12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Ethan

My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly I fear it might crack, but I need to hold on to something to quell the scalding fury raging inside of me.

That fucking bastard talked to my bunny. He flirted with her!

It took everything I had not to pounce on him right there and then in front of his friends. In front of Kayla. Just the thought that it would scare her made me hold back. I don't want her to be scared of me, and slashing someone's throat right in front of her would hardly help me win her favor.

Somehow, I restrained myself to only slashing the bastard's tires. Mostly to prevent Kayla from getting inside his car, but also out of spite. It was a petty act, I'll admit it, but if the choice was between damaging a car and brutally murdering its owner…well, I think I know what my little bunny would want me to choose.

But even now, my control is slipping, and I'm seriously considering going back to the Rusty Mug and taking that guy out. He thought he could talk to MY girl?! I bet he imagined bringing her home, taking off that riveting dress, touching her, kissing her… I know I have.

I should go back and cut his fucking cock off so he never thinks of Kayla this way again. But I can't. I can't.

Sucking in a desperate breath, I slam my fist into the steering wheel. I need to calm down. Going around killing people isn't the answer. I need to stay in control.

That guy didn't do anything. He just talked to Kayla, which, as much as I hate to admit it, is not a crime. If he'd bothered her, if he had touched her, then I'm not sure I could hold back. But he did nothing inappropriate, so he gets to live. It's the right decision, even if the darkness inside me disagrees. It demands me cutting the guy's cock off and gifting it to Kayla wrapped in a nice box.

"She'd hate that," I mutter, rubbing my forehead. "Wouldn't she? Yes, I'm pretty sure she would."

Kayla Reynolds is not like me. She's pure, kind, and compassionate. She has devoted her entire life to helping children, even though her intelligence would have allowed her to pursue more reputable and better-paid careers. She's too good for me, but that doesn't mean I'm letting her go. But unless I want to drown her light in my darkness, I'll have to meet her halfway. Now more than ever, I need to be mindful of the line between justifiable killing and mindless murder.

I park the car in my usual spot by the cemetery. It's after midnight, so the place is deserted. The moonlight casts shadows all around me, and as an occasional cloud passes, the shadows shift, giving the cemetery an eerie vibe.

I ignore it. I'm not afraid of the dead. If anything, the dead should be afraid of me.

I make my way around the cemetery wall. Kayla's house is submerged in darkness, but I don't approach it yet. I need to wait for her to be in a deep sleep so my sneaking around won't wake her.

The cemetery wall is cold as I lean against it, slightly cooling the rage simmering in my blood. Damn, I really need to get a grip.

The active feed from the bedroom cameras shows Kayla in her bed, curled under her thick blanket. Her wild hair is tucked away under a satin bonnet, a single escaped curl framing her face. As I watch, Kayla rolls from side to side, smacking her lips and mumbling something not even the military-grade listening device can pick up.

Content to see that she's asleep already, I switch to the recorded footage. I watch Kayla come home and sigh in relief as she takes off her pumps. Like the slob she is, she leaves the shoes lying in the middle of the entrance hall and carelessly tosses her purse onto a low dresser by the door.

In the bathroom, she twists to reach the zipper of her dress, then wriggles out of it, holding on to the sink for balance. She appears slightly inebriated, but fortunately, not enough to pass out and smash her head against the toilet rim. I'm not sure how I'd explain barging in to rescue her if she hurt herself.

As expected, she leaves the dress in a pile on the floor. A tiny thong and a matching bra join the dress, and I swallow roughly as saliva pools in my mouth from the sight.

As if to taunt me, Kayla stretches out her arms, groaning at a few pops and cracks from her neck and back. The motion puts her beautiful breasts on display. She runs her fingers over nipples, a few shades darker than her smooth, umber skin, and the dark peaks tighten under her touch, making me groan. What I wouldn't give to touch her like this!

Mesmerized, I watch her enter the shower and lather her body with the cherry-scented shower gel. She takes great care to wash her breasts and the tantalizing spot between her legs. A little too good a care, I think, as she keeps running her hand over her pussy.

The tiniest moan escapes her, and she throws her head back before resting her forehead against the wall. My eyes widen in surprise when I realize what she's doing.

"Are you making yourself feel good, Kayla?" I murmur, unzipping my pants to let my painfully erect cock out. Lazily stroking it, I watch her pleasure herself.

A decent man would stop watching. But then again, a decent man wouldn't put three cameras into her shower cubicle just to ensure he had a perfect angle to watch her fingers disappearing into her pussy. Good thing I'm not a decent man.

Unable to look away, I keep stroking myself, only stopping when she moans again. Did she just…did she just fucking moan my name?!

I rewind the recording and crank up the volume. The shower sounds like a roaring waterfall now, but I can clearly hear Kayla's words. "More, Ethan," she moans, rubbing herself harder.

Oh, my fucking god.

I really hope she's not thinking of a different guy named Ethan because I wouldn't just kill the fucker. I'd destroy him. I'd cut him into so many pieces that not even a fucking jigsaw puzzle champion could put him back together. I'd—

"Ethan, please," Kayla moans, interrupting my bout of murderous rage. "I need you."

My heart stops. Time stands still. The damned planet ceases its rotation. She needs me?

"I need your cock," Kayla continues, and that's it for me. Without even moving my hand, I reach my peak, the orgasm sudden and blinding in its intensity. I'm frozen in place, unable to move as I spill my cum all over the forest floor.

The cold seeping into my back from the wall behind me doesn't even register anymore. I could be leaning naked against a block of ice and still feel hot. Burning. Burning with the need for little Kayla Reynolds, a girl who just begged me for my cock.

"I'll give it to you, little bunny," I promise as I finally catch my breath. "I'll give you my cock soon enough."

Not tonight, though. As much as my body burns for her, I need to tread carefully. Conquering her body will be easy, but it's not just her body I want. I want her mind, too. Her heart. Her everything. And for that, I need to be patient, even when the vixen taunts me like this.

Since the bedroom cameras show her soundly sleeping now, I stalk over to her house and pick her new lock, humming in approval when I see the new type she got. It takes time and precision to pick and a common burglar wouldn't bother with it, moving on to an easier target instead.

My bunny is safe from everyone but me.

Not wanting to leave footprints, I take my shoes off and tiptoe around in my socks. My first steps lead to the entrance hall, where Kayla's purse still hangs from the dresser. It takes me all of two minutes to find her phone and install my tiny app on it.

The app will allow me to see all her messages, listen in to her calls, track her location, and pretty much watch everything she does with the device. The pages she opens, the social media she scrolls, the games she plays. Not that she appears to have any installed, thank god.

Putting the phone back into her purse, I pick up the pumps and put them on the rack where they belong. I can't have her walking around all sleepy in the morning and breaking her neck when she trips over the damned shoes.

Just as I tiptoe over to the bedroom door, intent on peeking inside, Kayla's phone starts ringing. Fuck! I'm too far away from the back door to make a run for it, so I just dive behind the sofa and pray she won't notice me here. That would cut the "getting used to me" period short considerably.

Who the hell is even calling her at two a.m.?! It better not be a guy.

Kayla sounds just as irritated as I am as she scrambles out of her bed. "What the fuck?" she mutters, rubbing her eyes. "Where's the stupid phone?"

I catch a glimpse of her feet—she's wearing thick, fluffy socks—as she moves around the living room, the persistent ringing guiding her to the entrance hall. "I'm coming, I'm coming. What the fuck?" Yawning, she finally locates the damned device. "Huh? Amy?" The sleepiness and irritation disappear from her voice, replaced by worry.

Since I've done my homework, I know Amy Hudges is Kayla's best friend. Kayla's socials are full of their photos together. Only a few of them are recent, though, and none of them are with Amy's current boyfriend, Craig Denver.

Kayla answers the phone. "Amy, what's wrong?" I can't understand the girl on the other side, but her voice is frantic. Kayla gasps. "What?! That fucking asshole! No, no. Listen. Ames, listen! You need to call the police. No. I know it gets Craig in trouble. That's the whole point!"

A growl escapes Kayla as Amy talks. "No, Amy," she interrupts. "He hit you once. He's going to do it again."

I barely manage to smother my own enraged growl. I focus my personal crusade on child abusers, but I loathe abusers of any kind. And it seems that Amy's partner just got added to my list.

"Your head? God, Ames, you need to go to a hospital. No, seriously. Head wounds are no joke. Look…" She rubs her forehead. "I'm coming over. No, it's not a long drive. I'll be at your place in a couple of hours, but right now, you have to call the police. Do you understand me? Amy, please."

Amy's already incoherent words are further muffled by sobbing and sniffling. I can hear her better now since Kayla has returned to the living room. "I know, Amy," she says, her voice surprisingly calm. "I know you love him. And I know he told you he loves you. But this is not love. Listen, everything will be alright. I promise. I'll be there in like…five hours. Call the police, please. They'll take you to a hospital. Do not stay alone, Amy, do you understand? Tell the police you're afraid he might come back and—NO! Of course he will apologize, but he will do it again, Amy. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he will do it. Trust me, please. Please, Amy. I'm coming."

With that, Kayla ends the call and tosses the phone onto the table. "Fuck," she curses as she sprints into the bedroom and ruffles through her clothes. "Fuck him. Fucking bastard! I'm going to kill him!"

A smile curls my lips. No, my little bunny, I think to myself. There's no need for you to stain your soul with such a dark deed. I'll kill him for you. I'll kill him and bring you his—

No. I stop myself before the dark part of my mind starts imagining chopping off Craig Denver's body parts and delivering them to Kayla in lavishly decorated boxes. She would absolutely not appreciate that.

I'll kill him to keep her friend safe. To keep Kayla safe, because if she stays with Amy, she's putting herself in danger as well. And I won't tolerate any threats to my precious bunny.

Hidden behind the sofa, I listen to Kayla throw random clothes into a small bag and rush out the door. I don't move even as she locks the door, well aware that my erratic bunny left her phone on the table. She realizes it a minute later, barging back into the house and sputtering very unladylike curses.

This time, she actually takes time to check she has everything she needs before leaving the house. After hearing her car leave the driveway, I wait another minute or two to make sure she won't return, then quietly sneak out of the house, locking the door behind me.

What was supposed to be a quiet night of pleasant stalking just turned into a night of bloodshed.