Page 5 of Claiming His Bunny
All my life, I’ve lived in a cramped apartment with my parents and siblings. When I got out of college and got my first job, I started paying rent, but I still slept in my childhood room. I haven’t even taken down the My Little Pony wallpaper. And now, I have a whole house all to myself, with no little ponies in sight.
Granted, with one bedroom and a living room connected to a compact kitchen, it’s not a big house. But it’s all mine, and in my book, that beats any downsides the house might have. Including the fact that the local cemetery is located just behind the patch of trees surrounding the back veranda. But I’ve already slept here once and haven’t seen any ghosts, so I think I’ll be fine.
Ignoring the boxes, I head straight for the kitchen. I know I should be unpacking, but I don’t have the energy. Instead, I have a quick sandwich dinner, then make myself my usual cup of tea and settle on the back veranda with a book in my hand.
The evening is quiet, surprisingly so, compared to the noise of the city I’m used to. There are some bugs chirping in the overgrown grass, and I hear a faint TV from one of my neighbors, but there is no traffic, sirens, shouting, or loud music. Just peace and quiet.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I sip my herbal tea. I think I’ll like living in Bluebell Springs.
Chapter 4
Ethan
Kayla Reynolds.
Twenty-eight years old, master’s degree in social work, recently single. Her socials are private, but I wouldn’t be in business if I didn’t know how to get around those settings. I even hacked into her recently deleted photo album to see the bastard who broke up with her. He looks like shit. What’s worse, he’s already posting pictures of himself with some floozy, as if he didn’t just pass on the opportunity to be with a literal goddess. What an idiot.
I want to kill him. I won’t, of course, but I got the itch. My monster wants out, and if I’m not careful, Nick the Cheating Fuck might find himself facing it.
I need to kill. Soon. I also need to stop obsessing about Kayla Reynolds. She’s not a goddess. She’s a little bunny. Cute, but insignificant. I have to stop thinking about her. About the beautiful explosion of her curly hair. About the deep black eyes that seemed to see straight into my dark soul. About her supple body pressed against mine.
I groan as I feel my cock getting harder. I’ve already jerked off twice. Each time, I tell myself it’s the last, but her image haunts me, slipping through the cracks in my control. I’m pretty sure I moaned her name like some fucking love-struck teenager. This has to stop.
She’s nothing. She’s not a goddess. She’s a little bunny.
I hate bunnies.
Okay, I don’t really hate bunnies. But I do need to hate Kayla Reynolds. I can’t afford to fixate on her. My mind has been a reeling mess before I met her, and now? I can’t even fucking focus! She’s all I can think about.
Forcibly, I return my attention to the tracking app. The dot I’m following hasn’t moved in two hours, staying at the dingy motel by the interstate. I’ve already checked out the security in that place: no guards, no cameras, no nothing. My target has been staying there every Thursday night for the past year, at least. It’s like he’s asking to get kidnapped.
Of course, the lack of cameras is the reason Gerardo Nash chose this motel. His wife thinks he’s working overnight while, in reality, he spends the night jerking off to videos of naked young boys. Some of those videos he bought off the black market. Some he took himself.
You see, Mr. Nash is an upstanding citizen, doting husband, and a caring father. He’s also a Boy Scout leader who frequently takes his group to the local swimming pool, where he “teaches them to swim.” Three boys have already left the troop after attending one of his “private lessons.”
He’s not having sex with them yet, but he’s already graduated from just watching to touching. It won’t be long before he starts wanting more. I won’t give him the chance.
I make my way to the window of his room. I expected him to be sleeping by this point, but he’s wide awake, sifting through the collection of Polaroid photographs spread on the bed. He’s naked and giving me a full view of his fully erect cock, as well as some of the pictures he’s looking at.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat. The monster inside me, the one I’ve kept caged for too long, stirs eagerly. It’s time to let it out to play.
A familiar coldness spreads through me, turning my blood to ice, my heart to stone. The last traces of humanity dissolve, leaving only the hunter. I no longer feel nauseous from the sight before me, or nervous about the kill. The last slivers of guilt I might have felt about being the judge, jury, and executioner vanish into thin air. There’s no room for feelings anymore, only for action. For revenge.
I couldn’t save my best friend all those years ago, but I will save the world from the monster in front of me, who is now jerking off to a picture of a naked child who looks to be around eight years old.
I wait until he’s close, then nudge the window open. Thanks to the oil I poured on the hinges last week, it opens soundlessly. I jump inside the room and drop my duffel bag onto the floor. My tools rattle, catching Nash’s attention.
His eyes widen in terror, his pathetic cock still twitching in his trembling hand. He knows what’s coming. I relish the fear in his eyes, the way his glee crumbles into pure, undiluted panic as he scrambles to hide the photos.
“You forgot the video, Gerardo,” I tease, pointing to the laptop playing hidden camera footage from the swimming pool locker room on repeat. The boys arrive, laughing and joking with each other, then begin undressing.
Gerardo lunges over and snaps the laptop shut. “It’s not…I’m not…” he blabbers before finally composing himself. “Who the fuck are you?!”
I think I’m smiling but it must be the bad kind of smile because Gerardo blanches even further. “Children are incredible,” I note, stepping closer to him. “Resilient. They’re able to bounce off trauma that would leave adults shattered. However, in order to do that, they need the cause of that trauma removed from their lives.”
He takes a swing at me. Predictable. I dodge and round-kick his stomach, sending him flying into a wall. The room behind it is empty, the same as the one on the other side, so I don’t have to be too careful about the noise we’re making.
I watch him struggle, savoring every pitiful movement. But mercy isn’t in my vocabulary. Not for him. Before he can pick himself off the floor, I grab the little hair he has left and slam his head against the wall a few times to make sure he will stay nice and put until I’m ready for him.
