groaning his name.
His name.
Not her husband’s.
Never her husband’s.
And the even more fucked up thing was this sick, twisted disciplining worked.
Oh!
How about one more item for that “fucked up” row?
Whenever I asked about what I swore I saw, what I knew I saw even in my mentally sluggish state, he would swear I was hallucinating from not enough sleep or too much caffeine.
He was a sick fuck because he was raised by one.
And my baby will never endure what he did.
Even if death for us becomes the only option to guarantee that.