22. 2022

BUNNY

There's no clock in this interrogation room, so I count my minutes. The numbers become louder and louder as I wait for Cyrus to return with Emma, becoming an unbearable tune in my head. I'm ready to lose my sanity when he finally ushers her in.

"Sorry about that," he says, out of breath, a hint of a blush across his stubbled, white cheeks.

"Did you run here?" I question as I take in the same redness on Emma's sweet, round face. Hers is a little more aggressive, traveling all the way down to her slightly exposed chest.

Wiping the light sheen of sweat from her forehead, Emma nods, observing my new bruises and split lips before piercing Cyrus with a sharp glance. "Basically. Running. Dodging. Sneaking through dark, unused hallways." Well, we wouldn't have to if I were allowed visitors, but the men in charge…well. They're a little scared of what I might say. It's easier for them to believe I just… turn them all away.

Huffing, Emma falls into her seat. "Why are we doing this in such secrecy? Aren't you worried about the consequences if we get caught?"

"No," Cyrus and I say simultaneously.

"Bunny's in solitary. Rotation was giving her shit all night. That's why I had you come in a little later today. Give her as much rest as I can, you know?"

Cyrus talks about the abuse, and her stare immediately intensifies. I feel no judgment under her wide, doe-eyed gaze—only pity.

I don't know what's worse.

"How are you today, Emma? Sleep well?"

Shifting in her seat, she nods again, eyes falling slightly. "No. Did you?"

"No." It's not because of the pain in my face or the throbbing in my gut. I could live with those. Heartbreak? The agony of missing someone? That's a little harder…

After a moment of silence, Emma pulls her slender notepad out of her hag, flipping to a dog-eared page before setting her recorder beside it. "I took your advice. Stayed at the Honeymoon Inn. It was quite…"

"Eccentric?"

"But surprisingly homey." She smiles, a warmth replacing the pity. I want to ask about Susie. Was she there? Is she okay? Is her hair still blue? Does her smile still reek of sarcasm?

Does she still love me?

Emma pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, gazing at the pretty cursive her finger taps on. "Susie's quite the character. You should've warned me about all that attitude, especially when it comes to you."

I catch my ragged breath before it slips free, trapping it in my chest until I'm positive it won't turn into tears. "She's always been a little protective of me—of Cade."

"Yeah," Emma says, as she flips the page of her notebook. "She loves you two."

Across the metal table, Emma slides over an aged, slightly yellowed, and crinkled envelope. I don't take it immediately. I blame it on the stiffness of my hands, the chill of the room. Not the frozen fear spreading to the tips of my fingers. I've endured too much to feel that now, right? What can possibly be left to fear?

Emma waits patiently as the seconds go by. I mentally thank her for that strength when I finally take the corner between my fingers. The ticking I had suffered with before falls flat under the crashing waves of my heartbeat in my ear.

Thump—

Thump—

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump. It deafens me. A part of me wants to drown it out, but then I'd be forced to relive the memories, rehear my screams from the day I lost him.

I gaze at the photo in my hand, the gift that was saved by a dingy old envelope, and lose all my strength.

"Oh…" I cry. Tenderly, I caress the sharp angles of Cade's face, reliving the moment that was frozen in time. I feel the ghost of his touch placed inside my palm. The calluses that were on his fingertips are still ingrained into my flesh. Swiftly, I wipe the tears from my cheeks, worried that my droplets will take his face away.

We sat at a round little coffee table on the back patio of the motel. In the image, you could see the steam of our coffee rising out of the mugs that were placed in between us and the carefully folded page of the phonebook. His hand held mine gently, but I was holding on for dear life. We were terrified and broken. You could see it in our eyes—in the wounds that marked our flesh—but we were ready.

God, were we fucking ready.

"This photo was taken our first morning there." Susie surprised us with the flash and said we looked like we were up to no good.

She was right.

"Tell me about this," Emma says, tapping the white outer frame of the photo with a French-tipped nail. "How did you get here? How did you two get out?"

I replayed this memory all night. So, I'm surprised how difficult it is to say it out loud.

"Take your time," Emma utters after noticing my struggle. Something about that… I don't know. Her kindness is a push, a testament to my weakness.

"I was at a party the day before—" I'm not fucking weak. Not anymore.

Not ever again.

* * *

"I can't! I can't! Please!"I begged for one day. One day of rest! One day, to let the blood stop seeping from my center, and the belt burns around my throat to stop burning so badly. Sleep was impossible with the lashing split open across my back. The fuck of the guard behind me seems to find them entertaining, though, poking them with the tip of his rifle to get a jolt out of me.

We're going to the cage, I was told, but the walk to the arena isn't as it was before. There is no shower, no makeup, or gowns. I'm marched alone through the empty halls, dressed in nothing but a torn sheath thrown at me last night, looking beaten and smelling of rot.

I asked the guard if he knew what he was doing. I needed to be clean before this part. "Marone likes his girls clean," I tried to explain, hoping for a few minutes, but he was adamant. "He wants you now. He wants you like this."

But why? I tried to reason with it, attempted to fathom what I could do, who I could do, looking like fucking roadkill, but no. It doesn't make sense, and I can't think with the growing noise of the crowd. The volume of them overtakes my pounding heart, practically stopping it completely.

"What's going on?" I ask. Why are they so loud now? Cade is the first reason that comes to mind. They were wild when he set foot in that ring, but this… These sounds are primal.

Please don't be Cade…

Replacing his gun with an overheated palm, the guard forces our way through the rabid mass, having to fight to keep control over me as the hoard shoves, punches, and pulls.

Out of nowhere, a blow lands on my temple, dropping me to the ground. The heels of strange men stomp on my hands and back, almost unaware of the body beneath them. I glance around while the guard pulls me up by the bicep, taking in the cowering women against the walls. No one pays them any mind, all eyes ahead on the match in the cage. I try to get a glimpse of the fight once I get to my feet, but I can't see over the heads.

"Go," the guard orders. I sense a little fear he tries to mask in his stern tone. It only adds to my apprehension. So I put up no fight. One foot in front of the other, I walk with my head facing down, scared of what I'll see if I look up.

"As instructed," I hear my captor announce at the foot of a throne. Marone's deep, smokey baritone instructs him not to go far. Still looking at my feet, I watch him vanish. Only then am I forced to look up with the tips of two fingers. I wish his eyes weren't as captivating as they are, but they suck me in like magnets, refusing to let go until his smirk reaches them.

"Ready to play?"

I don't like playing games anymore.

My lips are kept tight while I shake my head. "What kind of game?" I ask eventually, my curiosity and the roaring crowd overwhelming my stubbornness. Marone beams with delight, grabbing my face like a proud father, only to utter sick and twisted words into my mouth.

"My Blade isn't behaving, and a little bird told me you left his room unharmed. In fact, I was told you fought for each other. Sofuckingsweet. I want him to fight for me now, and you're going to make sure that happens." He pulls my bottom lip between his teeth, taking a bite out of me before twisting me around, shoving me to my knees between his.

My sore bones crunch on the platform, but the pain inside my body is ignored when I see Cade's bloody and still on the ground.

"Cade!" I scream, but it's lost in the mix of everyone else"s. Pure fire is what drives me forward. I sprint from between Marone's knees, reaching the bottom of the cage in milliseconds.

"Get up! Get up, Cade!" I bellow, tears pouring from my lids. My palms are slamming against the chain links when he finally looks at me. Blood covers both our faces. Bruises make us unrecognizable.

But we see each other.

"Bunny." My name is a prayer on his lips, a promise that flows between us. He touches me then, just a slight brush of his fingertip on mine through the links, but it's as heavy as it was in the room, packed with need.

I hold on to that touch until a hand wraps around my throat. "Fight!" I shriek through my burning vocal cords, yanked away by Marone's tightened hand. His laugh booms over the howls of the mob, piercing me?—

Piercing Cade.

Marone falls onto his throne and pushes me face-first into his lap. He grinds his hardened length against my lips, smearing my blood over his clothed pelvis. The sea of men grows unhinged behind me, screaming and jumping. It isn't until Marone sets me free that I see why.

The man who was beating Cade into a gory pulp lies motionless on the stained mats, his blood rapidly spilling from the slit across his neck. I know how much the bunch loves the sight, but that's not what gets them going this time around. Cade's barbaric roars fuel their cheers as he climbs the chain links.

"Fool," I believe Marone chuckles, convinced Cade can't get over the top, but he didn't see the look in his eyes; he doesn't know the rage in his soul, and he didn't feel the fury oozing through Cade's flesh. He laughs.

Then Cade is on the ground before me.

Marone isn't laughing now. I might even see a bit of worry flash through his sight as Cade moves to strike. My own heart threatens to split my chest in two when he prowls in our direction. Fingers fluttering in the empty space, I reach forward, needing to touch him and make sure he's okay. Cade is within reach, and then a shot rings out, sending his sweaty, bloody body to the ground.

The girls scatter and run while the men who were ignoring them back away toward the exits. Half of the guards in the room do their duty and usher everyone out of the room. Some take the girls. The others open another set of doors and lead the partygoers out.

I can't do anything but stare at his still form and the blood leaking from his body to the ground. The puddle expands into the shadows, bringing my heart into the darkness with it. With my breath stuck in my chest, I crawl to Cade with no resistance from Marone, instantly pressing my palms onto his bleeding chest.

"You're okay. You're okay." I say it to him, but it's more for my comfort.

Throat working, Cade chokes out gurgled noises. "You…hurt?"

"No," I lie. "I'm fine."

I do my best to convince him, with his life slipping through my fingers, when a shadow falls over our forms. Hands tear me away, Marone's dirty boot covering the hole on his pec.

"That was really fucking stupid of you, my boy. Really fucking stupid."

"Don't hurt him!" I cry, but two guards take him under the shoulders and drag him away. Life resumes as if nothing happened. The partiers swarm back into the room, this time with the girls carried under one arm or flung over a shoulder. They're limp the way Marone wishes I was, but I fight my guards" hold. I'm back to kicking, cursing, and screaming. The men restraining me hate me, but Marone…

He fucking loves me.

I can see how much pouring from his gaze as he watches me be taken away. "I'll see you later," I swear he mouths, signaling two more fighters to be brought out.

I hate how casually he plays with our lives—how disposable we are to him and his elite friends who can afford us. I hate him, and I vow to get out of here so I can show him how much.

Behind the locked cage of my cell, that's all I think about. What I didn't know was how badly Cade wanted the same. When I brought it up in the room, he made it seem like it wasn't an option for him, not anymore.

Time passes, and the night goes on. The girls who weren't chosen are brought back to their cages, crying or sleeping silently on the freezing floor. Guards finish their routine checkups, flashing their lights into our faces to make sure we aren't causing any trouble. Nothing's different until one decides to stay in the dark, unmoving against my bars.

I watch him through swollen lids, waiting for him to do anything but watch me. His movements are jerky and slow as he fits the key into the slot, appearing more monster than man.

Slowly, I use the wall to lift myself off the ground, taking one of the piled rocks as my weapon. My gulp can be heard, but I hold my hand high, ready to bring it down on the side of his head.

"Don't. Fucking. Do. It," Cade breathes out in a pained, angry hiss, stumbling into my holding. Relief and shock consume me as I rush to his side and let the stone tumble across the ground. His arm lifts weakly for me to curl against his blackened ribs. Even in his weakened state, I feel safer with him than I have all my life.

"How did you get in here? How-how… Are you okay? What's going on?" All these questions pour out of me at once, muddling into words that don't make any sense. Within the span of a few seconds, I settle my racing heart enough to ask again, this time while holding him up as we turn to leave.

"How are you here?"

I can hear the wheezing in his chest as he prepares to speak, once again taking in the grisly bruising on his side. I picture the other fighter standing above him, stomping on his ribs before slamming bear knuckles into his teeth. Marone said his Blade wasn't playing right. Looking at him now, I wonder if he ever picked up his knife at all in the ring.

I find only one hooked into the back of his sweats, shiny and sticky with flaky, browned blood coating the handle. It's on his face, arms, and legs, too, along with the hand that holds a set of keys. "It was easy when there were just two of "em."

"Cade, what are you doing?"

Instead of responding, he glares through the darkness, eyeing my bruising, my swelling, and the lacerations across my skin.

Cade brushes two fingers against my collarbone, gently grazing the newly formed scab from the wounds I received from Mayor Williams last night. Despite my wince, he continues to skim the injury, his fury seeping into me.

I want to tell him I'm okay, that his touch almost replaces the agony of last night, but he silences me with a snarl.

"Never again," he promises. "I'll never let you bleed again."

Cade waits until I feel the weight of his words before huffing, "Here," letting his hands fall from me to pull something out of his waistband. "See someone, just aim and shoot." My hands dip under the solid weight of the gun. Its metal is coated in the same gooey blood as the blade, sticking into the crevices and cracks of my hands while I hold it to my chest.

"What are you doing, Cade?" I ask, peering through the shadows to watch as he feels around in the space before him. Whipping his head from side to side, Cade slaps along the stone wall, calling out a little too loud for comfort.

"Clara? Clara!"

"She's right here. She's next to me." I guide him through the dark with ease to the next cell over, keeping my eyes alert and ears to the tunnel's openings while he struggles to find the correct key.

"Clara?" he hisses again, but like before, she doesn't respond.

"Is she here?"

"I—"

"Bunny! Is she here?!"

"I don't know! I was brought here after you jumped the ring. I didn't see her! I—I haven't seen her since yesterday."

I see his head shake in the dim lighting. "Fuck," he growls, patience running out.

"Cade," I whisper.

"I know." We both know it. We're running out of time. If he doesn't get the gate open now, we're going to have to figure out something else. I'll give him thirty more seconds before urging him to quit. He makes it at twenty-two, doing his best to spring into her cell with his broken body.

"Clara," he utters gently, finding her still, slumped figure in the back right corner. I fit myself at his side, squeezing against the wall to nudge her softly. "Clara? Clara?"

"Hm." Her groan is followed by a moan of agony, one strong enough to have her retching on her side. It's nothing but searing hot bile and dark fluids that splash against our feet. Cade stops her from fainting into it, almost losing his footing.

"Fuck. Help me." We take an arm together and slowly get her to a standing position. It isn't easy with her slumping weight and Cade's poor stability, but our will is stronger than the three of us combined. I'm convinced it's what gets us moving and certain it's what pushed us to run when we started hearing voices and footsteps around the corner.

We ran.

And we ran.

And we kept running.

I don't know how I remembered where to go, or how we were caught so late, but quicker than we can believe, we get to the screen-paneled door I saw so long ago.

"Here, hold her." Breathing heavily, I hand off my portion of Clara's weight to Cade, sparing him a second glance to ensure he has her before focusing on the keypad.

Okay. Okay. Okay. I know this.

1—

9—

I know this…. I have to know this.

Voices are getting closer. The panic I register coming from their raised tones alerts me to the fact that they realize we're gone. It won't be long now before swarms of guards flood these tunnels, cornering us—capturing us to do God knows what.

"Bunny."

"I'm trying. I'm trying."

1-9-5-4. A bright red dot appears next to the screen, followed by a high-pitched ring, letting me know I'm wrong.

Fuck!

1-9-3-9.

Beep.

1-9-2-6.

Beep.

1-9-0-1.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Fucking beep.

"Fuck!" I can see their shadows now, their voices clear as day. We have maybe another couple hundred feet before they round the corner and find us against the elevator door. That gives me one more shot.

One more fucking chance at this.

From my peripheral, I see Cade reach for the gun I have held at my side. With one hand, he grips it steadily, aimed directly at the corner's opening for the first man who shows his face.

"Bun," he hisses again, but I can't answer him now. I only have one more chance.

1-9-

"Hey!" The first shot comes blazing forward, sparking off the rectangular metal door. I duck with a scream, forcing myself to focus through the chaos to finish the sequence.

1-9-7-2.

A click.

A green light flashes.

"Go!" Cade throws me inside, dropping Clara on top of my lap. "6-7-4-7!" I scream the second he steps inside. "6-7-4-7!"

With bloodied fingers, he inputs the code, ordering me to press myself and Clara against the wall while he fires and dodges flying bullets. "Come on!" He punches the steel door, pissed they're closing too slowly.

Hundreds of feet turn into fifty when the doors finally become too tight to squeeze through. Still, it doesn't stop the bullets. It would be too lucky if we could avoid them all, and we're anything but.

My pained scream deafens us in the metal box, but the burn of a ricocheting bullet lodging into my bicep is too severe to keep inside.

"It's not that deep! It's not that deep!" Cade reassures, kneeling beside me while the cart speeds downward. After looking at it, I can't help but agree, but then where is all the blood on the floor coming from?

Too much was happening in a short amount of time that we never bothered to check on Clara. So, it isn't a surprise that we missed the bullet shooting straight into her chest, right in the center where her broken heart lies. I freeze at the rapid spill down her chest. It doesn't last quite as long as it did with Cade, but the blood…there's so much, and sh-she's so small. Hiccupping, I cover my gaping mouth, fighting to hold back my tears.

Where did it all go? I ask myself. How can she have so much inside her?

"Clara?" Cade's voice breaks at the sight of his friend, the girl who shared all his pain, the one he first found comfort in. He holds her close, apologizing over and over for not being able to save her this time. The image of him cradling her limp body breaks me. I don't even bother drying the pain that pours down my cheeks or choking down the sob that rattles my bones. I feel it all because I know Cade is struggling not to. He fights and refuses to shatter, so I do it for him. I'll happily do it for him.

The cart begins to slow, hinting that our moment of safety in this elevator is coming to an end. "Cade," I whimper, "we have to go."

I know it kills him, the realization that we can't take her with us. She was a safety net for him, and it's now I realize she was one for me as well. Silently, he says his goodbyes, holding her bloody chest to his before lying her down on the ground. He stands without another glance at her empty eyes, ready to spring out and fight the minute the doors part.

"Be ready," he grumbles, but I can't leave her without a goodbye. Tenderly, I brush my fingers over her pale, ghostly face, whispering all the comforting things she made me feel in this hell.

"I couldn't have survived without you." She deserves to rest now. So, I close her lids, hiding the tears that dried on her irises. I press my lips to her forehead as the doors open. "You're safe now," are my parting words before I leave her forever.

There's no one waiting for us on the fighting level. Suspicious, but we take the tiny grain of luck and run. Cade knows the way out, he says, so he guides us through the dark while Clara's body becomes smaller and smaller in the distance.

Her goodbye was almost as hard as Missy's, but I can't think of that now. It would stop me.

It would kill me.

I force myself to look away, and I tell myself that we're running for her. We will fix this for her, for us, and for every girl we left behind.

It keeps us going, and it gets us out.