Chapter 5

Bunny

Death Canyon, Texas.

Population thirty-four.

Thirty-five – since we’re including me.

Wait.

Thirty-six since we need to include the unborn child that they’re planning to name Mitzi Jo.

Hillbillyheavenfuckingforbids , that they don’t attach the name Jo to a sixth generation.

I learned that at the grocery store yesterday.

Along with all the details of Posie’s new, mysterious boyfriend who evidently looks suspiciously similar to Kipp.

Although Suzie swears Kipp’s much cuter.

And sweeter.

And has much better manners considering he still wouldn’t let me unload the cart.

He just got hired to wash dishes at The Dig Site, which is why he’s here, sitting beside her, listening to the speeches being made in spite of the fact he doesn’t live here.

Only thirty-sixish people live in this small town; however, many more people – like him – work here, hence the packed room.

Tucking the red pen I had been doodling with into my bun is done in tandem with letting my gaze wander around the renovated barn where the town hall meeting is being held.

According to The Kid, Annabelle Steel is the building’s official owner – which she uses to host primarily over the top rustic weddings since her parents died – yet grants permission to the town to use it whenever they have one of these things.

Nolan says it’s not often.

But murder literally left on our doorstep two days ago warrants one.

Flashes of John November’s mangled corpse cause me to adjust uncomfortably again in my backrow, metal fold out chair.

How did he predict that my ex – aka the storm – would find him?

Destroy him?

This town?

How did my ex know that using him to deliver a death message would spook me more than someone else?

Or was November just the easiest target?

And if he was…what exactly made him an easy target?

Job?

The affair?

Location?

And if it’s location then…how close is Brad, really?

Did he have one of his bounty hunters drop him off at our feet or did he do it personally ?

Was putting him there done to measure our response?

Reaction time?

See how many men there are actually surrounding me?

Was it a ploy to get us out of the apartment to plant recording devices?

A tracker?

Perhaps another tracker considering that I may have one inside of me.

Was killing November part of some other, bigger, more nefarious plot or simply the next step in his demented amusement where he assumes the man’s death will have me just curl back into myself?

Shun the world.

Shut out everyone to the point I ruin any opportunity to have the extra defense needed in our bloody game of cat and mouse where he believes he’s some white collar Al Capone that no one can or will touch.

He got exactly what he wanted from me the first time.

I almost fled the safest place I’ve ever felt.

Bailed on the two people who have done nothing but love and protect me since we crossed paths.

And the next time he pulled a stunt?

He got exactly what he wanted from me then too.

I reverted back to my old ways.

I stopped talking.

And eating.

And thinking.

And emotionally abandoned the two people who refused to stop showing up because some creep in the shadows swears, he’ll take what he claims is his.

This third time?

I’m not giving him what he wants.

I’m not going to run.

I’m not going to cower.

I’m staying right where I am and fighting for my life because it’s long overdue.

Because I finally have a life worth fighting for.

You know…maybe the cops still don’t believe me about being stalked.

Maybe they’ll never believe me.

But the older man who has his arm possessively wrapped around my shoulder and the younger one who has his palm resting on my thigh so that his thumb can loving stroke it certainly do.

And they’re willing to stop at nothing when it comes to protecting what we have.

“These are most certainly some unusual times,” Elijah Post, the sheriff continues to explain, keeping most of the audience’s attention focused on him. “However, we will not let what happened to John, happen to anyone else in our town!”

Hoots and hollers and applauds of approval have me scanning the crowd for the ones that aren’t.

Anyone who looks suspicious.

Like they’re paying more attention to me than the “go team” speech by their beloved law enforcement.

Unexpected shivers suddenly rush up my spine as if someone’s stare has now latched onto me, and there’s no stopping my body from tensing in discomfort.

Who is it?!

Where are they?!

Why don’t they have the balls to show themselves?!

“ Relax, Rabbit, ” Nolan grumps under his breath, body tucking itself tighter against mine. “ He ain’t talkin’ about you. ”

Rather than confess that I’m not listening – or that I stopped listening due to being in a room full of strangers I’m not sure we should trust – I urgently proceed with my scanning of the people on the opposite half of the space, searching for the eerie feeling’s host.

The sight of a middle-aged, sandy beige skinned male repeatedly cutting curious glances in my direction leads me to whispering a question to my boyfriend on the right, “ Who’s the guy on the other side of the aisle, about four rows up? ”

Nolan’s dark glare steals a small, inconspicuous glimpse before answering, “ Wayland. ” Our eyes momentarily meet. “ Runs a big hotel chain. He’s married to English. ”

“ How the fuck are you married to a language?! ”

A mirth-filled eye roll is given. “ Her name is English. She runs the local B&B. It’s the only place you can stay in town if you don’t already know someone. ”

“ The place with no vacancies? ”

“ It definitely had fucking vacancies .” He narrows his stare yet again in amusement. “ The Kid was just being a stubborn little shit. ”

“ He learned it from watching you. ”

“ Behave or you won’t be gettin’ any carrots for dessert. ”

Post flashing a mischievous smirk, I ask, “ Is there a reason he keeps looking over here ?”

At that, Nolan steals a second glance that inspires him to arrogantly grin. “ Probably because he can see your nipples through that sweater and fucking around on his wife is his favorite sport. ”

Disgusted gags immediately escape me.

“ I prefer football or Formula 1.”

“ Is anyone in this fucking place faithful? ”

“ Us .” The lack of humor in his statement is accompanied by a possessive stroke of my bottom lip. “ And never forget that. ”

Having the digit within toying range prompts me to deliver the tiniest lick to his calloused thumb. Hungry grumbles barely being trapped behind gritted teeth is swiftly followed by me winking and leaning away to nestle closer to my other boyfriend who seems to be paying extremely close attention to the dark hickory shaded older gentleman that is now speaking behind the podium.

“ Who’s that? ” I quietly investigate, grateful we’re in the far back corner where we’re least likely to garner a vast amount of attention.

“ Pastor Burton, ” Kipp replies at the same muted volume, fingers beginning a light, loving stroke.

“ The one whose wife was on her knees for a different type of worship?! ”

The corner of his lips twitches a smirk. “ That’d be the one. ”

“ And where is she ?”

“ Other side. Front row. Edge seat. ”

My gaze gravitates to the shorthaired, toasted brown skin, full figure woman who is fanning her round face with an old-style folded fan and waving the other hand around in spiritual agreement.

It’s not that hot in here.

Then again, maybe she’s practicing her routine for the funeral that I’m told we have to attend because not attending would be suspicious.

And the last thing we want is everyone watching us.

Thinking we were somehow responsible for November’s untimely death.

Placing the blame where it doesn’t belong.

I argued – for hours – with Kipp, Nolan, and Garcia that it was my fault.

That because it’s my ex … my demon …that caused the prophecy spewer to retire early from living, I was secondhandedly responsible for his murder.

That I should bear some of the shame.

The guilt.

The burden.

None of them were willing to hear it.

No matter how hard I screamed.

And I fucking screamed until The Kid had to make me tea to soothe my throat.

It turns out he makes a mean cup of that shit too.

I honestly think if a life of cars didn’t work out for him, he could’ve made it as a chef.

Or…at the very least a fancy barista like you’d find at Contes De La Couronne Yacht Club back in Florida.

Despite the fact, the hairs on the back of my neck have yet to go down – indicating that it wasn’t the cheating hotel creeper making them stand up – I keep my visual hunting momentarily halted to inquire, “ And who’s the redhead directly behind her ?”

This time there’s noticeable hesitation to answer.

Hesitation I don’t like.

“ Kid. ”

He does his best to remain silent.

“ Kid. ”

Still nothing.

“ Kipp. ”

Against his own volition, he whispers, “ Jolene. ”

“ Jolene?! ” the loud hiss of her name causes him to shoot me a disapproving glare. “ Like…the Jolene?! ”

He glances around me to see if Nolan was disturbed by my outburst before confirming, “ Yeah. That Jolene. ”

“ What’s she doing here? ”

“ She technically still works here. ”

“ Funny, I don’t remember seeing any strip clubs during our walking town tour. ”

The Kid does his best to swallow his snicker. “ She strips a couple times a week for extra cash-”

“ Because she can’t steal it from the church’s collection plate? ”

“- but is also Annabelle’s assistant. She handles a lot of the property day to day bullshit. Bunch of paperwork crap for the weddings too. She sleeps in the office pullout when she doesn’t feel like making the drive back to Crystal Waters, which technically I guess means she sort of lives here too. ”

Jealousy isn’t hidden nearly as well as I imagine it is in my tone. “ Do I wanna know why you know all that shit off the top of your head? ”

He shifts his beautiful blue stare to my brown. “ Because he was her boyfriend before he was ours. ”

The little fact lands poorly on my shoulders yet acknowledging it isn’t necessary courtesy of the gathering finally wrapping up.

Unfortunately, the nagging sensation still planted at the back of my neck, doesn’t lighten.

It deepens.

Whoever it is…they’re on the move.

But where?!

Which way?!

Is it that woman in the puke yellow shirt trying to avoid eye contact?

Or maybe that guy with the mullet?

Ugh.

Why are mullets back?

Why are they an “in” thing again?

“Woods,” a male voice calls out from a short distance commanding Kipp’s attention to where the sheriff seems to be headed straight for us. “A word?”

“ Kid, ” Nolan quietly begins, maintaining his sitting position, “ remember what Garcia said. ”

“ Yeah, yeah, yeah, ” he juvenilely brushes off. “ I know. I’m not actually a child. You don’t have to fucking parent me. ”

“ I don’t have to spank you either, but I do that. ”

There’s no resisting the crooked grin that wants to grow on his face.

Garcia will probably be a touchy subject for a bit longer – along with some control issues they both clearly have – however, I’m grateful anytime the topic is met with humor as opposed to hostility.

As much as I don’t love having to endure jealousy shit, I do appreciate the odd relationship normalcy it brings.

We don’t get to put a lot of shit in the normal column on our spreadsheet.

Fuck me for trying to warmly acknowledge what we can.

Post takes up residence at the end of our row split seconds prior to Jolene passing by, hazel glare shot in my direction not appearing to be the direct cause for my uneasiness so much as simply exacerbating it.

Great.

Because one crazy ex isn’t enough for us to fucking deal with already?

Maybe she’ll just take out her aggression in a more standard nature?

Annoying texts.

Drunk phone calls.

Keying profanity into the side of his truck.

Not that I want her to do the last one.

It would just be better than having her physically try to run him off the road or threaten to drive them both off a cliff because one will not live without the other.

Except Brad is wrong.

I will live without him.

I just don’t know for how long.

Kipp politely greets the thinning haired individual, “Post.”

“Woods.” He states in return and then flashes me a cordial expression. “Ripley.”

“Sheriff.”

“Nolan.”

My other boyfriend offers him a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Could we talk for a moment?” One hand slides into his tan pants pocket. “ In private ?”

“I’ve been advised by my attorney not to speak to anyone regarding this situation or any other law-related ones without him present.”

Post slowly nods his comprehension. “Does that include the desecration of your mother’s grave?”

“What?! ” Flying to the edge of his seat is attached to a croaked, “What happened to my mother’s grave?!”

His expression remains unchanged. “Does that include the desecration of your mother’s grave? That’s a felony offence and felonies are-”

“ What. Happened. Post? ” Nolan coldly punctuates.

The man in charge of the town, releases a heavy, unhappy sigh, “Someone dug it up.”

“ What?! ” flies out of all three of us.

“Emptied her coffin.”

“ Ohmygod! ” airily leaves my mouth prior to cupping it.

“Someone stole The Kid’s mother’s fucking corpse?!”

“They did.” His other hand slides inside the empty pocket at the same time he latches his gaze onto Kipp’s once more. “And they also replaced her headstone with yours. ”