Page 21 of Claiming His Bunny
No. I stop myself before the dark part of my mind starts imagining chopping off Craig Denver’s body parts and delivering them to Kayla in lavishly decorated boxes. She would absolutely not appreciate that.
I’ll kill him to keep her friend safe. To keep Kayla safe, because if she stays with Amy, she’s putting herself in danger as well. And I won’t tolerate any threats to my precious bunny.
Hidden behind the sofa, I listen to Kayla throw random clothes into a small bag and rush out the door. I don’t move even as she locks the door, well aware that my erratic bunny left her phone on the table. She realizes it a minute later, barging back into the house and sputtering very unladylike curses.
This time, she actually takes time to check she has everything she needs before leaving the house. After hearing her car leave the driveway, I wait another minute or two to make sure she won’t return, then quietly sneak out of the house, locking the door behind me.
What was supposed to be a quiet night of pleasant stalking just turned into a night of bloodshed.
Chapter 13
Kayla
I never should haveleft Kansas City! I curse myself as I speed down the highway and crawl through city traffic. It’s seven in the morning, and even though it’s Saturday, it feels like everyone in the damned town has somewhere to be.
God, I hope Amy called the police. I can’t imagine what would happen if Craig came back and she was still home alone. Nothing good, that’s for sure.
I slam my fist into the wheel. Why didn’t I try harder to talk her out of this relationship? The man was a walking red flag from the beginning, but Amy didn’t see it. She was happy for his attention, starved for affection, since her own family didn’t offer her any.
“It’s all my fucking fault,” I mutter. “All my fault.”
Of course, a rational part of my mind knows I did all I could. That Amy’s an adult and I simply can’t make decisions for her. But that part is silenced by the immense guilt. Guilt that multiplies when Amy answers her door and my eyes land on her bruised face.
She’s alone and has a blood-stained towel wrapped around her head. Not only did she not go to the hospital, but she didn’t call the police either. I love her like a sister, but right now, all I want to do is shake her. I don’t, though. Swallowing my chastising speech, I pull Amy into a hug. She bursts into tears in my arms.
Hours later, I still haven’t convinced her to call the police, but at least I managed to drag her to a hospital to get her head checked up. She doesn’t have a concussion, thank god, but the wound requires several stitches.
I exchange a helpless glance with the doctor when Amy keeps repeating she “fell down the stairs.” He knows as well as I do what caused Amy’s injuries and that, while Amy did probably hit her head on something, she didn’t simply fall on her own. But neither of us can do anything until Amy speaks up.
The locksmith I called before taking Amy to the hospital is just finishing his work when we get back. It’s funny how all I seem to do lately is worry about a break-in. I made sure that Amy has the same high-quality locks as I do and agreed to pay the guy a ludicrous extra fee to do the job today instead of on Monday.
Knowing Craig can’t simply unlock the door and walk in makes me feel slightly more at ease. He has never liked me, and I shudder at imagining what he’d do if he found me here. He’s a linebacker, and he’s got the build to prove it. Neither Amy nor I would be a match for him.
Amy is drowsy from the painkillers, so I let her sleep. I try to busy myself with the case files I brought over, but after two sleepless nights, my eyes won’t stay open. When I jerk awake and realize I’ve fallen asleep with my forehead on the table, I give up and go join Amy in the bed.
I have a sister, but Amy has always been the person closest to me. I can’t even count the number of times we slept in one bed when one of us was distressed. Mostly, it was Amy sleeping in my bed, since her mom was a junkie and their place was a mess.
Since we’ve done this a million times before, I have no qualms about sliding under the covers and spooning her curled-up form. “Shh, it’s okay,” I soothe, feeling her body twitch with suppressed sobs. “You’re safe now, Ames.”
“I-I don’t know what to do,” she admits, hiccuping as a sob breaks free. “Craig loves me. I know he isn’t good for me, but…who else will be there, Kay? I don’t want to end up alone.”
“You aren’t alone. I will always be here. I’ll come back to Kansas City and move in with you.”
Amy turns to glare at me. “You absolutely will not. You’ve got a shiny new career and a house! Don’t give that up for trash like me.”
I smack her shoulder. “Don’t talk like that. I don’t have anything. I told you, the house isn’t mine, and I just started at the new department. I can easily transfer back here.”
“But you won’t. Please, Kay. Don’t ruin your life because I’m an idiot. I won’t—” She sniffles. “I won’t go back to him. You’re right, he’s no good, but…I just… He’s always been so nice and attentive, and I felt like…like I mattered. Like I mattered, Kayla. I’ve never mattered to a guy before.”
I sigh. “I know what you mean, sis. I felt like this with Nick, too. Like I mattered to someone. Then it turned out, I didn’t.”
“At least he never hurt you. Or locked you in the bedroom. Or…never mind. You picked better than I did. God, I’m so stupid!” She breaks down in tears again, and I just hold her and let her cry. She’s finally accepting the truth. Now I just have to keep Craig away from her so he doesn’t lure her back into his clutches with sweet words and empty promises. Though, how I will do that when I’m not around is beyond me.
We sleep through the night, Amy keeping me nicely warm even though I don’t have my thick blanket and night socks. Who needs men? Having a best friend is much better than having some dumb guy, isn’t it?
The sound of the doorbell wakes us up. I squeeze Amy’s shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll deal with him.”
She gives a jerky nod, pulling the blanket up to her chin and eyeing me nervously as I leave the bedroom. I pull on some pants and a sweater, determined not to show an inch of skin to that bastard. From my purse, I pull out my pepper spray, clutching it tightly as I approach the door.
