Page 56 of Hunted, Season Three

Honestly?

I don’t even think the little shit realizes he does it.

His accidental pokes are basically the equivalence of a tire running over a nail near a construction site.

Unexpected and inconvenient.

Forfuckssakewhy doesn’t simp stand for simple?

Why is that not the immediate fucking choice?

“Still pissy you had no idea what they were talking about?”

The mirth in her voice has me glaring once more.

“If it makes you feel any better, I had no idea what a Ferrari Purosangue was either.”

“I knew what it was.”

“Except that it’s an SUV and not a car.”

My lingering displeasure effortlessly deepens.“Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I am waitingforwork,” informs Rabbit, writing moving towards the space near her toes.“The funeral home that handled November’s services wants someone to check out their accounting records and possibly see if there’s room for an expansion or how toget roomto make that happen.”Her scribbling momentarily ceases to meet my stare.“Kind of like I’m doing for Posie but with a much higher fee.”

This time I grunt in amusement.

Rabbit working from home versus having to worry about her goingtoan office definitely brings us ease.

Especially considering we haven’t heard dick about Mother Screws Loose.

There have been no reports filed for missing Mcfuckface.

No reports filed for any human remains found.

Hell, there haven’t even been any reports filed about the vehicle he rented.

Or bought.

Whichever it was.

It’s almost like everything about him disappeared when he did.

I wanna find relief in that but can’t.

So, for now?

I’m finding it in knowing exactly where the two people I love most are at all times.

One is downstairs ripping out interior to our future family vehicle while the other is sitting panty less on the edge of the bed, flashing me her cunt, like I don’t have shit else to concentrate on.

“Why isn’t the construction crew here?”Rabbit’s chin plops down on her bent knee.“Are they still on Christmas break?”

“Plans changed, which means they have to be resubmitted to the townand the countyfor new approval.”

“What changed?”

“Both commercial and residential.I wanna turn this whole place into work shit.Turn our current bedrooms into offices.”Picking up one of the bars I’m fairly certain is a side piece precedes me announcing.“I want you to have your own space to get your shit done versus having to finagle your shit into our shit.”The urge to abandon this crib building project grows.“Plus, I want us to have somewherenew.Somewherenottainted by dead bodies and crazy exes.”

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