Page 86 of Claiming His Bunny
A siren wails in the distance.
“Game’s over, cunt,” Adams sneers. “I thought I’d have more time to toy with you, but I guess I’ll just have to do it the fast way. Say your prayers.”
I don’t know any prayers. The closest I ever came to praying was calling out to god when Ethan was fucking me. Tears gather in my eyes as I watch Adam’s finger move on the trigger. Is this how it will end?
A weak cry interrupts the moment. “Hey, Adams!” Ethan shouts, groaning in pain as he shifts his position. “Catch!”
The second Adams turns his head in Ethan’s direction, Ethan flicks his hand. Something whizzes through the air and buries itself in Adams’ eye with a wetschlunk. I catch a glimpse of something gold and red before it falls out and clatters on the floor.
A dart?
The sound that comes from Adams’ mouth is inhuman, a howled shriek like from a rabid animal. He brings both his hands to his face, smearing the clear, gooey liquid streaming from his eyeball all over himself in the process.
“Run, Kayla!”
I’m sure Ethan meant to shout it, but he’s so weak it’s more of a hoarse whisper. I try to get up, but a sudden flare of vertigo sends me back onto the floor, so I crawl over to him instead. “Ethan!” The floor is slippery where he lies in the pool of blood, his eyes half-lidded. “Don’t you dare to die on me, Ethan!” I threaten through my tears. What should I do? There’s so much blood!
Adams’ shrieks suddenly sound much louder as he staggers closer. He stumbles onto his knees and grabs my arm, his hand disgustingly sticky with whatever came out of his eye. He tries to tug me away from Ethan, but his grip is weaker than before.
Fortunately, he seems to have dropped his weapon. Unfortunately for him, I haven’t dropped mine.
I raise the mace, my voice feral as I scream at him, “Just fucking DIE already, you filthy bastard!”
I empty the can point blank into his face, hitting both his functional and injured eye. The howl he lets out completely drowns out the noise of the sirens outside.
“POLICE!” someone shouts. “NOBODY MOVE!”
“Over here!” I call out, relieved beyond measure when uniformed figures holding weapons fill the room. “Please, help! Ethan needs an—an ambulance.” My voice breaks as I turn back to Ethan and see that his eyes are closed. “NO!” This cannot be happening! “You’re not dead. You’re not dead!”
My screams turn into sobs as multiple hands pull me away from Ethan. Someone wraps a blanket around me, then lifts me up and carries me outside. My head spins, the red and blue blinking lights all around me stabbing holes in my brain. “Ethan,” I whimper weakly, trying to squirm out of the man’s hold. “Where’s Ethan?”
“They’re rushing him to surgery,” the man responds. “You need to go to the hospital too, you…”
I stop listening.
Surgery. They wouldn’t do surgery on a dead person, would they? That means Ethan isn’t dead. He can’t be dead. He just can’t.
Chapter 48
Kayla
I must have lostconsciousness because the next time I open my eyes, I’m greeted by the sharp light of fluorescent tubes on the ceiling of a hospital room. Someone dressed me in a hospital gown, and there’s a needle in my arm, making me wonder just how long I’ve been out.
My head is still pounding, the light hurting my eyes, so I let them close again as I try to gather my scattered thoughts. Most of them revolve around Adams and the all-consuming terror I felt, but then I remember crawling through the pool of blood. Ethan’s blood.
“Ethan?” I rasp out, my throat so dry that it hurts to even breathe.
“You’re safe, Ms. Reynolds,” a soft female voice says from somewhere next to me. “Drink.”
A straw touches my lips, and I suck in a sip of heavenly cold water. “Where’s Ethan? What happened?”
A careful squint around reveals a nurse standing beside my bed. “I’m afraid I can’t reveal that information. You should rest. You have a major concussion and—wait, what are you doing?!”
She grabs my shoulder when I try to sit up, holding me down with ease. “I need to see him.” My voice is so raspy I don’t even recognize it. “I need to know. Please.”
“Mr. Bennett is still in surgery,” a new voice announces from the door. It’s vaguely familiar, but my aching brain refuses to place it. “He lost a lot of blood, but the doctors are confident he’s going to make it.”
Relieved, I stop struggling against the nurse, who heaves a sigh. “That’s confidential, Sheriff,” she chides, finally helping me identify the blurred person. “You should know better than anyone not to reveal information about patients.”
