Chapter 18 Bunny - Present
Present
I know what you are.
The magazine clippings curl at the edges, not fully glued to the thin paper wedged between a flyer for a new ice cream shop and a notice about upcoming construction.
Forensics never found prints on the first letter, and I doubt this one will be any different.
“We need to invest in a doorbell camera, boys.” I don’t know why I haven’t done that already—especially considering the things I do in the basement.
What’s Dove always say about us?
Oh, right.
Worst serial killers ever.
Yasha and Maru yip in response, shaking out their freshly groomed coats. Yasha trots back into the living room, probably in search of a toy, but Maru doesn’t stray from my feet, staring up with beady black eyes.
“What is it, Maru? You’re not getting my sushi, buddy. Auntie Dove just brought you your own treats—this is Mommy’s.” He cocks his head, snowy ears flicking as he stares into my soul.
For a moment, I wonder if he senses something I don’t. A smell… or a canine sixth sense about where the letters are coming from. They say animals pick up on those things, and the dogs do like to sit in the sill of the window by the front door.
Then he licks his lips, dashing my paranormal theory. He just wants my food.
I tuck the note in my bag to take to work and try my luck with prints again, shove the last piece of shrimp tempura in my mouth, and head to the back door to double-check the lock before leaving.
Part of me thinks I should take the messages more seriously.
But are they even threats? Should I cool it on the killing until I figure out who’s sending them?
My sense of self-preservation is clearly lacking because I’m more preoccupied with the fact that my pants feel tight today than with someone possibly playing a prank—or worse… having found me out.
Sabrina in forensics gives me a look as I hand over the newest letter. “Is everything alright, Bunny? Are you receiving threats?”
“It’s a friend who’s getting them.” I purse my lips and stare at a random spot behind her like I’m solving a complicated case, when really I’m trying to keep my lunch from reappearing all over her workstation.
Note to self: no more sushi for a while.
Even cooked, my stomach rejects my favorite shellfish. A lump forms in my esophagus and heartburn spiders through my chest. Nausea rolls like I’m about to yeet my food back out, whole and undigested.
Apparently it’s written all over my face.
Hunter nudges me gently as I enter the briefing room. “You okay? You look sick.”
I meet his whiskey gaze and swallow. Warmth encompasses me as concern brightens his features, chasing away the queasiness when he brushes my hair over my shoulder.
“I’m okay. I think I just ate some bad sushi.” Leaning into his touch, I soak up the affection, uncaring who sees.
For some reason, my eyes sting, and Hunter’s narrow in suspicion before he pulls me into a hug. “What’s wrong, Little Rabbit?”
I wish I knew.
I almost laugh at the absurdity. This isn’t me. I don’t randomly cry—certainly not at work. And while everyone knows Hunter and I are close, I’ve never let him touch me like this in front of anyone here.
My hands clench into his sides as I focus on my breathing, forehead pressed to his chest. He runs his fingers lightly down my back and jokes, “Where did you get sushi from? Remind me never to eat there if it makes you cry.”
This time, I do laugh.
Settling into his warmth, I simply enjoy the feeling of his arms around me. Dove and Wrenley interrupted our kiss right when it was getting good at her birthday party, and Hunter’s been busy on a new case, so I’ve barely seen him.
I don’t even feel weird about the PDA. I’m not sure what exactly changed for me all of a sudden, but I want everyone to know he’s mine. It’s like a light switch clicked in my chest, turning fear and unease about our situation into a desire to move full-speed-ahead.
A feral need to claim him—publicly and thoroughly—so all the badge bunnies know exactly who holds his heart.
“I have to brief the team on a new case. But after work, we can hang out if you want? Spend some time together… uninterrupted.” His voice heats on the last word, the insinuation as clear as the way he presses into me, desire pouring off the hard planes of his body in fiery waves.
Sweat beads at the base of my neck and trickles down my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Letting him go with a nod, I lift my hair and fan myself, relishing his smirk as he swipes a thumb along my cheek before heading to the front.
I love watching Hunter work.
Eighteen months ago, when I returned to the department after disappearing for half a year, I was excited to see my friend again—the skinny Narcotics detective who knew exactly how to make me laugh and who’d given me the single most incredible night of my life.
But the guy I found in his place was different.
Instead, I found him in the Homicide department, nearly doubled in size, his thick, muscled form filling out his suit in ways it hadn’t before.
Curls combed and styled into submission, a hint of stubble on his jaw, glasses nowhere in sight.
Hunter had been handsome when I left. What I came back to was criminal—and the worst part is he knew it.
No, scratch that.
The worst part is that I threw it all away because of my trust issues.
Only, judging by the way he’s looking at me now, it was never thrown out—just stored away until I was ready.
Which I am.
So ready, that I—
A cold sweat breaks across my face. It sweeps down my limbs as saliva pools in my mouth. My stomach cramps. My hand flies to cover it.
You will not throw up right now. You will not throw up right now.
I scan for a trash can. No time to sprint to the bathroom. My insides are done being tamped down.
Hunter stops briefing, eyes locking on me. “You okay, Bunny?”
Everyone turns.
Two seconds later, my cheeks puff and my lunch hits the floor between my feet.
Not-so-fun fact: shrimp tempura does not feel great coming back up. It also does not taste the same the second time.
“Fuck!”
“Gross, Bunny!”
“Dude, seriously?”
Geez, you’d think a bunch of Homicide detectives could handle a little puke. Hunter’s rich tenor rises above the assholes. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s okay.”
His warm fingers brush my nape as he pulls my hair out of my face. “Someone get a trash can!” he snaps, then goes soft again. “I got you. Bad sushi, hmm, Little Rabbit?”
My only response is a groan before another swell of rice and seaweed erupts from my mouth.
“Have I mentioned how much I hate that you still live here?” Hunter unlocks the back door and immediately drops to greet the dogs with a sugary baby voice that makes him sound like Ryan Reynolds doing Deadpool. “Hiya, boys. Who’s such good doggies? You are! That’s right. You are!”
Yasha and Maru ignore me completely, barking and pogoing on Hunter’s legs like he’s their owner. “What am I? Chopped liver?”
I follow him in, rubbing my stomach, still sore from the violent retching. By the time I’ve locked up and turned around, Hunter is holding both dogs like babies, cooing at them in an unintelligible language.
“For fuck’s sake, you’d think you’re the one who feeds them and walks them and makes sure they always have their favorite toys and treats,” I deadpan.
He ignores me, still crooning like a proud papa. “Mommy is just grumpy because she doesn’t feel good. No, she doesn’t. We’re gonna help her get into comfy clothes, put on her favorite show, and snuggle with crackers and ginger ale, aren’t we, boys?”
“You don’t have to do any of that. But by all means, since they love you more than me, take them when you go. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.” I head to my room, desperate to get out of my tight black pants and into something less constrictive.
I need a shower and a good teeth cleaning before I lie down. And for some reason, chicken noodle soup sounds delicious—even though I just expelled lunch at work. The kind with thick egg noodles and creamy broth.
“How about you clean up, and I’ll run out to grab some things and take the boys with me? You always like the soup from that place when you’re not feeling well. That sound good?”
I don’t know why my eyes flood as a surge of emotion hits—just because he knows exactly what I need. I hum noncommittally, wiping at my eyes as he grabs the leashes and ushers the dogs out without another word.
Under the warm spray, memories bombard me. Hunter and I work together so well—like an oiled machine—whether it be at work or in life. We’re so in tune it’s remarkable I’ve lasted this long without giving in to my feelings—giving in to him.
Everything about us is already established.
Maybe that’s what makes us different from Nathaniel and me.
Hunter and I took years to know each other.
Nathaniel and I bonded over shared childhood trauma and fell in love fast. I didn’t truly know who I was marrying…
not until the papers were signed and I was legally bound to the monster.
But with Hunter, whatever haze has been clouding my decision to keep my heart locked away has lifted. My rationale has evaporated. I want to skip the early stages of romantically pursuing someone. We’re way past that point.
Hunter’s mine and I am his—and why the hell have I been holding back when he’s all I’ve ever wanted? I mean… besides the part where I’m a serial killer and he’s actively trying to figure out who I am.
The questions persist as the steam fills my bathroom. By the time I’ve changed into black Soffe shorts and an oversized tee—the same one Hunter lent me that night—he’s back, emptying soup into a bowl, crackers fanned around it, pouring ginger ale into my lavender Stanley.
Gratitude blooms as he lifts the ottoman tray and nods toward the living room. “Scoot, Little Rabbit. I queued up where you left off on Inuyasha. How many times have you rewatched that now? Ten? Twelve?”
My cheeks heat as I mumble, “Twenty-three.”