Page 67 of Claiming His Bunny
We drive in silence, interrupted only by Georgia’s occasional sniffle. Her parents don’t live far from Sunrise Terrace, but their fancy neighborhood might as well be in another world entirely.
Their driveway isn’t gated, so I just roll up straight to their ugly as hell house. Half of it is Victorian, the other half ultra modern. The result looks like a kid smashed two toys together, destroying them both.
The light is on, and the moment I open the car door, I can hear a baby wailing and one of those tiny lap dogs barking.
“Arya!” Georgia cries out, stumbling over her own feet as she rushes toward the front door.
Kayla grabs her arm and holds her upright. “Easy, Georgia. I know this is very difficult, but you have to stay calm now, okay? Your parents would never hurt Arya, would they? She’s fine. We just need to talk to them to make sure this never happens again, and then you can go home with your baby. Crying or screaming won’t help speed things up. Quite the opposite. So take a deep breath and trust me.”
Georgia gives Kayla a jerky nod, sucking in a few sharp, shallow breaths as they approach the door.
I follow them in silence, determined to let Kayla sort this out. This is her job, her calling. I’ll help her if she asks for it, but until then, I’ll just stand in the back and glare at the bastards. Maybe slap them around a bit if they get too toxic.
The door swings open before Kayla even touches the doorbell, revealing a haughty blonde in a pencil skirt and a suit jacket, holding a yapping dog. I immediately want to strangle it. The dog, not the woman, though she isn’t far behind.
Her face is so botoxed she’s unable to form an expression, but I get the feeling she’s trying to sneer. She waves her hand, her three-inch long bright red fingernails making me wonder how in the seven hells she wipes her ass. “Georgia,” she says icily, “I told you not to come here anymore.”
“I want Arya, Mom,” Georgia replies, her voice surprisingly even. “You…you can’t just take her away from me. I’m her…legal guardian?” She casts a questioning glance at Kayla, who nods. “Yes, her legal guardian,” Georgia repeats with more confidence. “She’s mine and you can’t take her.”
“Georgia, darling,” the bitch in the doorway says, her tone saccharin-sweet. “We’ve talked about this. Just because you ruined your life, it doesn’t mean the poor child’s life should be ruined too. We’ve clearly failed in raising you, but we’ll do better this time around. She’ll have proper clothes, a proper room. Once the name change request goes through, we’ll sign her up for the best daycare in town.”
I ball my fists, seconds away from punching something. Or someone.
Georgia frowns. “Name change? You can’t change her name!”
“Oh, please. We can’t possibly have a child named after some stupid TV show in our family. What would people say?”
Alright. That’s it. I’m killing this woman, and I don’t fucking care who sees me.
Before I can do something stupid, Kayla steps in. “Mrs. Simpson, I’m Kayla Reynolds from the Bluebell Springs CPS department. Could we please come inside and continue this conversation in a civilized manner?”
“No, you may not come inside. You have no business here. This is a family matter and we’re done talking.”
Kayla gives her an icy cold look. “You can either talk to me or to the police, Mrs. Simpson. Your choice.”
“The police?!” Georgia’s mother shrieks. “BARTHOLOMEW! COME HERE RIGHT NOW!”
A surly man shuffles to the door, scowling. I smirk when I notice the fresh spit up on his pristine white dress shirt. “What?!” he barks at Georgia’s mother, then turns to me and Kayla, completely ignoring his daughter. “Who are you and why are you on my property? Leave, or I’ll call the police!”
“Please, do,” Kayla retorts, folding her arms in front of her chest. “You’ll save me a phone call.”
“Dad, don’t,” Georgia whispers, not looking at either of her parents. “I asked Kayla to keep the police out of this but—”
Georgia’s mother scoffs. “She said she would call the police on us. Could you believe that? As if there was anything they could possibly—”
Kayla interrupts her. “How about kidnapping?”
The silence that follows her question is deafening. The baby finally stopped crying. The two fuckers in front of us are stunned speechless. Even the damned dog stopped yapping.
Bartholomew Simpson is the first one to speak. “K-kidnapping?” He clears his throat, his trembling voice gaining intensity again. “What are you talking about? It’s our granddaughter. Stop spewing this nonsense and get the hell out of here.”
“Granddaughter or not, you took Arya without the consent of her legal guardian. That is kidnapping. You literally abducted the child, and the only reason there isn’t a police cruiser here with us right now is because Georgia didn’t want you to get in trouble. If it were up to me, you’d both be on your way to the precinct. In handcuffs.”
A shiver of excitement runs up my spine. I’m thrilled to the bone with how tough my bunny is. I mean, I knew she could take care of herself, but experiencing the don’t-fucking-mess-with-me Kayla firsthand is exhilarating. Also arousing, and I have to furtively adjust myself before someone notices my semi-hard cock.
“T-that’s…” Simpson stammers, exchanging glances with his wife. “You…they…you can’t arrest us. The kid is our granddaughter.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Kayla replies. I admire how calm she still is. I would have been smirking victoriously the whole time. “You are, of course, welcome to build a healthy relationship with your granddaughter, Mr. Simpson, but onlyaftergetting Georgia’s consent. Now, will you hand the baby over, or will we have to involve the police?”
