Chapter 3
Three
Istep into Mackay’s Diner, one of the few places in town with cheap, acceptable coffee, and wince at the obnoxious peal from the bell above the door. After a productive night and a too-short nap, I need a break to recharge. Caffeine sounds divine right about now. After all, ridding the world of undesirables is exhausting work.
Bleary-eyed office workers and truck drivers crowd the space in front of the counter, while patrons jam the booths. After finding an empty stool at the counter, I rub my temples and stifle a yawn. Everything is too brightly lit. The diner’s color scheme, a garish combination of lime green and baby blue, is also a total eyesore. It should be illegal to open a business with such an offensive palette.
An early college-aged woman I don’t recognize emerges from the kitchen. Drops of sweat trickle down her exposed neck from underneath her messy bun, and she discreetly wipes it away with a cloth. Some genius had cranked up the heat, even though winter is over. Why is this place always so damn warm, anyway?
“Hey, Luke,” the waitress greets, waving at me as if we’re already acquainted. “Are you here for the usual?”
I catch myself raising a brow, but I quickly plaster on a smile. Small-town America can be friendly to a fault, with loose lips and plenty of dark secrets hidden beneath the surface. “I’ll just have the coffee today, thanks,” I say, glimpsing her name tag. “So, Cassie, are you new? I haven’t seen you around here before,” I say, keeping my voice light—because that’s what Luke would do.
Cassie laughs. “Yeah, sorry for being so forward. It’s just that Heather talks about you. A lot. It feels like I already know you.”
Of course she does. I’ve only been staking out Mackay’s for a month, and Ms. Heather Wright has gotten attached to me like a tumor. Fortunately for her, Luke is friendly, so all she has to worry about is a gentle rejection—as opposed to a knife in her neck. I push Damon back down and lean forward on the counter, giving the impression that I’m fully focused on the conversation.
“Anyway, do you want a booth? There’s one over there that just got freed up.” Cassie motions to the space across the diner, her voice musical—and much like the bell, it grates on my head.
I want to groan, but Luke has manners. “Not sure how long I’ll be sticking around, so I’ll just take my usual here at the counter.”
“Sure thing! Great timing, anyway—I just put on a new pot of coffee. I’ll go get your bagel prepared.” She turns before whirling around on her heel. “Want anything else?”
I shake my head, struggling to keep up the friendly fa?ade as pain thumps against my skull. “No thanks.”
“All righty then.” Cassie vanishes into the kitchen.
I breathe a sigh of relief and take a moment to observe my surroundings while waiting for my food. A middle-aged woman pours sugar into her coffee, her make-up unable to disguise the deep circles underneath her eyes. An older man with a baseball cap devours his eggs and sausage like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. Meanwhile, a teenager abandons their plate, half-eaten, and wanders off to the restroom. I glance up at the corners of the diner and notice that Mackay’s still hasn’t installed cameras.
So trusting.
Outside, police vehicles zoom by, cutting off some douchebag’s Camaro. The driver honks his horn and flips them off. I smirk; lucky for him, the officers are too busy dealing with the mess on Glenbury Avenue to pull him over for some made-up citations.
I drum my fingers on the counter, glancing at the Miami Vice rerun playing at a low volume from the suspended TV. My thoughts drift to last night as I maintain a neutral expression. Scott Robinson had been up late again, obsessing over his collection of illicit photographs—ones used to blackmail members of the congregation, particularly those who are underage. By capturing them in vulnerable positions, he coerced them into sexual acts by threatening to ruin their reputations and lives.
The morning news report shamelessly skewed towards the ‘good, wholesome churchman’ narrative. I can’t wait for the media frenzy that will undoubtedly erupt when the snaps are released—courtesy of me.
A photograph conveniently left at the front doors of the Ashburn Gazette ought to cause some chaos.
Cassie returns with a pot and sets a mug on the counter. As she pours the coffee, I grab a creamer pod from the basket near the napkin dispenser. She quickly disappears, focused on the next order from the kitchen. While stirring in the creamer, I think about last night’s extracurricular. Chasing the Lawrence girl was enjoyable, and playing with her even more so. I didn’t need to kill her since she had seen nothing from the crime scene that could implicate me.
But the moment I realized who she was, my curiosity piqued. I don’t believe in coincidences, so it must have been fate that this little rabbit wandered into my snare.
The bell peals that aggravating chime again as someone enters the diner. I glimpse over my shoulder—and fiery blood rushes through my veins. Grace Lawrence, Little Bunny herself, walks up to the counter like a regular and takes a seat two stools down from me. She clutches the strap of her bag like a safety blanket, her gaze nervous, looking utterly spooked.
A waitress named Andrea approaches her. “You okay, hun? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I internally howl as I rip open some sugar packets.
Bunny’s face pales and her knuckles go white. “I’m fine. Just stressed out from work. Haven’t been sleeping much.”
I bet not, I think, sprinkling the sweetener into my mug.
Especially not after that impromptu visit.
“Such a shame. You need to take better care of yourself.” Andrea scribbles on her notepad. “Your family needs you, after all.”
Bunny’s mood darkens, her hazel eyes falling to the newspaper in front of her. “Yeah, sure.”
Oooh, touchy subject. I give the sugar a quick swirl and take a careful sip of my coffee. Bunny orders the diner’s Breakfast Standard: scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a glass of orange juice. Andrea retreats to the kitchen, leaving Bunny to stare at the morning paper. Her eyes skim the text, and she swallows, breathing shallowly out of her nose as if she’s trying to hold back a panic attack.
I nod down at the paper, specifically at the article containing the grisly details of my handiwork. “Pretty crazy, huh?”
Her eyes widen and her grip on the strap becomes impossibly tighter. “U-uh … yeah,” she stammers, trying to mask her fear with a smile. But her face is taut, betraying her unease. “Things like this rarely happen around here, so it’s pretty big news.”
She taps her foot against the counter, almost like she’s about to bolt—but I’m going to make sure that my rabbit isn’t escaping my snare this time.
I flash a dazzling smile, showcasing my dimples. “I’m new around here,” I say, extending my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, um …”
She hesitates a moment before reluctantly accepting my outstretched hand. “Grace Lawrence,” she replies, giving me a tentative shake. “And you?”
“Luke Quinn,” I reply with practiced confidence.
Andrea returns with Bunny’s meal. Bunny murmurs an appreciative thanks, sliding the paper aside to make room for her food. She then picks up a fork and stares at her plate, lost in thought.
After a prolonged moment, she states, “There’s a free booth over there. If you want to—I mean, if that’s okay with you …”
I chuckle softly, and her face turns beet red. “I would love to join you.”
Hook, line …
Flustered, Bunny grabs her plate and glass before standing up. She cringes a bit—from the ankle she fucked up when she fell during our fun game of chase—but tries to compose herself. Poorly, I might add. I pretend not to notice as I follow her to the empty booth in the corner. She places her bag beside her as I take the seat across from her. After taking a sip of her orange juice, she begins picking at her food.
“How long have you been living here?” Bunny asks, clearing her throat. I notice a faint red mark on her neck, the one I surely left on her. “I … I hope I’m not being rude in asking.”
Is it going to scar?I sure fucking hope so.
I bite my lip to keep myself from smiling as I remember the look of shock and disbelief on her face when I pressed my knife into her neck. “A month or so.” Not entirely a lie. “Seems like I have bad timing, though, considering what’s being reported in the paper and on the news.” I give her a gentle smile, hoping to ease her nerves and chip away at her defenses.
“Yeah, definitely,” she agrees, almost to herself. She absentmindedly touches her neck, but quickly withdraws her hand when she realizes what she’s doing. “If one could get out of this town, I think now would be the time.”
Was that a Freudian slip? Bunny eats her bacon in silence as I finish my coffee. I can’t let her leave—not now, and not in the way she wants. She’s the key to what I’m looking for.
I won’t easily let this chance slip away, not when I’m closer than ever.
As I adjust my position, I cross my legs and intentionally brush against her injured ankle. She winces, and I scrunch my face in pretend concern. Note to self: Bunny is terrible at hiding her emotions, and I’m definitely going to use that to my advantage. “Are you okay?” I ask.
Bunny forces a tight smile and admits, “I’m fine. I just took a spill and messed up my ankle at work.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out thin and strained as she adds, “I’m such a klutz sometimes.”
My brow lifts. “How do you wipe out so badly working at a jewelry store?”
As expected, her posture goes rigid and the muscles of her jaw flutter. What Bunny doesn’t know is that I have been watching her for some time now. And for what reasons, she’ll never know—not until it’s too late, anyway.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, waving my hands in a fake show of remorse. “I forgot to mention that I’ve seen you before. At the mall. You work at Angelo’s.”
“I see.” She shoves a forkful of eggs into her mouth. I can almost see the thoughts bouncing around in that pretty skull of hers. She finishes chewing before suddenly offering me her toast. “Have you eaten? You can have this if you want.”
I cannot hide the incredulous look on my face. “Sure,” I say, shrugging as I accept her modest offering. As I take the toast from her, I graze her hand, causing crimson to slash across her face, highlighting the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks.
“Do you have any painkillers on you, by the way?” I ask. “It feels like someone’s stabbed me in the head.”
“Uh, yeah.” She averts her gaze and fixates on a spot on the table as if it’s the most amazing thing since the invention of the light bulb. “Is aspirin okay?”
I nod in response, and she rummages through her bag, placing a bottle of water and a Discman on the table. Her movements are unstable, twitchy—like she’s cracking under the pressure of my pointed gaze.
We can’t have Bunny be too relaxed, can we?
Her arm jerks, causing a journal to fly out of her grasp. “Shit,” she mutters as she bends down to retrieve it—but not before she’s pinned into place by my touch, our hands coming into contact as I attempt to grab it for her.
I sneak a peek at the open pages. Covering them are words scrawled in black ink, probably some ‘dear diary’ drivel. But more interesting is the drawing underneath the entry: a crude sketch of my mask, of all things. When she catches me staring, she snatches the journal away, tensing her jaw. I feign nonchalance, feeling a surge of pride.
I’m so thrilled to have made such an impact on you, Bunny—in more ways than one.
I choke down a snicker as she flails, snapping the notebook shut before shoving it into her bag. With trembling fingers, she retrieves the bottle of pills and hands me two. She gestures silently to the water and pushes it gingerly toward me.
I take a napkin from the dispenser, set the toast aside, and pick up the pills. “Thank you, Grace. I truly appreciate your kindness.” I wink at her for good measure, hoping to rile her up even more.
She wilts into her seat for a moment before swiftly gathering her things and stuffing them back into her bag. I place the aspirin on my tongue and toss them back with water. Bunny’s gaze fixes on me, her eyes tracking the bobbing motion of my throat as I swallow, and a triumphant sense of giddiness and elation courses through me.
It won’t be long before she’s putty in my hands.
Our chitchat ebbs as we finish our meal, and eventually, she opens up about the weather. I coax more out of her, and we discuss local events and happenings in town. When I steer the conversation to music, she becomes much more engaged.
Thankfully, Andrea pops up just as Bunny is about to ramble endlessly about her alternative rock bands. “You two want anything else?”
“No thank you,” Bunny replies.
“I suppose that will be all.” I stick a hand in my pocket, pull out my wallet, and look up at Andrea. “You can put everything on one bill.”
Bunny’s mouth falls open. “Wait, what? N-no, that’s okay. You don’t have to?—”
I dismiss her protests with a wave and hand my preloaded, disposable card to Andrea. “Don’t worry about it, Grace. You’ve been such a good sport, taking the time to entertain the newcomer and all.”
“How sweet,” Andrea muses aloud, smiling at Bunny. “If you don’t date him, I will.”
We both laugh while Bunny squirms and bites her lip.
God, I love making her uncomfortable.
Andrea heads to the register while Bunny wrings her hands together. “I appreciate it, Luke,” she says. “Money’s been tight, and …” She trails off, her mind wandering elsewhere.
Opening her up was nearly effortless—and I didn’t even need a knife. She spills her guts to me so easily, and I can’t deny that I feel a bit disappointed because it wasn’t more of a challenge. But at least connecting to my object of obsession will be easier in the long run—thanks to Bunny’s proximity, her misplaced trust … And her blooming attraction.
“I told you not to worry about it,” I say as Andrea gives me a receipt.
Bunny finishes her juice and delicately wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Hey, um … I should probably get going,” she says, shouldering her bag. “I’m gonna go see a friend. Being at home right now’s a total bummer.”
I nod, knowing her reasoning; I had invaded her safe space, tainted her sanctuary. “Will you be okay? I could give you a ride.”
She shakes her head—a little too aggressively. “I think we’re even.” For now. “I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness. But yeah, it was fun hanging out with you.”
“Same.” I grab the pen Andrea left for me to sign the receipt and instead write the number for my burner phone at the top. “If you ever want to hang out again,” I say, tearing the section off and offering it to Bunny, “call me.”
Her face turns so red, I think she’s going to explode.
Sinker.
“I, uh …” She shoves the paper into her pants pocket. “Will do,” she says as she begins to shuffle away. “See you, Luke.”
I silently cackle as she practically sprints out of the diner.
Now, more than ever, I’m thankful I didn’t finish the job.
Because, my dear Little Bunny, you really should have packed your shit and skipped town—because you have no idea what I have in store for you.