CHAPTER FIVE
BUNNY
Stirring, the heat resting on my skin tugs me into consciousness. The sun’s spearing through the jagged gap in the blinds, slicing through the stagnant, torrid air.
It takes me a moment of adjusting my drowsy sight on the dust bunnies swirling through the glowing band, then the sun being awake before me pulsates adrenaline through my veins.
I bolt upright, kicking the sheets away from my sweaty legs and whipping my head over to the alarm clock that never fails me.
The glitchy time not being displayed pops my eyes wide open, my body hurdling over the edge of the mattress, scampering toward the broken clock.
“No-no-no-no. Oh, my God, no.” Snatching the clock up from the dresser between our beds, the cord doesn’t scrape up the wood.
Instead, the force I implement has me stumbling back with the clock in my hands—and what’s left of the cord sticking out the back.
Shock overcomes me, fossilizing my body in place and tunneling my vision on the clean cut that appears to be intentional.
“It’s so early, turn the lights off,” Ora whines lethargically.
I’m gonna have to run away. I’ll need a bag and some clothes, obviously food because I don’t know where I am or how long it will take me to find help. I can’t stay here. No. Carl’s going to lose his mind. He’s probably in the tent right now, waiting for me in the dark.
My hands become so cold they start shaking, rattling the split wire with every stiff inch it takes me to set the block of plastic down.
Maybe a mouse did it.
A mouse didn’t do this. But I’d hate to point the finger at someone and act like a victim.
It feels like I’m floating in formaldehyde. It’s impairing my rational mind and mummifying every movement. By the time I get a pair of denim shorts pulled up and slip on a cropped tank top, the consequence doesn’t feel as scary.
I’d love to run and never look back. But realistically—I am a coward.
I make my mind up while putting socks and sneakers on, then roughly make my bed and head for the door.
I need a buffer to survive this. The guys get away with everything.
They have their own garage for the dirt bikes, and they almost burnt it down one time without a single voice being raised.
Nor do they ever see hands being raised.
Making it out into the hallway, I quietly open Razor and Xene’s bedroom door and angle my head around the doorframe to see if they’re still asleep.
They’re both gone… and their room’s a disaster.
My upper lip faintly curls, mentally judging the sheets hanging off their bare mattresses and the assortment of socks and underwear littering the carpet.
Cash sleeps on the pull-out couch with Aries in the living room, so he keeps his stuff in here, too.
But it’s like a tornado out for undergarments blew through the room.
“Morning, baby bunny,” Aries yawns behind me.
I twist around to her covering her mouth, her bare feet padding into the bathroom. “Good morning.”
The bathroom lamp flickers on, and as it does, courage blows through me and sends me right to the doorway.
If anyone’s a master at setting a man straight—it’s Aries.
“What are you gonna do with your day?” she asks, plucking her toothbrush from the cup next to the sink.
Here I was judging the guys for being slobs, but I wasn’t even going to brush my teeth. I always brush my teeth. But the lack of effort is easily forgettable when her question frays every nerve and puts me on edge.
“Um… Just practice before my performance at seven.” I lean into the doorframe, scratching at the distressed hem of my shorts. “Do you think you-”
“Baby girl, what?” she hangs her head toward me, furrowing her brows and opening the tube of toothpaste. “We’re closed tonight. Razor didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head, swallowing the cyanide coming up my throat. “I didn’t know that. What made Carl want to close on the second night of reopening?”
“Psh,” she shrugs, shifting her attention to the mint line she’s squeezing onto her toothbrush. “Brother died or some shit. I don’t know and I don’t care. Razor’s supposed to be running things till he’s back.”
That’s… really weird. And has never happened before.
“Oh… So, Carl doesn’t know I overslept?”
Rushing water over the bristles, she smacks the faucet handle back and cuts her eyes to me. “And what would happen if he did?”
“N-nothing,” I shrug, my heart rate escalating. “I just know he wouldn’t be happy with me for being late.”
“Oh, come on,” she groans, rolling her head straight and sucking in a heavy inhale. “Bolt your spine on, Bunny. Stop letting some old sack of shit make you a victim. You’re the only reason why we’re still here.”
My heart sinks, yet the harsh rhythm is still in my throat, making my swallows tight. “What does that mean?”
Crossing an arm under her chest, she raises the toothbrush up to her mouth and pivots toward me, sinking her hip to the counter. “What if we killed him?”
“I-”
“What if we packed up some bags and hit the road?” She tilts her head, lowering her eyelids and directing her dripping toothbrush to me.
“You’d be scared. You’d probably be so freaked out you wouldn’t even go with us.
You’d stay here and live in a loop of being spineless.
So, straighten it up, punch that bitch in the face, and own your shit, girl.
You are a woman. Do you understand how magical you really are? Stop accepting less than worship.”
It’s frustrating that my eyes are stinging.
Aries’ tough love is rough around the edges, but she’s right. She’ll slice you deep enough to make the scar hurt, but only so that you remember.
“I love you. We all do.” She sticks the toothbrush in her mouth, giving me a parental look.
“I love you guys,” I murmur, then clear my throat and choke on rocks as I make my way past Cash still sleeping in the living room.
“What if we killed him?”
Did they? Would they? I know Ora cracks jokes, but I don’t think she ever means it.
Or… she totally means it and I’m just na?ve.
I walk around the breakfast table in the kitchen with thoughts weighing on my mind. Like, maybe I really am the problem. Maybe eliminating myself would let them escape without guilt or extra baggage.
I don’t consciously hang my eyes on the knife block. The serrated blades sing to me. They calm my psyche, replace my droning voice with a lullaby that finally makes the soil I’m sinking in feel peaceful. Enough to lock me in place directly in front of the wooden vessel and steel handles.
Warmth blankets my back, arousing my senses with that fresh and sweet scent that travels through heat. “Your cuts won’t be pretty with those.”
I knew it was him. But Razor’s voice whispering something sinful over my shoulder, directly in my ear, triggers a shudder down my spine. “I do it slow enough to make it pretty,” I whisper back, and as the last word leaves my tongue, a dose of panic is ripping up my navel and lobotomizing me.
His deep exhale jets down my neck, inducing taut goosebumps up my arms.
I cross them over my stomach to veil the reaction, though it gives him more access to skim his fingers over my side.
Slowly. The very tips drawing precise lines that cut me deeper than the blades ever have.
“Like this?”
He’s pulling my strings, controlling every dip and waver that influences a tormenting thrum. I writhe and shift my feet, trying my hardest not to look at him, but my jagged edges are curious about his.
I can’t nod and tell him exactly how I do it. But I manage to turn my head to look at him, which puts us breath to breath.
He’s harboring me. And it doesn’t feel like it’s for secrecy. He’s using himself as a possessive cage, like the protective affection I often seen Duse displaying for Gwen, but with a sharpness in his gaze that promises to hurt me for as long as I like it.
“Why did you do yours so deep?” The question comes out before I can stop it.
He doesn’t seem to mind, though. His palm is flattening around my rib, growing controlling enough to collect my shirt, which has his fingers slipping right beneath the hem. “I just wanted pain.”
“Why?” my brows flatten.
“Why?” he echoes, bringing his other hand to my hip. “If I told you the reason why, I don’t think you’d be willing to talk to me ever again. Then we’d have some real problems.”
“I told you about mine and you stayed,” I whisper, trying to convince him that I’m safe for him.
“Don’t do that to me.” He steps flush against my backside, lowering his eyes to my mouth. “We have things to do. And I’m not gonna get any of it done if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
He flicks back up. “Like you care.”
“I do.” Annoyance simmers, encouraging the draining thrum between my thighs to pressurize into something primal.
It’s innate. Now that my body has felt traces of his, it’s becoming too dependent on more. Like, he’s the blade that can give me death without losing my life.
“I wish that I had Razor’s girl!” Xene sings abruptly, startling me into a spin, my lower back slamming into the counter. “I wish that I had Razor’s girl! Da-da-da! Where can I find a woman like that?!”
Swallowing cement, my palms tack to the countertop behind me, registering how pinned I am.
Razor smiles evilly, keeping his back to Xene bulleting air between his teeth for a dramatic guitar solo. “Razor’s girl,” he taunts, visually drawing out the image of the food chain at work while locking his hands to the counter on either side of me.
“No, fuck you guys. Bunny’s my girl,” Ora rasps, her slippers scuffling into the kitchen.
I can’t see much around Razor’s lean frame other than Ora’s hair swinging around. She squeals and giggles, but I’m tuning out of what her and Xene are saying. I’m having to manually breathe and keep my focus on the pools of trauma hunting more pain.
“You ready to ride?” Razor asks, a subtle hoarseness making his tone desperate.