Page 56 of Claiming His Bunny
“I love your smart brain,” he murmurs as he kisses the top of my head.
At his praise, my “smart brain” loses all of its remaining higher functions, reverting me to a giddy teenager who just got noticed by the hottest boy at school.
“You’re absolutely right,” Ethan continues. “That’s why all computers in this room are programmed to irreversibly erase all the data when anyone but me tries to access them. This particular file is even more protected than the rest of the system. Don’t worry, bunny. I don’t plan on going to jail.”
“Does anyone ever plan on going to jail, though? I mean—Oh. Wow.” He opens the file and pictures scroll in front of my eyes. Dozens of them. Maybe over a hundred. Jesus fucking Christ. “Are these all the people you’ve…”
“Killed. Yes.”
As if sensing I need some space, Ethan retreats a few steps away. It’s a good thing, because I don’t think I could handle him hovering over me right now, faced with the scope of his crimes.
So many people. How does one even kill so many people? He doesn’t look much older than me, and I barely have time to regularly visit my hairdresser, let alone plan a murder every other week.
Ethan watches me as I scroll through the list, and I wonder what emotions are showing on my face. Shock, definitely, that’s the prevalent one. Astonishment, maybe, because my stalker has definitely been a busy bee. To my surprise, I don’t feel disgusted or afraid. Perhaps it will come later, but right now, I’m just staring at the pictures with my mouth agape, trying to make rhyme or reason out of what I see.
Though I spot an occasional woman, most of the victims pictured are men. Usually middle-aged, but there are some younger and a few older men thrown into the mix. Their skin color varies, too. Thank fuck. Then again, if Ethan went around murdering Black people, he’d hardly fall in love with me.
I scroll to the very bottom, being none the wiser. None of the people look even remotely familiar. None, except for the very last one. I’ve seen him before, haven’t I?
It takes me a minute to remember and then everything clicks into place. It’s the man from the news, the one who raped and killed several children. And found himself dead. Ugly dead, as Georgia described it.
It all makes sense now. Ethan said the people he killed were worse than Craig. And who is worse than a guy who abuses his girlfriend? Someone who abuses children.
I suck in a sharp breath as I take in the list’s length again. “All of them?” I ask breathlessly. “All of them are like that guy?” I jab my finger to where the screen shows the last photograph. I don’t remember the man’s name and I’m glad about it. He shouldn’t be remembered. He should be erased from history, just like Ethan erased him from existence.
“Yes,” he whispers, watching me with an unreadable expression. “Most of them never killed, but they hurt children, in one way or another.”
I don’t need to know the details. After several years in CPS, I know all the ways children can be hurt. And Ethan does something CPS and the police often can’t—he punishes those responsible. And not only that. “You saved the girl,” I say, remembering what Georgia said. “The one this bastard took.”
Ethan’s expression darkens, his hands balling into fists. For a split second, I wonder if he’s going to hurt me, then I realize his anger isn’t aimed toward me. “It was my fault she was there in the first place. My fucking fault.”
With a frustrated scream, he slams his fist into the nearest wall. The drywall cracks, chips flying in all directions, and Ethan’s knuckles turn red as blood wells in his wounds. Having spent all his aggression, he sinks to his knees and hides his face in his hands. “That girl… My fault,” he whispers, his shoulders twitching as if he was holding back sobs.
I cast a single glance at the door. It’s still open, and something tells me the basement door won’t be locked, either.
I could run. I’m closer to the door than Ethan is, and he’s distracted. I could make it.
Except I already know I won’t even try. Not because I’m afraid of a punishment for a failed escape, but because Ethan needs me. My kind and caring serial killer needs me, and I’m not about to abandon him.
Chapter 32
Ethan
I thought that ifI could show Kayla what I’ve been doing, I’d make her understand, accept me even. But how could she accept me when I’m such a failure?
That little girl. Cynthia. I will never forget the sight of her, naked, under Oberman’s snoring body. She will never forget it either. Thanks to me, she will be waking up screaming for the rest of her life. What a gift I gave her.
The voice telling me that everything is my fucking fault is back, and I can’t ignore it. The only thing that helps silence it is sinking into Kayla’s hot pussy, and I can’t even do that now, because she’s awake and she’s seen me for what I am.
When I fucked her in her sleep, it was still rape, but at least back then, I could fool myself into believing she wanted it. I could take her sleepy moans as dubious consent. If I tried to touch her now, she’d scream and fight me, and I don’t think I could take that.
She’s quiet now, and I know without looking she’s eyeing the door I left open. I don’t blame her. In fact, it’s the smartest thing she's done since moving into Bluebell Springs. Since meeting me.
“Go,” I say, my voice hoarse with unshed tears. I refuse to let them fall. I never cry. “I won’t stop you. The door upstairs is unlocked.”
I’m a shitty kidnapper. I wanted Kayla here, but I also wanted her to choose to be here. If she doesn’t want to be with me, there’s no point in keeping her. There’s no point in anything.
When she leaves, I’ll take a gun and finally end it all. Silence that stupid voice forever.
