Chapter 22
Bunny
Sweeping our entire place for bugs was the easy part.
Explaining ourselves and situations, on the other hand…
Not so much.
Kipp adjusts the arm he has wrapped around my shoulder to give me more room for my frantic scribblings that I know are making him uneasy.
After all, it’s the only logical feeling about having the words “I Ran” inked in his skin over and over again by the woman who literally tried to run away while he was sleeping.
I told him it was in reference to the song.
Which was the last song that Victor Garcia, the attorney our boyfriend contacted, played while we checked around for listening devices.
That seemed to do the opposite of help.
Probably because The Kid is jealous and only becoming more so with each passing minute Garcia sticks around.
I think it’s kind of cute.
And a little entertaining.
Garcia laughs louder with Mutt at the kitchen table on the other side of the room causing The Kid to quietly mumble under his breath, “He’s not that fucking funny.”
“You just don’t get the joke.”
“Do you?!” he snaps in a hushed tone.
“No…” digging harder into the letter R due to the pen beginning to run out of ink occurs between statements. “But it’s clearly an inside joke, so I wouldn’t.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?!”
“Nope.”
Nolan laughs a little louder once more prompting Kipp to grumble, “Does that?”
“Nope.”
“So, just me?”
“Yup.”
Another displeased grunt is accompanied by him protectively tugging me to him.
Again…this is cute.
This is nothing more than a little insecurity bubbling to the surface because you love the person that you’re with so, so much and some part of you doesn’t feel good enough for them; therefore, you worry they think that exact same thing and will someday find someone who is “better” for them than you.
It’s sweet.
And from what I understand about “healthy” relationships I’m witnessing normal.
And from a place of love versus possession.
Which is where Brad’s jealousy stemmed from.
Correction.
Stems. From.
He’s definitely that type of demon who feels like if he can’t have me…no one else can.
And that’s what has me on edge the most.
I know what he’s planning to do to me.
The game is always the same.
He’ll let me know I’ve been found. That’s always step one. Next, he’ll let me stew in that panic. Contract inward as I worry that every single person, I’ve crossed paths with in the last twenty-four hours works for him or owes something to him until I start spiraling. Shut myself inside. Cut myself off from the outside world. Flinch at every little noise I hear. He’ll then move onto the icing out period – designed to create a false sense of security. Make me feel like maybe he’s really gone this time. Done with me. That everything I thought I believed about him having found me was just my mind playing tricks on me. This is when he expects my guard to come down, and the second it does, he reveals himself again. What he knows. What he wants. That no matter how much distance or space there may be physically between us that I’m. Still. His.
Those very words were once painted on my bedroom window…inside my apartment.
Security alarms?
Didn’t work.
Witnesses?
Non-existent.
The camera footage from that night?
Erased.
My hard wood floors?
Spotless.
Area near the incident?
Cleaned.
The cops did nothing, supposedly because there was no evidence to do anything.
And then they turned it around on me.
How could I sleep through something like that?
How could I not hear it?
Wake up?
They blamed me even when I tried suggesting that perhaps I had been drugged without my knowledge – he’d done it numerous times before – and told me I probably dreamt the whole thing after watching some “murder porn” documentary.
Here’s the thing…I have dozens of stories like that, that if my partners knew…if they were really let in on what Brad is capable of…they might understand why I’ve always believed running to be the best form I can file and why I think we’re just basically waiting to be mentally audited any day now.
But at least we’re being audited together…
Right?
“Seriously, Nolan,” Garcia’s chuckles finally fade, “you owe me one poker night for this shit.”
Our boyfriend lets a wider grin reach his lips during his nodding. “Done.”
New whines of disapproval festering in the back of The Kid’s throat cause me to gently bump his frame with mine. “Put it in park, Speed Racer.”
“Alright,” Garcia lowers his mug to the table and shifts his stare to the two of us in the living room, “here’s what’s going to happen next.” As soon as he has all of the attention in the room, he continues, “I will be treating each of these as three separate, totally unrelated cases-”
“But they’re not,” The Kid prematurely chimes in.
“I understand that they’re not, Woods; however, for the sake of doing my job and providing each of you with the adequate counsel and resources you’ll need, for the time being it’s what is best. This doesn’t mean that won’t change. This doesn’t mean you won’t be informed of one another’s progress or resolutions. And it doesn’t mean that there won’t be a time that comes where we do have to intertwine these incidents for a bigger purpose. I’m simply stating that for the moment these are to be three independent cases. The law enforcement harassment,” he gestures towards Nolan, “the self-defense with deadly force,” his hand motions to Kipp, “and the stalking.”
The word itself sends a notable shiver down my spine.
“Nolan,” Garcia directs his words back to our boyfriend, “Thursday, we’ll meet for a late breakfast and then probably have a little field trip to the precinct just before The Chief tries to step out for lunch.”
Kipp instantly inquires, “Why Thursday?”
“Because they’ll be expecting us on Monday.” He doesn’t hesitate to lock eyes with The Kid. “We don’t want the expected. We don’t want them prepared. We want them caught off guard to use to our advantage. Monday they’ll be anticipating us. And when we don’t arrive, Tuesday is the next logical conclusion. By Wednesday, they’ll still be a tad worried, yet on Thursday, when they haven’t seen or heard from us by ten or so, they’ll mistakenly assume, they’re in the clear, giving us an element of attack as they scramble to get their shit together.”
“Okay,” the man with his arm around me slightly backs down, “but why breakfast?”
“Because we’ll need to review the case, I’ll be hungry, and Nolan owes me at least five.”
“Two at most,” Mutt cheekily corrects.
Laughter leaving them both yet again seems to pull a disgruntled grump out of The Kid.
“Next,” Garcia keeps his stare fixed on the obviously unhappy male I’ve stopped doodling on, “you are not to talk to any member of law enforcement – in person, on the phone, or digitally – without me present.” His expression hardens to reiterate his seriousness. “Doesn’t matter if they want just basic ass information or a complete rundown of the event again. You are not to give it without my presence or awareness. I don’t care what they say or try to threaten you with, Woods. Simply respond, ‘I am not speaking without my attorney present.’. I’mma leave you with a stack of my business cards to give out whenever you need to for contact.” He removes the aforementioned items from his pocket and places them on the table. “Understood?”
Kipp doesn’t hide his sneer. “You just…carry around an entire stack of business cards in your pants at all times?”
“My car.” He cocks a grin that only deepens The Kid’s scowl. “Think of me like a better looking, Hispanic version of The Lincoln Lawyer.” When there’s no response out of my boyfriend, Garcia attempts to clarify, “It’s a movie. And now a TV show.”
“And a slow and boring old people vehicle.”
“Luxury,” our attorney craftily quips back, “for those with that type of money to spend.”
The narrowing of Kipp’s gaze further displays his disapproval. “Not Ford’s best decision.”
“Maybe not his best decision but most certainly one of his top three as well as one that changed the entire course of the car industry and significant portions of pop culture.”
“Do not lecture me on the goddamn car industry.”
The Kid’s bite back prompts Mutt to tilt his head scoldingly in our direction. “Ignore, Kipp. He gets a little…touchy when he’s tired.”
“I imagine the latest round of adrenaline has worn off by now, so how about I wrap this up?”
“Should’ve done that an hour ago,” Kipp mutters louder than I’m sure he intended given the way it gets Garcia chortling.
“Apologies, man. I just…I don’t get to see Ace as much as I used to and got a little carried away with catching up.”
“He has a nickname for you?!” squawks the male beside me, unconsciously scooting that direction. “A fucking nickname?!”
“You just found out he has a nickname you don’t know about, not a fiancé,” I playfully point out and slide my pen into my bun. “Relax.”
“Do you have one of those too?” our boyfriend viciously chomps. “Maybe an entire pit crew you’re fuckin’ every other tow trip?”
“Kid,” Nolan snips at the same time he folds his arms across his chest, “enough.”
“I have had enough.” Kipp grouchily scrambles to his bare feet. “I’m gonna go take a fucking shower.”
“You’re gonna wait until Garcia is finished.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You will.”
“And. If. I. Don’t?”
“There’s no if, Kipp.” Watching the two men in my life exchange ire-filled glares with each other rather than me is oddly a relief. “Sit. Down.”
“I’ll. Stand.”
“Just to be a defiant little shit?”
“Just to prove I don’t do everything a controlling old man tells me to.”
“Oof,” Garcia grimaces and leans to one side to find my stare around Kipp’s fit frame. “They always like this?”
“Often.”
The two of them shoot me daggers in tandem that I meet with an innocent shrug. “What? You are!” Bending my knees to tuck them against my chest is accompanied by a crooked grin. “It’s part of your dynamic. And part of the reason I adore you both.” There’s no reluctance for each of them to let their shoulders slump, an action that wordlessly informs me the situation has been momentarily defused. “Alright, Garcia. What about me?”
“Yeah,” Nolan echoes in a lower tone, “what about Rabbit?”
“I’ve got a poker buddy,” an unexpected glint appears just briefly in his gaze, “that’s an uh…a P.I. I’ll see what he can dig up on those you’ve mentioned as well as the associates that have been sent to do McAdams’s footwork.”
The Kid folds his arms across his chest to mirror Nolan’s position. “Cost?”
“I’ll eat it.” He shrugs. “Zero always takes care of me. I’m one of his best clients.”
“His name’s Zero?” scoffs Kipp.
“Fiorenzo is his name. Zero’s the nickname I gave him.”
The Kid’s eyebrows lift in a taunting fashion. “You jus’ hand those out like a meter maid without shit else to do?”
“You must be really fucking tired,” Garcia nonchalantly brushes off, which seems to simply irk Kipp more. “Like I was saying,” he locks eyes with me again, “we’ll see what Zero can find out – discreetly – and I’ll have him pull any and all complaints you previously made regarding McAdams’s behavior…including the ones that magically vanished from the system or never quite made it in at all.”
Shock slides into my expression on a small gasp. “He can do that?”
“My guy can do a lot.” The word choice receives a curious and challenging glance from Mutt that he openly pretends not to see. “I’ll have him be extra discreet during his searching just in case it sets off flags for McAdams or anyone in his camp.”
“Keeping Rabbit safe is our main priority,” Nolan forcefully announces. “Understood?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you,” I warmly say at a softer volume.
He shoots me a wink of acknowledgement that pushes The Kid to huff, “Maybe we walk you out now?” His head tips towards one of the only non-cabinet doors left on its hinges in the apartment. “Let you and your money sucker get home for the day?”
“You think my Audi drains me dry?” Garcia casually asks as he stands.
“I know they have higher repair costs – on average – than most other luxury vehicles,” Kipp snidely informs.
“That’s probably true for most people that drive them.” Our attorney slyly retrieves his keys from his pocket. “However, between free parts and free labor, I would like to argue that I’m an exception.” His smirk becomes almost wolfish. “To most things.” Without another word to the youngest person in the room, he calls to the oldest, “Walk?”
“Yup.” Both men take a step to follow Garcia, yet Nolan swiftly stops that from happening by firmly demanding, “Wait here.”
“But-”
“Wasn’t asking, Kipp.”
The cold clipped tone causes his entire frame to stiffen and glare to follow the other men out of the apartment. Once the door closes, he whips his head in my direction, “Why the fuck wouldn’t he let me walk out with them?!” His shoulders push back. Tighten. “What’s he fuckin’ hidin’ from me?! What’s he gonna fuckin’ do?! What’s he not want me to fuckin’ see?!”
“Or…” repositioning my figure to sit crossed leg is attached to my rebuttal, “maybe…it’s not about you?” I tuck my hands in my lap. “Maybe he’s worried that I’m still a high flight risk that shouldn’t be left unsupervised?”
A small cringe precedes his whisper, “Right…”
Offering him a sweet smile successfully separates his shoulders from his ears, and I inwardly sigh in gratitude.
At least I’ve momentarily calmed his rattled nerves.
Poor Kid might be wound up the tightest of us all.
From what I’ve learned during our time together…Kipp isn’t used to dealing with stress outside of the shop.
Damn sure not those that would come in a relationship.
Then again…I’m not sure any of us have many wins in that column.
It takes Nolan longer than our partner likes to return, a fact he vocalizes the instant the door is shut with him inside. “Your engine sure is runnin’ fucking slow for how much gas I put in it this morning.”
Mutt rolls his eyes in obvious irritation during his stroll over to the couch. “Fuck me for bein’ exhausted, Kid.”
“Oh now, I’m Kid again?” He huffs and steps closer to where Nolan is flopping down on the arm of the couch. “Now, you wanna use my nickname?!” There’s no pause for response. “Should we start usin’ your apparent nickname, too? Hm, Ace?”
“I prefer Mutt,” I good naturedly goad, getting a grin out of Nolan. “Ace makes him sound so much cooler than he is. Like a fighter pilot.”
“I could’ve been a fight pilot.”
“In your Top Gun fantasies only.”
“I would make a more believable one than Tom Cruise.”
“You would barely look hotter oiled up playing volleyball.”
“He would look a lot hotter,” Kipp interjects prior to reclaiming the conversation, “and more importantly, why does that asshole have a fuckin’ nickname for you?”
“He’s not an asshole,” Mutt effortlessly defends. “And you should probably show a little more respect to-”
“Your elders,” I sassily finish, receiving the smirks I hoped it would.
“To,” Nolan shoots me a playful glare, “the man who’s gonna do whatever he has to, to keep your ass out of fucking prison.”
“Is that how you know him?” Our boyfriend swiftly investigates. “Has he kept your ass out of prison?” He strains his crossed arms further. “How many times? And when?”
The sigh that leaves Nolan is so heavy it rattles the windows. “Stop roaring your fucking engine at the stoplight, Kid. I’m not street racin’.” He gives the side of his face an exhausted scrub. “You wanna fuckin’ ask if we’ve seen what’s under each other’s hoods…Just. Ask.” His frame crumples a little further in weariness. “I’m too tired and too old for these little tantrums.”
“I’m not…tantruming.”
“You might as well of just poured Kipp Brand Oil all over my fucking pants and shoes for the past few hours.”
“I wasn’t…” he shuffles his weight back and forth. “I didn’t…I…”
“You were bein’ jealous-”
“Which is kinda cute,” I quietly add.
“And petty-”
“Which can be warranted but isn’t cute,” is mumbled next.
“And so fuckin’ childish.”
“To the tenth power.”
“All because you don’t have the big boy balls it takes to ask me about shit that bothers you.”
“Have you fucked him?!” Kipp abruptly barks at the top of his lungs.
“No.”
“Have you two almost fucked?!”
“No.”
“Have you two ever-”
“No.”
“Then…how do you…” he shuffles around uncomfortably again, “know each other?”
“Garcia tends to deal with high dollar clients to help out his not so high dollar friends by allowin’ them to pay for his services with theirs.”
Referencing Garcia’s early comment is effortless, “Like discounted car parts and labor.”
“I’m labor. Not sure who parts is.” Nolan wide mouth yawns. “We go pretty far back. Like…before you could’ve ended up being swallowed far back, Kid.”
“Then why is this the first time I’ve heard about him? Or…Or…Or met him?!”
“Have I met every dude you know?”
His mouth instantly lowers yet nothing comes out.
“Exactly.” He shrugs again. “Turns out we both have shit we haven’t shared yet.”
“I don’t fucking like it.”
“I don’t fucking like it, either.” All of a sudden, Mutt’s stare shifts to me. “Just like I don’t fuckin’ like some of the new shit we learned about you this mornin’, Rabbit.” His fingers fold firmly together. “You really think McAdams paid that guy to try to assault you on that yacht, so that he could be the fuckin’ hero?”
“Yeah…” Now the uncomfortable one, I reach for the nearby pillow to wind myself around before answering. “I’ve read about other stalker cases, and it’s fairly common for them to stage a scenario that puts them in direct contact with their victim. Not always in a scenario where they get to play the hero but always one where there’s some sort of unavoidable interaction.”
“His next interaction will be with us,” Nolan practically growls.
“All of us,” Kipp stresses, pitch identical to our partner’s.
“And his ass ain’t comin’ out of it alive.”
I do my best to smile.
Believe the proclamation despite the lump of dread lingering in my throat.
Mutt stands at the same time he suggests, “How about we all go squeeze our asses into my shower, get some sleep, and have some make up sex afterwards?”
“What about openin’ the shop?” The Kid cautiously questions.
“Already put up a ‘Sorry We’re Closed For The Day’ sign.”
“And your towing services?” I curiously inquire on a suspicious head turn.
“Voicemail service that states, ‘Sorry I’m Temporarily Closed Until Further Notice’.”
“Really?” Kipp struggles not to smile. “We’re gettin’ the whole day together?”
“I think it’s more than fuckin’ needed.” He extends an open palm towards our boyfriend. “Don’t you?”
The Kid bashfully beams and joins hands while I eagerly begin to transition to my feet. However, after tossing the pillow on top of another versus back in its original spot, a tiny scrap of paper catches everyone’s attention.
“What’s that?” Mutt motions his head towards the object I’m grabbing. “Receipt?”
Unsure myself, I quickly turn it over to read the typed words in bold print.
Words that not only have me covering my mouth with both hands but my stomach twisting, demanding I spew everything I’ve ever consumed in my entire life.
Tears immediately sprint to the rims of my eyes as I fervently shake my head in defeat, knowing the undeniable hell that is now in motion.
I KNOW EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE BUNNY ABERNATHY.