Page 66 of Claiming His Bunny
I don’t have to worry, though. Ethan places a quick kiss on my forehead, then climbs off the bed. “I’ll drive,” he says before disappearing into the closet.
And just like that, I know I’m in love with him.
Chapter 37
Ethan
I pull up toSunrise Terrace apartment complex, finding an empty spot under one of the few functioning lamps in the entire street. A small creature, probably a rat, darts from beneath the overflowing dumpster and disappears into the dying shrubbery on the other side of the road.
What a lovely place.
Kayla opens the car door, then casts me another cautious glance. She’s been looking at me like this for the entire ride, as if she is worried I’ll suddenly change my mind, turn the car around, and lock her in my basement. Which would be a sensible thing to do.
I never planned to let her interact with other people this soon after taking her. I thought I’d have more time to let her adjust, to accept me, to build mutual trust. But after the heart-wrenching conversation we had in my safe room and the mind blowing sex just a few hours ago, I trust her.
She might still break my heart if she decides to leave me, but she won’t go to the police. Not about the stalking and kidnapping, nor about the murders. Not after telling me she’d give me her own list of people to kill.
I thought I couldn’t love her more, but her easy acceptance of all parts of me blew me away. I’m hers now, a thrall ready to do her bidding. If she wants the people on her list dead, I’ll kill them. I’ll fucking kill anyone she points her finger at. Anyone at all, rules be damned. And I might start tonight by killing Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, because seriously, who the fuck steals a baby like this?!
“Go,” I tell Kayla before she can ask for permission to leave the car. “Calm the girl down and bring her to the car. I’ll wait here. We’ll visit her parents and set this straight.”
Her wary expression turns into a warm smile. “Thank you. You’re so perfect. I…” She bites down on her lip, then shakes her head. “Later. I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” I call as she shuts the door and sprints into the building. “I have some work to do.”
I pull out my laptop from the bag I hastily threw on the back seat and boot it up. I was hoping I’d get a few minutes to find some dirt on the Simpsons before we get there and Kayla just gave me a perfect opportunity.
My fingers fly over the keyboard as I access various databases, pulling up all the dirt I can find on the family.
At first, there’s nothing significant. Some parking and speeding tickets, missed dog fee payment notifications, a stream of complaints on the neighbor’s kids for being “too loud.” It would seem that Georgia’s parents are just normal upper-class assholes.
I dig deeper. They’re rich, pretentious, and without a shred of compassion if the treatment of their daughter says anything about them. There must be a skeleton in their closet. Or buried in their garden.
Then I find it. The tax report Daddy Dearest filed last year. And the year before. And all the years before that.
His stated income is nowhere near enough to afford the expensive car he drives. The expensive house he lives in. The expensive wife he supports. No way. Besides, the website of his company boasts about employing nearly two hundred people. His tax report states he employs twelve. How the fuck has nobody reported him to the IRS yet is beyond me, but it works in my favor.
The rear car door opens, interrupting my search. Kayla helps a pale, slender girl enter the vehicle and clicks her seatbelt closed. My rage flares as I notice Georgia’s desolate expression, red-rimmed eyes, and red, splotchy face. She looks like she’s been crying for hours.
“Alright,” Kayla says as she settles in her own seat. “The address is—” When she notices the address to Georgia’s parents already in my GPS, she rolls her eyes. “Well, the address isthat. We’ll go straight there and get Arya.”
Even though she’s talking to Georgia and not to me, I nod and start the engine.
In the back seat, Georgia sniffles but doesn’t say anything.
“It’s going to be alright, Georgia,” Kayla says. “What did we just talk about? That Arya is…?”
“My-my daughter.”
Kayla twists in her seat to smile at the girl. “Exactly. And?”
“And…and they can’t take her away from me?”
“Bingo! You are Arya’s legal guardian, Georgia. Your parents can spew all the bullshit they want, but unless a judge says otherwise, Arya is yours. What they did was not just morally wrong, but also illegal as hell.”
Georgia hums in acquiescence, more tears spilling from her eyes. Wordlessly, I open the glove compartment and point Kayla to the box of paper tissues there. It earns me another beaming smile. “Just when I think you can’t get any more perfect…” she whispers to me as she hands the box to Georgia.
I just shake my head. I’m far from perfect and we both know it. But if she’s willing to accept me with all my imperfections, I’m not going to complain.
