Page 4 of Redeeming Rabbit

Was his penis magical?

My cell phone dinged, the lab’s app notifying me that my next series of test results were in. I pulled the cell from my pocket—yoga pants thigh pockets are one of the most ingenious inventions ever—and silenced the alert, grateful for the distraction. Thinking about Matt was turning my anger into rage, which meant it was beyond time to leap from this rollercoaster of emotions and bury myself in research. Work was the ideal distraction I needed to stop considering possible murder weapons and options for making Matt’s demise look like an accident.

But first, I needed a shower.

Reluctantly setting the Taser on the entryway table beside my keys, I traipsed down the hall to my bathroom, peeling off sweaty gym clothes along the way. I started the shower and forcefully redirected my thoughts to my current project, wishing I could pull up the test results on my laptop or phone. Proprietary company data was only accessible onsite, though. Meaning I’d have to physically go to the lab, flash my badge, and pass through a retinal scanner to view the files. Thankfully, my clearance level didn’t restrict my access hours, so I could bury myself in data until I was too exhausted to plot a murder.

Fortunately for douchebag-Matt, I was a workaholic.

Steam clouded the room as I swiped a hand under the spray. The water temperature was just below scalding, precisely how I liked it, so I stepped into the tub and reached for my hair tie, freezing at an unexpected interruption coming from my front door.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Apart from today’s impromptu meeting with the bikers, I never had visitors. In fact, other than my employer, Tina was the only person who knew my address. But she also had a building access code and a key and wouldn’t have bothered to knock before letting herself in. Besides, she should be safely hidden away at Kaos’s house.

So, who the hell is at my door?

Turning off the water, I checked my phone, verifying that there were no new notifications from the building security app, indicating my visitor hadn’t buzzed my apartment to request entry. Was it another tenant? Had Matt somehow weaseled his way past the security door? Would I get the opportunity to zap him and have him arrested? Morbidly hopeful, I tugged on my bathrobe and dashed down the hall.

Tap had installed a hidden camera in the exterior hallway, connecting the feed to a small monitor mounted in my entryway and a monitor at the Dead Presidents’ headquarters. Knowing the bikers were keeping an eye on my place and would dispatch help if I was in danger was reassuring. However, I still reached for the Taser, exchanging my phone for the weapon, before my gaze shot to the entryway monitor.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t Matt.

Instead, Rabbit, one of the bikers who’d left my apartment about twenty minutes ago, shuffled from foot to foot in front of my door. His movement didn’t seem to result from nerves but rather from his inability to hold still. He’d exhibited the same behavior earlier, making me wonder if he suffered from attention deficit disorder. Possibly with hyperactivity.

He was unquestionably attractive, but as a dedicated—okay, obsessed—career girl, bad boys had never been on my radar. Before today, had I seen Rabbit on the street, I would have given him a wide berth. That same sense of self-preservation told me the best course of action now would be to ignore his knock and hide. But as I scrutinized the biker, grateful for the opportunity to do so undetected, he fascinated me. With long, wavy brown hair that lightened to blond at the ends and a matching beard, he looked more like a rugged mountain man who worked under the sun than one of Seattle’s usual gray-sky hipsters. I’d never been much of a beard gal, but Rabbit’s facial hair made me fantasize about sex on a soft flannel blanket in front of a cozy campfire. An alarmingly specific desire, but I chalked it up to residual small-town urges not yet stamped out by my personal city-girl evolution. This would also explain my peculiar fascination with his muscular arms, broad shoulders, and powerful jaw. Though I’d resolved not to be a typical gatherer looking for the strength and security of a big bad hunter, my lady parts apparently hadn’t received the memo. Hands and jeans stained with grease, arms covered in colorful tattoos, he wore a faded Metallica T-shirt under a black leather vest covered in patches. ‘I’m a ray of fucking sunshine,’ ‘It’s only kinky the first time,’ and ‘Stop reading my patches’ were the first three to catch my eye, but there had to be at least a dozen others on the front panels alone.

He was like no man I’d ever dated, and I couldn’t stop wondering what he’d be like in bed.

Savage. Dangerous. Wild.

Before I could come to my senses and question his presence, Rabbit lunged forward.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I’d watched him knock, but the sound still nearly flung me out of my skin. Reflexively, I tightened my hold on the Taser and reached out to unlock the deadbolt and open the door. It swung toward me, and I leaned back, blurting out, “What are you doing here?”

I had manners. Or at least I used to. Aunt Victoria had seen to it, gifting me the bookEtiquetteby Emily Post, insisting it would turn me into a lady. Like my aunt, the book was terribly outdated and pretentious, but it taught me one thing: I’d rather be rude and curious than polite and stupid. I would not be shamed into silence when there was so much to learn. So, I left Aunt Victoria to stew in her ignorance, choosing instead to harass my ninth-grade science teacher until she promoted me to the teacher’s aide position and gave me internet access.

Rabbit lifted his head. Piercing blue eyes stared directly into mine. He stopped fidgeting and froze as his gaze burned a path down my jawline, neck, and collarbone. I held my breath as his attention swiveled to my feet before trailing up my bare legs and pausing, making me wonder what all he could see.

Because I was wearing a flimsy silk robe that barely covered my ass.

The biker stared me down like I was a forbidden dessert he couldn’t wait to have on his tongue. I was familiar with the look. It was the same way I eyed the homemade brownies at my neighborhood coffee shop. Every day, I resisted temptation, but Rabbit struck me as a man who didn’t let consequences impede his cravings.

I should have been concerned about his intentions, but his rapt attention was heady. I felt drunk yet strangely alert, every synapse firing up and preparing for action. Even the air against my skin was charged with possibilities. Fear had no place in this moment. Rabbit would never hurt me. His disdain for men who abused women splashed across his face every time Matt was mentioned. By sharing his sister’s story of abuse, he’d become an ally. One who clearly wasn’t above committing a felony to protect the innocent. I empathized with his stance. The moment Tina showed up on my doorstep with one eye swollen shut, a busted lip, and a fist-sized hematoma covering the right side of her jaw, I’d experienced an overwhelming desire to break from legal and moral norms to exact justice. If given the opportunity, I would absolutely swerve onto a sidewalk to vehicularly execute the degenerate responsible for her pain. Without hesitation.

Rabbit was still watching me like he intended to gobble me up. Realizing I needed to put a stop to this, I stepped forward and snapped my fingers in front of his face.

“Eyes up here, buddy.”

He flinched before meeting my gaze.

Thankful I didn’t have to surgically remove his eyeballs from my cleavage, I gave him a tight smile. “Hey. There you are. What are you doing here?”

“I… I…” Shaking his head, he paced a step to the left. Then, one to the right. Stopping abruptly, he tapped on the doorframe three times. Now that he was free to move again, he was like a caged animal. A caged rabbit? Was that how he’d gotten his biker name?

“Can I… come in?”

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