Page 54 of Claiming His Bunny
He flashes me a grin, showing off his perfectly straight white teeth. I bet he wore braces as a kid. I bet he was super cute, even with braces. I can’t imagine Ethan Bennett not being cute.
A cute serial killer. Wow. Perhaps I am the red flag here.
“No, Kayla,” he says, still grinning. “No body parts. Not only is it disgusting, but it would be unwise to keep DNA samples of my victims where someone might find them.”
Now I feel stupid again because what he says makes perfect sense. But how should I have known? I’m not an expert on killing people! I don’t even watch crime dramas on TV. I’d be the type of criminal who gets caught minutes after committing the crime. It’s a good thing I’m a law-abiding citizen. Except now, I apparently have a serial killer for a boyfriend.
I shake my head as if the simple motion would sort through the mess of thoughts whirling inside.
“What did you want to show me, then?” I ask, hoping it won’t be something terrible. I like Ethan, and I desperately cling to the hope that underneath all those red flags, he’s still a nice guy. But it all boils down to who he considers to be worse than an asshole who abuses his girlfriend. What did those people do that Ethan believes he had the right to kill them?
Does he have a delusional conviction that people who like pineapple on their pizza deserve to die? Is he secretly homophobic and murders gay people? I can’t accept either of those options. But…
There are bad people in the world. Terrible people. Monsters.
Could it be that this is what Ethan meant? That he kills other killers? Or is it just my wishful thinking? And even if that’s what he meant, would I be able to accept it?
He gets off the bed and rummages through a duffle bag before tossing leggings and a T-shirt in my direction. My favorite leggings. My favorite T-shirt. My go-to comfy stay-at-home clothes.
From what I can see of the duffle bag, it seems full of my clothes. He packed for me before kidnapping me. Creepy or thoughtful?
“Are you going to get dressed?” Ethan asks, amused. I turn to see him already wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. Honest to god, gray sweatpants. How am I supposed to resist him? Then he pulls a simple white T-shirt over his head, completing his “god of sex” look.
My mouth waters at the sight, and I blink slowly, trying to figure out what I was doing before he distracted me with his massive…um, sex appeal.
“Kayla?”
His chuckle breaks me out of my stupor, and I realize I’m still sitting on the bed, holding my clothes, very much naked. “Oh. Right.” I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth before I drool all over myself like the mentally-challenged slut I apparently am. But seriously, how can he be so sexy? He’s a bad guy! It should be illegal for bad guys to be sexy.
I wipe the mess between my legs with the already wet sheet and quickly dress myself, aware of his gaze following my every move. Even though I know he’s been watching me for weeks, it still makes me nervous, my insecurities bubbling up. What if he doesn’t like what he sees?
I cast a wary look in his direction as I pull my leggings up, only to find out he does like what he sees. His cock is hardening again, the outline clearly visible against the damned sweatpants.
“Just for the record,” Ethan says, “I let you get dressed because I want you to feel comfortable during the conversation we’re about to have. If it were up to me, I’d have you walking around naked so I could watch your beautiful body whenever I want to. Don’t even think about being shy or insecure around me. I’ve watched you for weeks, and I love every part of you, my precious little bunny.”
I clear my throat, unsure how to respond. His words are both scary and encouraging, which is messing with my head. “You said you watched me, um…in the shower.”
“Masturbate?” he suggests, grinning. “I have cameras all around your house, bunny. I’ve seen everything.”
I knew that. I knew he had cameras at my house. Why did I never truly look for them? Why didn’t I call someone to get rid of them? The POLICE, for example? Dammit. Do I even have a self-preservation instinct?
“That’s creepy,” I murmur as I finally get off the bed. He didn’t give me socks or shoes, but the floor isn’t too cold, so I’ll go with it. For now.
I stretch and yawn, absently looking for a clock. “What time is it?” In the windowless basement, it’s impossible to tell, but it feels like I slept through the night and well into the morning.
Ethan checks the phone he conjured up from somewhere. “Almost noon. Are you hungry?”
Noon, wow. I normally don’t sleep that long, even on weekends, let alone on weekdays. And—“Oh my god, it’s Thursday! Isn’t it?” Fuck, I hope I haven’t been out for days.
“It is,” Ethan confirms.
“I’m supposed to be at work!”
It should be a good thought.
Michelle or someone else will notice my absence at work and try calling me. When no one will be able to reach me, and they find my house empty, they’ll call the police. They’ll look for me. Someone will find me and rescue me. A handsome FBI agent will kick the door in, arrest Ethan, and give my story a happy ending. Except… Do I really want that?
Ethan doesn’t seem worried at all. “You called in sick this morning.”
