Chapter 8 Hunter - Present
Present
“It’s crazy to think you can go from utterly despising someone to loving them so quickly. How does that even happen? How does one go from hating someone to loving them?”
“I loved her before I hated her… and unfortunately for me, the first emotion clawed its way back to the surface and burned every remnant of my hatred when she showed back up like she hadn’t ripped my heart from my chest.”
It takes me a moment to realize the tapping of Wrenley’s laptop keys has stopped. I glance over the top of my MacBook to see him staring at me like I’ve grown another head.
“Oh. You were talking about you and Dove.”
Wrenley huffs a laugh, scrubbing both hands down his face as he sinks back against my sofa. “She’s pissed at me. And I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Well, Bunny’s always pissed at me for some reason or another.”
Except when my head is between her thighs.
“Dove will get over it.”
“Yeah, I thought she’d get over it too. But it’s been days, and she’s unwavering. Legit will not speak to me.”
I turn back to my screen, sighing as I click through the crime scene photos. The Baby Doll Killer got gruesome with her newest victim, and though I won’t admit it out loud, the images make my stomach pitch.
“These girls are going to be the death of me,” I mutter.
“What was that?” Wrenley asks, breaking off his quiet rambling.
“Nothing. Just questioning my life choices over here.”
“Why have you waited for Bunny all this time?” He shuts his laptop and reaches for his beer, swinging one arm over the back of the sofa.
“She’s hot, but she’s… a lot. Clearly, she wants you, but she won’t be with you.
And she doesn’t want you to be with anyone else.
You’ve told me enough to allude to the fact that you have a sexual relationship that’s everything except sex. What are you doing, Hunter?”
It’s not the first time someone has asked me that.
Guys in the department.
Women in the industry who’ve been around long enough to know I’m not a nut they can crack.
My boss.
My parents.
How do I explain that I’m waiting for a woman who I know loves me—but won’t admit it because her husband was abusive and did a fucking number on her?
It’s Bunny’s story to tell, not mine. And if anyone knew what he did to her… what he did for years.
What he did because of me.
And anyone who digs too deep could uncover the truth about what happened.
I can’t have that.
I won’t.
I’ll go down for her if I have to.
Bunny’s suffered enough.
So, I deflect.
“What are you doing, Wrenley? Dove looks just like your mother, so you can’t decide if you want to fuck her or kill her. And I swear, if you hurt her, I’m going to have to look the other way when Bunny kills you.”
He laughs and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. The deflection works—he forgets about my love life and dives straight back into the blonde bubblegum princess.
“I know. I hate it. I’ve never been so fucking gone for a woman before. It’s bad enough she keeps showing me up at work, then we go home and she sucks my cock like she’s trying to apologize—”
My beer nearly comes back up as I choke on a swallow. Between Ryan at work and Wrenley here, everything I know about Dove’s sex life I’ve learned against my will.
“—and how the fuck do you stay mad after that? Of course I was going to blow up eventually. But it’s almost like she wanted me to get angry. Like she was pushing me away on purpose.” He waves his beer bottle in the air, punctuating his frustration.
“We’re pathetic, aren’t we?” The words slip out quieter than intended, but they still echo off the walls of my brownstone.
“Do you think they sit around and talk about us the same way?”
“Oh, I guarantee whatever they have to say is way worse.”
Bunny
“Look, I’m not yucking anyone’s yum here, okay? I just don’t like it. Give me the drama and the angst and the pining! I don’t want them to share her, I want them to fight over her!”
Slamming a carton of oat milk on the counter, I spin and fix my best friend with a deadpan stare. “You’re denying her a chance to have multiple cocks at any given time from men she actually likes—who also know what they’re doing?”
“She can have all the cocks.” Dove lifts her phone, shifting our props around on the counter.
“Hell, she can even have two at a time if the tension is tensioning and the men are throwing insults at each other while they fuck their way through the argument with her body as the mediator. I just don’t like when anyone can use her at any given time and no one gets jealous.
I need the chaos!” Dove exclaims, rearranging the book we’re currently reading for an aesthetic photo for our Iconic profile.
It’s the third time she’s moved the decorations around.
Chaos, my ass.
“Sooo… cheating?” I spoon another bite of Lucky Charms and talk around the marshmallows. “She can be with them all, just not as one big happy family?”
“It’s not cheating if it’s not exclusive,” she chirps, fluffing a sprig of pampas grass. “Like I said, she can fuck them all, but I need the drama and jealousy. Otherwise, for me personally, it’s too fluffy, and I don’t wanna read about it.”
I glance around her place at the pinks and creams, the endless flowers and frills. Even though Wrenley basically lives here now, there’s not a hint of him anywhere. It’s warm and cozy and so very fluffy, because my best friend is a walking puff of cotton candy.
So the fact that she hates why-choose baffles me.
But I don’t point out the irony as she rants about despising fluff while literally fluffing cream-colored decor for her shot.
“Well, we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.
” I slide my bowl toward her for the photo—her idea to spell serial killer like cereal has taken off way more than either of us expected.
Once she’s snapped a few pictures, I reclaim my breakfast before the cereal gets soggy.
There’s nothing worse than soggy Lucky Charms.
“How are things with your songbird?”
Dove goes uncharacteristically quiet, chewing her bottom lip as she debates answering. “We’re not speaking at the moment,” she admits finally.
The air goes heavy—storm-cloud thick, like an unspoken monologue is about to break. But just as she parts her watermelon-pink lips, her phone rings.
We both jump at the sound as it vibrates on her granite countertop.
Mom.
Dove silences it without hesitation, releasing a weak laugh that shakes her delicate shoulders.
“You’d think she’d get the hint.”
“I thought you haven’t spoken to her in years?” I follow her to the sofa, my dogs passed out in a puppy pile on Fang’s oversized pink doughnut bed.
“I haven’t. She’s in therapy, and apparently her therapist thinks it would be a good idea for us to talk.” Dove pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s holding back a headache. “I told her I wasn’t interested and that she needs to stop calling.”
“Why don’t you just block her number?”
Dove and her mom have always been a mess.
Her dad died young, her mom fell apart, and Dove had to raise herself…
which caught the attention of a very sick man who ended up being her serial killer origin story.
When she was finally brave enough to tell the truth, her mother didn’t believe her. They’ve barely spoken since.
“I don’t know.” Dove shrugs, looking smaller than usual. “I suppose it helps the illusion I fed Wrenley about her visiting.” Melancholy flickers across her face.
I hate seeing her sad, so I change the subject. “Yeah, I can’t believe he even suggested watching Fang.”
At the sound of his name, her Chinese Crested lifts his rainbow mane from the floof pile. He stretches, yawns, then hops up between us.
“He loves Wrenley, though, don’t you, baby boy?” Dove coos.
I snort. “Fang likes men in general, Love Dove. I don’t think Wrenley can hack it here. And don’t get me started on what he said about the Shadow Siren.”
“Oh my god, I never should have told you.” She groans with a smile, letting her head fall back on the cushion. “You’re never going to let it go, are you?”
“Nope.” I pop my p. “Besides, what happens when he finds out?”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “I think he’s catching on.”
“He wouldn’t be if you hadn’t gone to his house! Why did you think that was a good idea? What happens if he tells Hunter?”
Panic wraps its chilled fingers around my ribs, searing the bone with a coolness that burns my insides.
“Dove, I can’t… Hunter can’t figure us out.”
“I know.” She lays a hand on my knee, gaze steady. “Trust me, Bunny. You’re safe. It’s okay. If Wrenley figures out it’s me, I’ll deal with it if things go sour. I promise. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m sorry, Love Dove. I just… I’m not ready…”
Because who’s ever ready to tell the man they love that it’s them he’s been looking for all this whole time, and not in a romantic sense?
Hey, you know how you’ve been chasing your tail trying to catch this killer? Surprise. It’s me!
“Kill me now.” I groan, throwing my head back on the sofa. As if sensing my distress, Yasha and Maru untangle themselves from the puppy pile and climb into my lap, forming a new ball of fluff over my thighs.
“It’s fine,” Dove repeats, still sounding utterly unfazed.
“Wrenley is obsessed with the Baby Doll Killer. And even though we’re not speaking right now, I’m honestly convinced he’d never do anything to hurt me—including keeping this secret.
And it’s not like Hunter is trying super hard.
I swear he works harder at keeping guys away from you than trying to figure out the Baby Doll’s or Shadow Siren’s real identities. ”
She’s not wrong. Hunter loves his job—and he’s brilliant at it.
They haven’t caught us because he doesn’t want to.
Not yet.
And I can’t figure out why. There has to be another reason. Something beyond us only targeting bad men.
Right?
Hunter remains unwavering in his pursuit of me, and there have been so many times I’ve wanted to spill my secret.
If he truly loves me… what would he do if he found out who I really am?
Would he accept it?
Understand me?
Or would his job outweigh everything he feels about me?
All I know is I’m so tired of keeping secrets from him.
So very fucking tired.