Hunted, Season Three

Chapter 1

Bunny

I love the pens The Kid buys.

I don’t know how, but he always manages to grab the perfect pack.

Like I don’t think he’s ever bought a dull set.

And the thing I love even more than him magically buying the best group on any shelf?

The fact that he always, always keeps a couple in his car for me.

Which says a shit ton considering how meticulously clean and put together he keeps this shit.

One is kept in the glove compartment, and one is kept in the cup holder of the passenger side.

And that matters.

That matters because only certain shit can be on the driver’s side of the vehicle.

I say driver’s side when I really just mean his side because he doesn’t let anyone else drive Miss X here if he can help it.

Yeah…

Not only does his precious car have a name, she – because all cars are she, meant to be pampered and spoiled – is named after the article that more or less inspired the first film in his favorite franchise.

Gahhhh , I cannot wait for him to open that Christmas gift.

Or at the very least stop guessing what it is.

He’s totally been a “kid” since he saw me put it under our red and white decorated tree.

In one column, I think it’s just him being adorable.

Excited.

Nosey.

Impatient.

In the other?

I think he’s continuously playing the “what is it game” to distract him from the Nightmare Before Christmas horror show we witnessed a few days ago right here near the population sign.

I’d honestly love the Christmas miracle of not having to deal with Brad again until after the holidays.

However, this isn’t a made for streaming movie.

I highly doubt we’ll get that lucky.

Glancing up and out of the windshield is accompanied by me leaning slightly over to see what progress – if any – has been made.

I mean, come on.

He’s at least woken up by now, right?

Although, if he had, why hasn’t Mutt peered around this way and waved.

Or kicked his chin.

Or grabbed his crotch to remind me where it is he’d like me to always be sitting.

Maybe I should’ve gotten him a lump of chocolate coal for his stocking to remind him of how much misbehaving he tends to do on a daily basis.

Curiosity prompts me to stretch further to get a view of them yet reveals to me the opposite.

No Kid.

No Mutt.

Just the cans.

Wait.

Just the cans?

Unexpected dread instantly drops into the pit of my stomach at the same time all of the air in my lungs vanishes.

Shit.

Was this whole thing a setup?

Did we just drive straight into some sort of trap?!

Should I get out?!

Should I go check?!

Get a closer look at everything?!

One hand reaches for the handle, yet instinct paralyzes me in place.

No.

Getting out would be a mistake.

Make me more vulnerable to…whatever…or more likely whoever is most likely waiting.

Or lurking.

Angling myself further into The Kid’s seat to get a better view of the seemingly deserted situation causes my heart to pound so hard that sucking in a full breath is practically impossible.

I’m being paranoid.

That’s what Brad wants.

He wants me to feel powerless.

And terrified.

Chances are I’m just overreacting.

Fuck, I hope I’m just overreacting.

That they’re around the front of the truck checking under its hood.

Or each other’s.

Elfonashelf, pleaseeeeeee let them be doing something so indecent that it gets them kicked off the naughty list and into the not even on your death bed can you apply to get coal column.

Movement finally begins in the distance; however, I instantly find myself wishing it didn’t.

Wishing time would actually freeze.

Hold completely still.

Give me one more second to appreciate what we have versus what I’m afraid I’m about to lose.

Brad’s menacingly slow stroll provides more than enough time for me to drink in the walking, talking, stalking, nightmare that he is in his fullest form.

God, I’d almost forgotten what he looks like.

How painfully tight his yellow beige skin is from being nipped and tucked and picked and plucked just like his mother.

His mother who never misses a chance to dote on the perfection she created.

Nurtured.

Built.

Molded into the man she wanted.

Had to have.

I sneer at the oversized forehead that he attempts to distract a person from with the way he swoops his bright blond hair to the right, another feature she passed along since his father is a dark brunette.

She also gave him his long, goose style neck and slim yet solid frame.

For the expense report?

He doesn’t look like much to fear from a glance.

Actually, he looks exactly like the opposite.

Like he’s here to rescue you.

Save you from someone.

Everyone.

Maybe even from yourself.

Like he’s dropping everything in the world to put you on a pedestal and treasure you until your dying day.

Except…if you stare into his soulless blue eyes, you’ll see he’s the one that wants to be responsible for when that day arrives.

And if you keep peering, you’ll see that’s not a pedestal, but a prison.

That he’s not your salvation.

He’s your undoing.

The devil in a pinstripe shirt and wingtip shoes who garnishes his Manhattans with cherries soaked in your menstrual blood.

He always said that was when I tasted the most “like his”.

“ Bunnnnnyyyyyyyy ,” he creepily calls out prior to letting an equally unsettling smirk slide onto his face. “ Sweeeeet Peeeeeaaaaa… ”

Memories of being awake yet unable to move in a cushy bed swiftly come soaring to the front of my mind alongside the term of endearment being whispered in my ear as he slowly brushed my hair.

Coated my lips with lipstick.

Then his tongue.

Erased the shade he had carefully colored only to moan while putting it on all over again.

Coo that his little toy was almost too pretty to touch.

An amalgamation of tears and bile begin burning the back of my throat, pushing me to get going.

Moving.

To do whatever it takes to not go back.

To never fucking go back.

I won’t go through that shit again.

And my child will never be anywhere near it.

“ I did what you wanted… ” Brad proudly declares at the same time he reaches into the bed of Mutt’s truck to retrieve something. “ I came for you. ”

Regret over my challenge isn’t given time to settle into my system courtesy of me clambering over into the driver’s seat.

Look, I may not be the best at driving stick, but I know I can do it well enough to run his ass over.

It’s gear shifting, not maintaining accounts receivable.

And I’ll happily pay for any and all surgery Miss X needs afterward.

“ Did you get my love note? ” His movement prompts me to steal another glance to see the hammer he’s acquired. “ I addressed it to you. ”

Yeah.

I caught that when the wedding ring had my fucking name inscribed on it.

Knowing better than to engage – to not waste precious time engaging – I rush to turn the key only to clutch onto nothing.

No…

No!

Disbelief darts my glare down to examine the empty space, to visually scour for the item I’m sure just slipped out of the ignition when I was crawling over, to desperately swivel it around for a glimmer of the piece of metal that I want to be where it isn’t rather than in my boyfriend’s pocket where it most likely is .

Fuck!

“ Did you like it ?” Brad continues to inquire as if I’m actually going to respond, hammer carefully being swung around in aimless circles.

Maybe I should just run.

Run and keep running and never look back?

“ Have you missed me? ”

No.

Maybe I should run for help?

But help from who?

Who’s around to help?

Our town is fucking empty.

Everyone’s at that fucking festival…

Which is what he was counting on.

Fuck. Me.

“ Tell me you’re ready to come home… ”

He’s thought this through.

And I need to do the same.

Just quickly.

My attention cuts back to where his approach hasn’t sped up whatsoever, informing me of the painfully obvious.

Not only does he not believe me to be a threat, he knows my men aren’t coming to help me because he made sure they couldn’t .

He took out my extra line of defense.

Isolated me.

Has me trapped like a poor defenseless version of my namesake.

Well, fuck him for that.

I am not the same fragile woman he derived pleasure from undressing and bathing and hand feeding drugged food.

I am damn sure not that too scared to scream or speak female he’d drunkenly hold the nose of while he rammed his dick down my throat as his mother watched through the crack of the door.

Touching herself.

No!

I am stronger!

I am smarter!

And I will do whatever is fucking necessary to get out of this!

I swore to him he wouldn’t be leaving this town alive, and come hell or highwater, I’m going to make do on my promise.

“ Tell me you’re done playing this game… ”

Okay, so he’s got a weapon, which means I need a weapon.

“ Hide and seek is always fun at first ,” my stalker coos out, distance steadily closing. “ But you took it a bit too far this time, Sweet Pea. ”

Perk of The Kid’s overly organized vehicle?

Makes it quite obvious what’s available for use.

And truthfully?

The options suck.

We’re talking malfunctioning excel formula suck.

“ You wanted to make me jealous… ”

No.

I wanted to be happy .

“ And then you wanted to make me extremely jealous. ”

No.

I wanted to actually live.

“ I did not like that. ”

The change in his tone has me cutting a small glimpse upward to see that I have even less time than I thought.

Fuck!

I gotta find something!

I gotta come up with something!

I gotta get out of this car and buy myself a bit of time!

Construct a better weapon.

Find my guys.

Make sure they’re alive.

I mean…they have to be.

I’d feel it if they weren’t.

Which I know sounds crazy and insane and insane crazy, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

Kind of like having a man convince himself of a relationship that no longer exists.

Or that the relationship he crafted us having was romantic rather than abusive.

Reaching for the pen I abandoned earlier craftily precedes positioning it on the side of my leg out of sight.

“ I should’ve killed them for what they did to you ,” he tauntingly wags the hammer, “ but I didn’t. ” The corner of his paper-thin lips curls upward. “ Call it your early Christmas present, Sweet Pea. ”

I’ll call it the Christmas miracle that it is.

“ That’s how much I love you. ”

Each step closer churns my stomach and encourages me to grip the writing utensil harder.

“Plus, I want them to watch us. ”

To suck in the much-needed oxygen.

“ Like I had to watch them. ”

To wiggle my toes around in my tennis shoes I’m so grateful I put on.

Brad’s eventual arrival at the window is accompanied by him smiling, disturbingly brighter. “ Hello, Sweet Pea. ”

Dry heaving can barely be stopped.

But it is.

Because I can’t throw up.

Because I can’t move a muscle.

Not. A. Single. One.

Not yet.

He’s gonna give me one chance to attack and escape, and I need to be focused on that and only that.

“ I have mother’s pearls for you, ” the monster announces, grin glowing in the darkness.

“ I can’t wait to put them back around your neck where they belong.

” His hammer free fingers pull at the handle revealing its locked nature, another automatic action The Kid always does – like taking his fucking car keys.

“ Why isn’t this open? ” He repeats the movement prior to commanding.

“ Open it. ” There isn’t time to verbally deny the request. “ Open. It. ” The over articulation indicates that his irritation is exponentially increasing. “Open. It. Now! ”

God, it’s what I imagine dealing with a toddler coming off a sugar crash must be like.

“ Nowwwwww! ”

Or one without its nap.

“ Nowwwww! ”

Or one in terrible need of some stronger discipline.

“ Nowwwwwwww! ”

One solid swing of the tool, to my surprise, doesn’t break the window.

And neither does the second that’s slightly to the left.

Or third that’s slightly to the right.

However, the fourth, which lands directly on top of his first hit damages the integrity of the blockade.

Creates additional cracks.

Whispers to me to prepare to shield my face from the pending glass rain shower.

“ Oppppeennnnnnnn! ” This heavy whack has me holding my breath. “ Theeeeeeeeeeee! ” Another blow pushes the tip of the tool through. “ Doooooooorrrrrrrrr! ”

Tiny sharp pebbles burst in my direction, forcing me to shut my eyes and bury my head in the crook of my forearm in hopes of protecting myself.

Maniacal bellows pour from Brad as he leans his face inward to find the handle, providing me with the perfect opportunity to strike. Without hesitation, I drive the uncapped pen directly upward into his eye, grip and force unwavering until he’s stumbling backwards on an injured howl, “ Fuckkkkkk! ”

At that, I swing the door open, slamming it into his bent over frame, landing a blow to his head that not only knocks him onto his ass, but the air out of his system.

Yet again there’s no reluctance, no inkling of resistance to take off running for the wooded area across the road to the sound of him chillingly taunting, “ Run…run…as fast you can…I will catch you…because I always can… ”