Chapter 10 Bunny - Two Years Ago
Two years ago
“Pressure cookers?!” Hunter and I shout at the same time, sharing a look of horrified disgust.
Phillip Keels, lead detective for Homicide, nods as he refills a white mug that says World’s Best Uncle in bright blue bubble letters.
“Multiple. The whole basement was covered with them. Slow cookers, too. That’s how he broke ‘em down. Quick and then slow. Over and over. Buried the sludge out back.”
His partner shakes his head, pulling a fresh mug from the breakroom stockpile. “It was like a garden of bones.”
“Beautiful azaleas, though.”
Hunter’s whiskey eyes drop to the fried chicken leg between his greasy fingers. He sets it on the wax paper. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“No stomach for homicide, eh, Remington?” Keels jokes.
“A pressure cooker?” Hunter repeats, barely a whisper. Glassy eyes, unfocused, like he’s trying not to picture it and failing.
I pat his back. “There, there. Not everyone can handle the gruesome monstrosities of life. You’re okay, big guy.”
He slants me a look while the other men chuckle. “Oh, you can handle bones and body parts and sludgy gut fertilizer?”
I shrug, stealing one of his fries and drowning it in ranch. “Don’t your parents own, like… a farm?”
“They don’t slaughter animals!” Horror climbs his face. I swallow my laugh. My fingers itch to cup his clean-shaven cheek and cluck my tongue.
Sweet, sweet Hunter.
I really do adore him.
Sadness spikes, stealing my breath and reminding me I shouldn’t be here. I’m supposed to be shopping for a dress for a gala in a few weeks for Nathaniel’s company.
But like a moth to a flame, I ended up grabbing lunch with Hunter instead.
“If you’re ever looking for more work, Jones, we could use you,” Keels says. “I heard you’re a master of disguise. I wouldn’t mind—”
“No.” Hunter cuts in, one word—rugged, resolute—reverberating through the room. “Absolutely not.”
“You her keeper, Remington?” Keels looks between us, amused and a little pissed.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, trying to kick him under the table discreetly. “It’s fine,” I state louder. “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Keels.”
“No you fucking won’t,” Hunter says to me, anger and stubbornness peppering his tone. The others file out, tossing him stay in your lane, kid looks. “I’ll be damned if you put yourself in danger like that.”
“You think Narcotics isn’t dangerous? What do you think I do in those clubs—hold hands with the other strippers and sing Kumbaya?”
His face softens. He wipes his hands, then pulls off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “Little Rabbit, it’s not the same. I know you can take care of yourself, alright? I’m not trying to reduce you to a helpless woman, so simmer down and retract the daggers from your eyes.”
Exhaustion threads his voice. It makes me feel a little bad. He’s worried about me. I feel the same when he goes on jobs I can’t tag along for.
“I know… but could you maybe not treat me like glass in front of them?” I gesture toward the door.
Instead of acknowledging me, Hunter swallows thickly, his gaze pinned to a spot on the wall. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you out there, Bunny.”
“Hunter, we both put our lives on the line. It’s what we do. It’s who we are.” We’ve said it before—the shared thrill, the clean high. Who needs the hard stuff when adrenaline does the trick?
He thinks about it, then sighs. “I know. It’s why I love y—”
We both freeze. Neither of us looks at the other. His almost-word hangs like a storm cloud about to break.
We’ve known each other a little over six months. No real dates—only stolen moments at work. Hunter can’t love me.
An ache blooms where he’s carved himself a space, pushing my husband out inch by inch with every day we spend together.
Once upon a time, I’d never have entertained leaving Nathaniel.
Now, though… now I’m starting to think Hunter’s right. We’re inevitable, he and I.
I have to leave my husband.
I’m not being fair to Hunter. Or to Nathaniel. Or to myself.
Because even if we haven’t crossed that line, we want to. I want to.
And even if he’s firing the L-word way too early, my heart wants to hear it in a way it never did from my husband.
Marrying Nathaniel was transactional. Stability for me. Family-man optics for him. We were attracted. He was obsessed in the beginning.
But not one second of that felt like this moment with Hunter.
Hunter snaps out of it first, slipping his glasses back on. “Anyway. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. That’s all.”
He picks up his chicken again. I reach into the box and nab a leg.
“Hey! You said you weren’t hungry!”
“I changed my mind.” The tension thins as we slide back into easy conversation. He tells me about a jazz club he found, divides his food, and slides half to me like I didn’t go to the restaurant with him and decide not to order.
And that’s when it hits me.
I think I’m starting to fall in love with him, too.
I’ve never liked shopping. Growing up broke, bouncing from home to home with barely a suitcase, I learned not to get attached to material things—and to expect hand-me-downs, nothing new.
Nathaniel and I have been married for a few years, and I still can’t get used to just… buying a new dress if I need one.
We’re not rich, but we’re comfortable—and he loves to dress to impress at these parties. He wants his higher-ups to see him. Pour me into a four-figure dress, himself into a tux that costs a month’s mortgage, and voilà: respect.
“One day, we’ll be rubbing elbows with the elites in this city. Just you wait, Buns.”
I couldn’t care less about elbow-rubbing with rich snobs. The fewer eyes on me, the better. I’m good at what I do—blending in, unseen. If my face starts showing up on page one, my job is over.
“That’s a beautiful choice. Is it the right size? We have other options in the back,” a saleswoman says from my periphery. Tall brunette, stunning blue eyes. I wonder if Hunter would think she’s pretty.
I look down at the black gown in my arms. It’s a simple mermaid silhouette—backless, buttery silk, thin straps, scoop neckline. Nathaniel prefers pink, but I’m feeling rebellious.
Plus, my upper body’s bruise-free at the moment. Perfect chance to show a little skin. He loves parading me as a trophy at these things. I’ll just have to be extra careful not to upset him for the next few weeks.
“Thank you. I’m sure this size is fine. I’m pretty consistent across brands.” She takes the dress to prepare a room while I keep browsing.
My phone pings as I head to the back with two more options—both dark, as far from pink as possible. In the stall, I finally check it.
Sergeant Rhodes
I forgot to tell you. I started that show you told me about. Hard no for me. He’s like… what even is he? A monster? And she’s a kid. Bride is literally in the title, so if it’s going where I think, I’m gonna respectfully pass.
I stifle a giggle with my palm. Sergeant Rhodes is my code name for Hunter. Previews are off, and I delete our messages before going home, but I’m not taking chances. I’ve been careful not to bring him up at home. Nathaniel seems pleased.
He’s even been gentler lately, which is everything I don’t want and everything I need from him—even if I’d prefer he not touch me at all.
Get your shit together, Bunny. End things. Or stop seeing Hunter.
One option feels impossible. The other, unfathomable.
Contemplating the sticky mess I’ve found myself in, I slip into the first dress. Too tight. So much for being “consistent.” It’s too sparkly anyway. I rehang it and grab my phone to reply.
You’re missing out. I promise it’s not taboo. He’s actually pretty cute in an adorable puppy sort of way. She helps him learn human feelings. And he helps her learn magic.
The second dress is just as tight. “What the heck?” I mutter, trying for a side view.
Why did I try on a ball gown? I’m too short for a cupcake skirt—and already pushing it with dark colors. Nathaniel likes them painted-on, not hide a whole person under the chiffon. Not sure why I grabbed it.
Sergeant Rhodes
*wrong answer buzzer sound* Next.
This time, I let a chuckle slip as I change into the last gown—the first one I picked. Mild guilt prickles. Hunter is watching anime for me, and I still have yet to listen to a single jazz track he’s suggested.
Jazz is most definitely not my jam. But he’s trying to enjoy my hobbies. I owe him the same.
I suck in to pull the side zipper carefully past my skin. Usually, sizing isn’t an issue, but three tight dresses is… odd.
You just stuffed your face with fried chicken and fries. You’re bloated.
Duh.
Deciding that’s it, I change back and bring the black dress up front, texting as I check out.
Try Dragon Ball Z. It’s a classic, and one of my favorites. But I swear, if you don’t like it, keep it to yourself or I’ll go Super Saiyan on your ass.
Once the gala’s over, I’ll start planning my escape. Nathaniel won’t let me go without a fight. I need everything in place before I tell him I’m leaving.
Part of me thinks it’s insane to do this for a man I barely know. The other part—the one that swore I’d never become like so many of my foster mothers—knows Hunter is just the catalyst.
This decision’s been a long time coming.
Sergeant Rhodes
I just looked up whatever that means, and now I’m intrigued. Scared… a little turned on… but intrigued.
Intrigued. Turned on. Scared.
Me too, Hunter.
Me too.