Chapter 16 Hunter
“Wait… I’m confused. You literally had her on her knees, and you walked away?”
Shame courses through me, and it’s not from attempting to wrangle giant balloons, dozens of pink-and-white cupcakes, and a shit ton of Pepto-colored decorations into The Tipsy Taco by myself.
Where the fuck are you, Little Rabbit?
“I didn’t walk away. We finished our…” I glance around to make sure no one is listening—even though multiple pairs of eyes are on me and no one offers to help. “…activities, and then I left.”
Now that I say it out loud, I realize how much of a jackass I was last night.
Bunny’s parting words followed me like a stage-five clinger through the rest of the night and all day today.
The worst part is she’s right. I took something that should’ve been monumental—a massive step in the direction I’ve always wanted—and made it feel tainted.
Every part of me enjoyed what we did. So why I felt the need to say what I did is beyond me.
I want to be with Bunny, not push her away.
And ever since our night in the bathroom here at the bar, she’s done exactly what Wrenley said she’d do.
She calls more. Texts more. Finds reasons to stop by or invite me over.
It’s like the second she thought she’d lose me, she woke up and realized she didn’t want that.
Only she’s still withholding the one part I want most.
Her heart.
“Cruel, Hunt.” A hint of humor touches Wren’s voice. “Effective. But cruel.”
“Whatever. Tell me again why I’m the one setting up for your girlfriend’s birthday party?” Alex nods at me as I haul all the crap to the back, where Vixey is arranging a pink tablecloth on a long table.
“Isn’t Bunny with you?” There’s shuffling in the background, and I swear I hear Dove grumble something about cleaning up Wrenley’s puke.
The fuck?
“No. She’s not answering her phone either.
” I mouth a silent thank you as Vixey takes the cupcakes.
She beams before turning away, catching the corner of the nearest table and nearly toppling over with all four dozen confectionaries.
Smiling sheepishly over her shoulder, she gives a slight shrug, then sets the boxes on another pink-clad surface.
Wren’s voice drops, like he’s trying to make sure Dove doesn’t overhear. “Okay, well, I have to go. Text me if you hear from her. We’re likely going to be running late.”
“What are you two off doing, anyway? You’re the one who wanted to throw this party, remember?” The fact that just months ago Wrenley and Dove pretty much hated each other—and now can’t do anything without each other—is only slightly annoying.
My friend comes back to the city after years away and shacks up with the bubblegum princess after months of foreplay disguised as hatred, and all it does is make me obsess over why the fuck it’s been years and things still haven’t worked out with Bunny and me.
Wrenley’s response is the rustle of fabric paired with Dove’s giggles before the line goes dead.
“What a way to show your appreciation, jackass.” I glare at my phone and pull up my message thread with Bunny.
Still nothing.
“What else can I help with?” Vixey’s dulcet tone stills my hand before my fingers can fly, ready to send a rude message to my little rabbit about her whereabouts.
Dragging my gaze from my device, I notice the honey-blonde rubbing her forearm where two small, perfectly circular red spots stand out against her tan skin. “Did you get bit by something? You should take a Benadryl.”
Her cheeks flame, and she reaches up to tuck a strand of hair that isn’t there—a nervous tell. Instead, she twirls the end of her long ponytail. “Oh, it’s nothing. Where’s Bunny, anyway? I figured she’d be the one to bring all the decorations.”
“I have no fucking clue.” I dump the remaining mass of pink on a pool table and pocket my phone. “Do you mind unraveling all this while I grab a drink?”
Vixey laughs and starts separating glittery garland from an orb of pastel-pink puffballs. “Sure thing. I don’t mind helping at all.”
She’d do anything to get on Bunny’s good side, so I leave her to it and head to where Alex is drying a rack of still-steaming glasses. “Whiskey, neat. Make it a double. Please.”
“Already that kind of night, huh? The party doesn’t even start for another hour.” His icy-blue eyes keep darting to Vixey through the steam, a faint pink hue climbing his cheeks when he catches my smirk. “What?”
“You’ve got it bad, man. Why don’t you just ask her out already?”
“I don’t think she’s interested. And I don’t wanna ruin our friendship.” He slides the last rack out and shuts the washer, then deflects. “Speaking of ruined friendships, where’s Bunny? This isn’t exactly a party I thought she’d miss.”
My phone is burning a hole in my pocket, but I refuse to check it. “Who knows. But like you said, the party doesn’t start for another hour. I’m sure she’ll show sooner or later.”
Alex raises a sandy-blond brow. “That’s unlike you. Usually you know where she is at all times.”
With a resigned sigh, I take my drink and slide off the stool.
After last night, I might’ve knocked back any progress with Bunny by a few months—if not more.
And I swear, if she shows up with another guy tonight, I’ll be in danger of losing my badge, because I’m done watching her parade other men around to get a rise out of me.
I’m done with our games. I love her, and she loves me. It’s time she owns up to the truth and stops lying to us both.
Otherwise, I don’t know how much more I have left in me to keep fighting.
With her. Or for her.
Bunny
“Ah, ah, ah.” Swinging around the pole, I whip my heel across my victim’s face as he tries to grab me again. The sharp point slices his chin, just below the thick tape I secured over his mouth. “What did I say about touching women who don’t want to be touched, Rick?”
The zip ties binding his wrists to the chair arms make it impossible for him to reach me, but he strains against them anyway, mumbled curses buzzing in his throat until a vein stands out along his neck.
I take another spin. The steel is warm beneath my callused palms. I should really take a class—I’m not in a club often enough anymore to keep them from forming.
Rick screams and thrashes when the tip of my stiletto catches the vein and snags before the skin gives. It’s like tearing tough meat—only this lump of flesh spurts as it splits. Blood sprays in an arc, painting the table, the floor, and me.
I slide down the pole and settle on the table, stretching languidly while he flails, trying to stop the bleeding—the ends of my wig soaking up crimson the longer I lounge. I’m not usually this macabre, but I’m in a mood, and my extensive research said Rick isn’t carrying anything I can catch.
Propping my head on my hand, I hold his gaze as his life starts to fade. “What is it about so many men who beat their wives also tending to cheat? Can you enlighten me?”
He tries to speak, and the blood just gurgles faster.
Yep. Definitely nicked the artery.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses.” I drag my gaze from his shit-brown eyes along the length of my body, drumming my fingers against my cheek while I inspect the damage.
“And look what you’ve done. I’m a bloody mess.
You’ve already made me late, and now I’ll have to go home and shower before my best friend’s surprise birthday party.
She’s turning thirty, you know. Isn’t that the same age your wife was when you put her in the hospital with a ruptured spleen? ”
I return my gaze to his, only to find his eyes are lifeless. “Well, that’s just rude. I was talking to you.”
Jackknifing up, I use the ends of Rick’s shirt to clean my heels, then cap the sharpened tips, not bothering to clean him up. I was careful not to touch his skin except when securing him to the chair, and I already wiped him down afterward.
Besides, I’m tired. Usually an easy kill like this takes nothing out of me, but I feel winded, like I just ran a half marathon.
Dove keeps trying to get me into the gym, and I’ve never felt the need—or desire—before, but if a few swings around a pole and a little manhandling has me stopping to catch my breath before I get ready to leave, I’m gonna need to start lifting some weights.
Securing him took way more effort than usual. My height already works against me, and Rick nearly turned the tables when he tried to cash in on the promise I made to lure him to the private room: manhandling me.
Age is catching up to me… and apparently it’s not planning to be kind.
Some sugar pop dance mix thumps through the speakers, loud enough to muffle any sound inside the small space Rick booked.
After wiggling into a black shift dress, I unclip the synthetic blonde wig—my nose scrunching at the bloodied, matted ends.
Thankfully, nothing has dried on my skin, and it’s relatively easy to clean up so I don’t trail any of Rick’s remains behind me.
Like my moniker, I stick to the shadows, making sure no one notices as I slip out the side door and down the dark hall, taking the back exit and disappearing into the inky blackness that’s fallen over the city.
My cheek tingles. The special effects makeup over my scar is tight and uncomfortable, but I keep it on until I’m a few blocks away and can hail a cab. While I check my phone, I peel it off, the tacky material tugging at the delicate skin hard enough to make my eyes water—and my mascara run.
Great. Even more of a mess to clean.
Hunter is already upset I’m running late. My home screen displays a pile of missed calls and messages like, Where the hell are you? and How am I the one who got stuck doing this? She’s your best friend and Wrenley’s girlfriend for fuck’s sake.
If I weren’t still pissed at him for the way he left last night, I’d almost feel bad for leaving him to set up for Dove’s party alone.
Almost.
On my way. Sorry.