Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Laudahavemercy.
Please don’t let that be Bunny’s.
Please don’t let our girl be bleeding to death.
“Is that a pen?” Questions Nolan during our approach to a slightly bigger puddle. “A bloody pen?”
Both of our stares high beam on it in unison, yet it’s me that excitedly croaks, “That’s one of mine! That’s one from my car!” Scrambling closer to get a better look is followed by me joyfully shrieking, “That’s the pen she was using to write on herself!”
“Huh,” grunts the man beside me. “Didn’t think that habit would ever come in handy.”
Me either.
But at least we know how to handle it if our son ends up having it.
And that it’ll basically keep him equipped with an emergency defense weapon.
Like Bond’s machine gun headlights.
“Assuming she stabbed him-”
“Is that another pen?!” I point into the far distance at the objection in question. “Is she leaving them for us to follow?!”
Darting away for the edge of the road makes it slightly more difficult to hear him attempting to reply, “I don’t think that’s-”
“Fuckkkkk…” cryptically crawls from my chest as I stumble to a stop. “This can’t be good.”
“What?!” Nolan jogs the short distance to be by my side. “What can’t be-” He cuts himself off to defeatedly declare, “That’s her Mickey pen…” The side of his face gets an uncomfortable scrub. “She doesn’t go anywhere without that damn thing.”
“Not on purpose.”
Panic over the mangled accessory prepares to set in when he unexpectedly folds his frame forward to investigate something that’s near the now contorted spring. “What…” More craning movements continue. “What the fuck is that shit?” Lowering himself to a squat occurs next. “Is that…” he uses the edge of his tool to move dirt around, “a bug?”
“Why the hell do we care if a bug is crawling around on her fucked-up pen?!”
“Not an insect, Kid.” He dusts away a little more debris and drags it closer at the same time he states, “A tracking device.”
Oh.
Oh…
Oh!
“Holy shit!” thoughtlessly jumps out of me. “Is that how-”
“Nooooooooooooo!!!!!!!” a feminine voice abruptly screams at the top of their lungs from somewhere deep in the woods prompting us to sprint off towards it.
“Bunny!” We instantly shout in unison against all logic and concerns for our own safety. “We’re coming!”
Chapter 4
Bunny
“Nooooooooooo!!!!” I scream at the top of my lungs in revulsion.
Refusal.
Pain.
“Why do you do this to me, sweet pea?” Brad exhaustedly huffs at the same time he adjusts his harsh hold on my ankles. “Why do you insist on making things so difficult?”
Why do I insist on fighting for my life?!
For a future?!
For my unborn child’s life?!
Future?!
How would he like that separated on the spreadsheet?
Chronologically?
Alphabetically?
Importance?!
“Nooooooooooo!!!!” leaves me again as broken branches and shrubbery carve their presence into my stretched-out arms. “Nooooooooo!”
“You know I love you.”
No.
This is not love.
This is obsession.
“You know I can’t wait to get you back home.”
This is a delusion.
“Mother is so upset over how much I’ve missed you.”
A never-ending fucking nightmare.
“But…she is quite excited for our child.”
Our child?!
What the fuck does he mean our child?!
It’s not our child!
We haven’t been together in years!
Or least…I don’t remember being together.
God only knows what happened when he managed to find me.
Get into my apartment undetected.
Get out undocumented.
I don’t like to think about it.
And right now…I don’t have time to fucking care about it.
“She wants to name him after me, of course.”
I’d rather remove my own uterus with a rusty pipe wrench than ever bare a McAdams.
My jaw lowers to say exactly that when additional stirred up dirt from being dragged through the terrain overwhelms my senses stifling my ability to speak.
Breathe.
Small coughs have my torso callously colliding with rocks and roots and rooting foliage, creating new discomfort I know will only be the beginning if I don’t do something.
And I can do something.
I have to.
“She’s even started picking out paint samples for his nursey.”
More loose ground simultaneously invades my mouth and bruises my body; however, the constant crashes carve a much-needed idea into the front of my mind. Clawing at the soil underneath me, I collect what I can over and over and over again, until each of my hands is filled to the brim. At that point, I hastily twist to the left, to toss the fistful, not surprised when much doesn’t hit his face, but the second he opens his mouth to talk, I throw the other, successfully landing enough in the hole to get him gagging.
Coughing.
Uncomfortable enough that he loosens his grip.
Snatching one leg out of his hold leads to me lowering it to his shin where I propel it backwards with all the force possible.
“Fuck!” he barks in agony, grasp on the other ankle thoughtlessly abandoned, due to his contorting.
Freedom to move is instantly embraced by me scramble crawling a short distance away to grab a large rock from an old, abandoned campfire. I’ve barely got my fingers around it when Brad bends down to reach for my leg again, yet I don’t let my questionable clutching stop me from whipping around, successfully bashing it into the side of his nose.