Page 34 of Saving Bonnie

The ringing stops. I push myself up, fighting to control the urge to vomit.

At some point, the door opens. Tino. His brows are drawn.

“What’s wrong?” he demands.

I scoff. What’s wrong? How the hell do I put it all together? I’m still pissed at him from this morning. Why does he want to change everything about me? Next week, he’ll be gone. Meanwhile, I’m trying to figure out how to move on when he leaves.

“Bunny.” His voice is hard. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

I’m too eager to have him here. Too eager to be with him. I look forward to the morning to be with him. What happened to what I’m building for myself? My wants. My needs. It’s all about him coming to find me.

“Woman,” he says, like raising his voice is going to help.

“You,” I croak. “It’s you.” His brow arches. “Just being around you…”I forget everything else but you. Is this what Mom went through? And she’s spent the rest of her life alone. “You scare the hell out me—”

“Hey there, Bonnie.” The back door opens, and Rick’s voice carries into the dining room.

I drag in a breath and take the few steps to the kitchen. “I’ll be there in a minute, okay?” But when I turn around, Tino’s long strides are taking him out the front door.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tino

You scare the hell out of me…

My muscles tense, instinctively bracing for impact, but I’m a half second too late. The verbal shot is disorienting, like being knocked on your ass after taking a round to the vest. The concussion spreads through your gut and chest and sometimes so does the bruise.

I’ve heard the words from those I hunted, right before I end their lives. I just didn’t expect them from her...not after… I’m an idiot.

I drop a steel sheet around myself, shutting off everything around me. Isolating myself always worked before, but, somehow, her words keep ringing in my ears.You scare the hell out of me…

Tearing my gaze from the back of her head, I turn on a heel and force my foot to move and the other to follow. The bell rings above me, announcing the door opening. Bun-Bonnie should be turning to check the doorway. I know this because I studied her, like I do all those I hunt.

Part of me wants to see her expression, but I won’t allow it to happen. I refuse to turn. And I’ll be damned if I look at the camera feed.

You scare the hell out of me…

The image of her wounded expression is carved into my head, popping in without my express permission.

I should have stayed at the church. Then I never would have met her. Never would have felt the softness of her skin, the taste of her lips. I could go a step further, to not getting involved, but I can’t seem to utter the words, even to myself.

I’m on autopilot as I turn left on the sidewalk, letting the door clatter closed behind me.

My path takes me past the end of the building. From the corner of my eye, I see the grill on the front of the delivery truck. It’s sitting in the drive, ready to unload whathebrought for the weekend delivery.

I don’t trust this guy, and I like him even less. Something in my stomach burns, going across my chest. What is this? Taking a man down in a vicious manner isn’t new to me. But I want to pound my fists into him then pull my knife and take my time with what’s left of him.

Damn.Did I automatically go for the knife or was it because Miss Bonnie Bustos doesn’t like guns? The flame inside me jumps higher. No, her feelings aren’t significant here. I refuse to dig into my reasoning.

I haven’t trusted Ricardo since he showed up on Tuesday. I should have let Kassy dig deeper into his background. Why did I stop her? Something about this piece of shit isn’t right. He just has it well hidden, and I dismissed him as insignificant. Stupid. I swear I don’t even recognize myself anymore.

Swinging my backpack around, I unzip the front pocket and pull out a pouch and a red pen. After a quick glance around me, I empty a small GPS tracker onto my fingers. Careful to avoid leaving a print on the unit or the side panel, I reach under the vehicle. The magnetic case will find the best spot all on its own. An endless heartbeat later, the tracker pulls itself off my fingertips, grabbing the undercarriage. I adjust the small rectangle with my knuckles to make sure it has enough of a base to stay locked into place.

The distant sound of metal against metal catches my attention, keeping me in a squatting position. Did someone go into the café? Not likely, since she was shutting down for the night.

I reach out, pen between my fingers, as if I’m retrieving what I dropped. It’s enough to cover me if someone walks by and sees me crouched so close to the vehicle.

Seconds tick by. Satisfied, I haul myself up, shoving the pen in my pocket. Still, I glance to the edge of the building then to the kitchen entrance. Nothing. Maybe she was locking the door. Either way, I did what I came for. Time to go.

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