Page 17 of Claiming His Bunny
David gives me a surprised look as I carelessly throw two more darts. One of them doesn’t even hit the target. There are some numbers on the scoreboard, and I know I should be calculating my next throw, but I can’t find it in me to care.
Instead of watching David skillfully reduce his count to 47, I watch Kayla and feast on the sight of her in the flesh. She’s beautiful. Too fucking beautiful. Her bright gold dress accentuates her delicious curves. The color works amazingly with her umber skin. It also draws everyone’s attention.
It’s not just me staring at her like a starving man at a feast. Men are drawn to her as if she was a homing beacon. I want to poke out their eyes just for looking at her. I want to murder them all. I want to drag Kayla out of here, then bar the doors to this stupid place and burn it down with everyone inside. Kayla is mine, and no one is allowed to look at her like that!
David clasps my shoulder to let me know it’s my turn again, and it takes every grain of self-control I have not to unleash my fury on him.I can’t kill him, I keep reminding myself. I can’t kill anyone here, especially not David. He’s a sickeningly good person, and I don’t kill good people. Plus, Janice would never make me banana bread again if I killed her husband.
I can’t kill people just for looking at Kayla. I want to, but I can’t, because I know that once I start down that road, I’ll never stop. That would be the long-awaited psychotic break, the moment I’d earn myself a bullet to my brain. And I don’t want to die. Not now, not when I just found my reason to live.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I curb my wild feelings down. I even tap into that darkness which helps me keep my cool during the kills, just to calm myself. I can’t lose it now.
Calmer, I refocus on the game. I’m at 97, so I aim for the treble 19, which is a shot I ought to be able to do in my sleep.
My hand shakes. My hand, stable like a surgeon’s hand when I butcher people, trembles like I have the last stage of Parkinson’s, just from having Kayla’s eyes on me. Somehow, I still manage to hit a 20, though not the treble ring. 77 to go. My brain feels sluggish as I do the math. I need a treble 19 now.
The crowd is deathly silent as I throw, the thwomp of the dart hitting the target resonating through the building. The silence dies as cheers erupt around me, informing me that the shot went right where I needed it to go. Thank fucking fuck.
Now I just need a double 10. That’s a huge fucking segment. I can hit it with my eyes closed. Can’t I?
The dart flies in the correct direction and hits…the fucking triple 20 I needed to start with! I groan, facepalming myself as I go collect my darts. Dumbstruck, I watch as David flawlessly reduces his score to zero, wins the last leg, tonight’s round, and the entire fucking tournament.
He raises my trophy over his head, showing it off to the cheering crowd. What a dick. Ignoring him, I search the roaring crowd for Kayla. She just watched me lose. What must she think of me now?
“Hey, man, you okay?”
David’s words bring me out of my reverie. He’s grinning at me, but not in a mean way, and I can’t help but smile back at him. “Yeah. Just got distracted. Good job, fucker.” I extend my hand to him as I should have right after he won. “I’ll crush you next year.”
“Ha, keep dreaming! I’ll tell Janice to make extra banana bread, though, so you can eat away your feelings. Come on, let’s have a drink!”
I’d much rather just go home or, better yet, to Kayla’s place, but I don’t want to look like a sore loser. Besides, David is the closest thing I have to a friend, and while I still want to murder him sometimes, I don’t want to spoil his victory celebration. “Sure. The first round is on you, Mr. Perfect Shot.”
“Tsk. I won! Shouldn’t people be buying me drinks and not the other way around? Hot chicks and such?”
A curvy redhead hugs him from behind. “What did I hear about hot chicks? I’m the only hot chick you’re allowed to drink with, my dear husband. Congratulations.”
As David passionately kisses his wife, almost smacking her over the head with the trophy he’s still holding, I scan the crowd again, searching for a certain bunny in a gold dress. Kayla is nowhere to be found, though. Did she leave already?
According to the tracker I planted on her car, it’s been parked in front of her house the entire evening. I step aside from the crowd to check the camera recordings from her house. Blood simmers in my veins as I watch her get into a stranger’s car. That better be an Uber and not some overzealous coworker or a new friend. I won’t be killing people for looking at her, but I’ll surely be getting rid of anyone who tries to make a move on her.
Kayla is mine. Just mine.
Chapter 11
Kayla
I step outside theRusty Mug, greedily gulping in the fresh air, still a little dazed by what went on inside. I had no idea people could get so excited over something as simple as a dart competition, but apparently, Bluebell Springs live and breathe it. Not football. Not baseball. Darts.
It’s a sweet quirk, one I’d appreciate much more if Ethan Fucking Bennett weren’t a part of the show. A major part, from what I saw. He’s a damned celebrity around here and it’s no wonder. With how freakishly hot he is, how nice and polite he was to all his opponents, how graciously he accepted the loss… The loss I’m convinced had something to do with me.
Ethan’s focus had been crystal clear throughout tonight’s competition. He made just a few mistakes, plowing through his opponents like a knife through soft butter. Even in the finals, he’d been focused until he scanned the crowd, and his eyes found mine.
I’d been staring at him. Of course I had. Everyone in the entire building had been staring at Ethan. I mean, the man is absolute eye-candy. It’s impossible not to stare at him. And, despite our first encounter, I no longer think he’s an arrogant jerk. I might have read too much into our five-second encounter and judged him too harshly for ignoring me. Seeing him tonight, I realize he’s probably a nice man. Which doesn’t mean I’m suddenly interested in him! No way. Nope.
The thin sheen of sweat on my bare shoulders quickly evaporates in the fresh air outside, and even though the night is warm, I shiver a little. I should have brought a coat or something. And I most certainly never should have worn this dress. God!
Most people I met tonight were wearing simple jeans and T-shirts. I was absolutely overdressed and drawing too much attention. Even now, a group of men smoking nearby is giving me oh-so-stealthy glances, and I don’t have to listen to their conversation to know they’re talking about me.
Another shiver runs through me, this time from fear. A lone woman in a parking lot in front of a bar full of drunk and rowdy men? It never ends well, does it?
