Chapter 7 Bunny - Two and a half years ago #2
“Hey, it’s not my fault you keep failing to make detective.
Don’t get mad because I said I could handle the job with just my contact.
” And thank god I did. If Ryan had been with me that night, I’d have never gotten my chance with this raven-haired goddess.
He’d have either scared her with his abrasiveness or blown our cover by charging off while I was distracted by her.
Bunny, surprisingly, comes to my defense. “Honestly, Jacobs, I don’t think you could handle the strip clubs. One pretty girl looks at you and you’d probably blow your load in your pants. You seem like the type.”
“Fuck you, Jones. I eat girls like you for lunch,” he sneers, turning to leave.
It doesn’t escape me that Bunny hasn’t moved from under my arm as she calls after him, “Oh, please. Women of my caliber wouldn’t let you dine on them if you were the last man on earth and it was the only way to get off.”
“Damn, Little Rabbit. You’re so mean. I love it.”
My grin dies the moment I see her itch at the collar of her turtleneck. Her mass of satin-black hair is pulled up, giving me a clear view of the blue-purple mottled flesh peeking above the fabric.
Rage scorches my blood at the thought of someone daring to mar her skin. “What the fuck is on your neck, Bunny?”
She freezes, then forces a laugh, tugging the collar up. “Eh, it’s nothing. Had a job go a little south, that’s all.”
Lie. Even if a customer tried, none of the joints she’s been assigned to would’ve let anyone lay a finger on her.
I hook her arm and steer her out of the hallway, cutting through the sea of desks to the cramped office they stuck me in after my promotion. More like a supply closet than an office, but I’m not complaining. It’s private.
“What. Is. Your. Deal?” she snaps, exasperated, yanking her arm free as I close the door.
“Let. Me. See.” I reach for her collar—and a low, frustrated growl slips out when she recoils, glaring.
“Did you just growl at me? Are you serious right now?” Ducking under my arm, she heads for the door.
I’m faster. My arm locks around her waist as I yank the collar down and expose the bruises. My breath hitches at the clear fingerprint shapes. Something primal tears through me—dark, vicious, and utterly fucking livid.
“Who the fuck did this to you?”
“I told you! Someone got a little handsy on a job! Now let me go, Hunter!” She writhes against me, and if the circumstances were different—between her soft body grinding against mine and the way she snarls my name—I’d be hard as a rock.
“What job?” She’s like a feral cat, squirming to escape, but I hold her tight, pinning her arms to her sides and locking her back to my chest. My chin rests on her shoulder. Raspberry and jasmine flood my senses. Her ponytail tangles between my mouth and her neck.
“Where were you, and who was there?”
“Hunter…” This time my name is a plea—and I nearly groan imagining her saying it for a different reason.
“Don’t lie to me, Little Rabbit.”
“Why?” The word leaks out on a shaky exhale. She turns her head, our noses brush, her gaze searching mine like she might find safety there.
“Because I will kill them.” My voice is calm. Absolute. “I will obliterate anyone who dares put their hands on you.”
Each second that passes steals a little more of my breath as the space between us disappears.
“You don’t know me,” she whispers, eyes shimmering. “Why do you care?”
I loosen my grip. I want her to come to me willingly—not because I’ve caged her. Bunny spins away, widening the gap between us. For one sharp second, I wish I weren’t such an honorable bastard.
“I’m going to talk to my sergeant. This won’t happen again. I promise you that.” I rise to my full height, letting her retreat even though every cell in my body screams to hold her. Just hold her.
The thought of anyone hurting her—of anyone daring to touch her—has my fists trembling at my sides.
Someone is going to die for this.
Shaking her head, she draws a shaky breath. “I don’t work for the department, Hunter. I’m a freelancer, of sorts. There’s nothing they can do—”
“I don’t care if you work for us or with us. I want you protected.”
Something shifts in her face at my tone—wonderment, and something that looks dangerously close to heartbreak. “Hunter… we can’t do… whatever…” She gestures between us. “...this is. I can’t—I’m—”
“Remington!” The door bangs open. A senior detective storms in, eyes barely flicking to Bunny before motioning at the files on my desk. “You were supposed to be in my office five minutes ago. Move it.”
“Yes, sir.” I grab the folders, fixing Bunny with a hard stare before I turn to leave. “I’m a patient man, Little Rabbit. And you seem like the type who spooks easily. So, we’ll go at your pace. But this conversation isn’t over. I want names. And the establishment.”
Her hands plant on her hips as she lets out a sardonic laugh, hair whipping as she shakes her head. “You just don’t give up. Do you?”
I catch her chin before she can turn away, forcing her to hold my gaze. “What can I say? I’m protective of the things I consider mine.”
It’s comical how big her eyes widen. “Yours? You barely know me.”
“I don’t need years to know what I feel.
I know my heart knows yours. It skips when you walk into a room.
I look for you even when I know you’re not there.
I know I love how your eyes light up when you talk about books.
Your favorite color is lavender, and you hate pink—though I admit I don’t know why.
You want dogs named after your favorite anime characters.
You love Lucky Charms and hate oatmeal. You have no patience for ditziness.
“And more than anything, I know I think about your sassy mouth—and what it can do—far too often when I go home at night.”
I fucking love the way her cheeks flush, rosy against her freckles, illuminating her sun-flecked forest eyes. She licks her lips, and I swear I’d die for a taste.
“Most of all,” I murmur, “I know you’re interested.”
“And what makes you think that?” she breathes, leaning in just slightly.
“Because if you weren’t… then what are you still doing here?”
My eyes dip between us before flicking back up as realization sparks in hers—realization that I’m not holding her anymore. She could’ve left.
But she didn’t.
Even her subconscious knows she doesn’t want to.
Bunny jolts back, stammering, “I—you—”
“Remington!” A harsh voice filters through the door.
“We’re inevitable, Little Rabbit.” I shrug, turning to leave. “It might not happen as soon as I’d like…” I glance over my shoulder, memorizing the way her chest rises and falls, how she looks scared—but there’s something else in her eyes.
Something I’ve become very familiar with.
Longing.
“But make no mistake… this is happening.”