“Cade!” she pants, still awaiting my response.
Pulling away to blow her primed center, I promise. “On my life.”
Cade
For days, Bunny and I have been at each other’s throats, snarling and coming to blows about whom to target next—Colette, Nathan, or the mayor. Each person was vital, a pivotal piece in our suffering. Bunny wanted them all now, at once, but then the news of Lakens’s death began circulating. What we did was finally public, and the gore of it all was enough to outrage and terrify an entire state.
“Jefferey Lakens, a police officer at the Riverton Police Department, was found in the early hours of Saturday morning. His newlywed wife, who was found handcuffed to the bed, implored her daughter to call the police. Upon arrival, officers located the deceased. I must warn you, the details of the discovery are hard to stomach and may be inappropriate for some viewers.”
We stayed in bed after that first news cycle, fuming at the anchors who knew nothing, yet they tore us apart anyway.
“The daughter was there! What kind of sick monsters do something so horrific in the presence of children!”
“At all, Kate. What sick monsters would do this at all?”
“It’s pure evil, Jim. That’s the only way to explain what happened to a proud member of our police. Pure sick and twisted evil.”
“Oh, fuck you!” I roared, spitting on the glass. Bunny kept me calm, but she couldn’t mask the fury in her eyes. It materialized as tears that burned angry paths down her cheeks while family, friends, and coworkers made statements. At the end of every testimony, they all said the same thing.
“Only monsters could do something so sick and twisted.”Bunny could only laugh.
“Sick and twisted. I’ll show them something sick and twisted.”
The decision came easily after that. We chose Nathan, the one who set this whole plan in motion, but with him, we were gifted Colette as well—an act of God, my parents would say.
“I can’t believe Susie just had this collecting dust in the back.” In the driver’s seat, I admire the pristine brown leather inside the 1975 Ford Convertible, imagining it’s mine in another setting, for a better reason. I almost asked Bunny to picture it, but she’s focused on the open curtains, on Colette and Nathan, who are utterly oblivious to who waits for them below.
Without breaking her stare, Bunny asks, “Do you think it’s weird how Susie is so eager to help us?”
Taking a bite out of a sausage, egg, and cheese bagel, I shake my head. “After what you told her? No.” I’ve seen her with her daughter. There’s nothing Susie wouldn’t do for that girl. I’m pretty certain that includes hurting those who hurt her.
While Bunny mulls over my answer, I offer her the cheesiest part of the sandwich, knowing now that it’s her favorite. Behind her cheddar-covered smile, I see the consideration in her eyes.
“No? But we’re planning on killing people.” More people.
We’re planning on killingmorepeople.
But we can’t really call them that, can we? “Rapists,” I correct. “Murderers. Kidnappers… child molesters.They aren’t people,Bun. And we aren’t villains for slaughtering them.” As much as the media would like to portray us as some. “You know that. I know that, and Susie knows that.”
That’s what matters. But still, I can’t ignore the growing annoyance of the second voice in my head, one that shouts that there are people our actions will destroy. My mom is the only one who matters to me. The same way I’m sure Missy is the only one who matters to her.
I do everything in my power not to listen to those thoughts, though, and I can’t let her fall into that hole either.
Finishing my bagel, I stare intently through the window, watching them drink fancy wine while Bunny shifts beside me. Leaning into the seat, I drift one hand in the wind, flying with the current, when the other reaches for Bunny’s thigh. I caress her, hoping to wipe the heaviness from her eyes before asking, “You okay?” She fell into the hole.
Releasing a weighted sigh, she bobs, “Yeah. I just want this over with.”
The day is still bright, unfortunately, but soon. “Only a few more hours.”
When we settled on Nathan being next, he was too easy to find. A man of habit, sticking to a rigorous schedule like his life depended on it. It was an odd routine. Or, I should say, it started strangely. Waking every morning, he’d dress in a similar fashion—coat, button-down, slacks, and loafers. The weather didn’t matter. Whether it was raining or shining, hot or cold, Nathan was consistent. He bought the same ingredients as well—chicken breast, potatoes, and a bottle of white wine.
“You’d think he’d get sick of it after a while.”
“Hell, I know I did.” Marone would feed us the same shit day after day. Once I was promoted from actual spoiled dog food, Ireceived the same bologna and cheese between two hard and dry pieces of white bread every day. Sometimes the coloring would be off, and the cheese would be a little fuzzier than it should be.
When Nathan finished his shopping and returned everything to his flat in Manhattan, he would take the train to the city, hopping from café to bar to park, introducing himself and wooing naïve teens and pretty girls, starting the vicious cycle over and over again. It suddenly dawned on us what he was doing, and it took all our strength not to run up on him in the middle of a conversation and slice him from gut to sternum in the middle of Central Park. Our willpower was all we had, but it was hanging by a string. At times, it became too much to withstand, and we had to walk away, breathe, and remind ourselves of the plan.
At the end of his day, we found he met Colette every night outside her yoga class, where he’d wait like an eager boyfriend.
