His Bunny was coming home, and God help anyone who tried to stop her.
28
The Long Game
The evening air hit my skin like a reminder of everything I'd built. Three months of careful work, and she was finally ready. I stepped onto the balcony, closing the door soft behind me. Inside, I could hear her humming—some melody she'd picked up from God knows where, probably something from before. She'd been doing that more lately, these little unconscious expressions of contentment that told me the programming was settling deep.
The phone felt heavier than it should as I pulled it from my pocket. One number, memorized but never saved. He picked up on the first ring, just like I knew he would.
"You fucking bastard." Gabriel's voice came through raw, three months of searching wearing his usual composure down to nothing. "You goddamn fucking—"
"Language, little brother." I kept my tone light, amused. Inside, she was still humming. "Is that any way to start a conversation?"
"Don't." The word came out broken. "Don't you dare play games with me. Not about her."
I leaned against the railing, looking out over the city lights. Somewhere down there, Monica was getting ready for her evening appointment. She had no idea what was coming. None of them did.
"I'm not playing games," I said, and it was true. This had stopped being a game the moment I'd seen her in that facility, all that potential wrapped in conditioning my brother had been too traditional to fully exploit. "I'm running a business. Something you never quite grasped the importance of."
"I'll give you anything." The desperation in his voice was exquisite. All the time he'd spent crafting her, and three months was all it had taken me to steal his masterpiece. "The Institute, the client lists, the offshore accounts. All of it. Just let her go."
"Let her go?" I laughed, genuine delight warming my chest. "Now I know why you were so drawn to her. Why you would give up everything and burn my fucking business to the ground." I paused, savoring the sharp intake of breath on the other end. "She's magnificent in every way possible."
Inside, the humming stopped. I heard her footsteps, light and purposeful, moving through the apartment. She was gathering supplies for dinner—she'd taken to cooking elaborate meals, channeling that trained need to please into domestic perfection. It was almost endearing.
"What have you done to her?" Gabriel's voice came out strangled.
"Done to her? I've freed her." The lie came easy as breathing. "Shown her what she's capable of when someone believes in her potential instead of limiting it. You spent so muchtime making her into a pet. I've spent three months making her into a weapon."
"She's not—"
"She's whatever I need her to be." I cut him off, tired of his moralizing. He'd always been weak that way, too attached to his projects. "Right now, she's convinced you're part of a vast conspiracy. That everyone you worked with is connected, needs to be eliminated. She's quite passionate about it. Brings a real... enthusiasm to the work."
Silence on the other end. I could picture him, probably in whatever hole he'd crawled into to heal. The wound she'd given him would have scarred by now—a permanent reminder of how thoroughly I'd turned his creation against him.
"The beautiful thing," I continued, "is that she thinks it's her idea. Her crusade. She comes to me with these plans, eyes bright with purpose, and I just guide her toward the targets I need removed. Your old contacts, mostly. People who might interfere with my expansion."
"You're using her to eliminate your competition."
"Our competition," I corrected. "Or have you forgotten this was meant to be a family business? Before you got squeamish about the necessities."
"I never agreed to—"
"To what? Profitable application?" I shook my head, though he couldn't see it. "You always were too romantic about the work. Falling in love with your own creations, giving them pet names, pretending there was art in what we do. It's commerce, Gabriel. Supply and demand."
"Please." The word came out raw. "She doesn't deserve this. Whatever you think I did to betray the business, don't take it out on her."
"Take it out on her?" I smiled at the mistake in his thinking. "I'm not punishing her. I'm perfecting her. You laidthe groundwork—I'll give you that. The conditioning, the trauma bonds, the careful dismantling of self. But you stopped short of true utility."
Inside, cabinet doors opened and closed. She was deciding on tonight's menu, probably something elaborate. She'd started asking my preferences, adjusting her choices to match my tastes. Such a good girl, even when she thought she was being rebellious.
"What utility?" Gabriel asked, though his tone said he already knew.
"She hunts for me now. Thinks she's hunting for herself, of course. Revenge against her abusers. Justice for the other girls. But every target she picks, every plan she makes, I'm there. Guiding. Suggesting. Making sure she aims at the right throats."
"She'll figure it out. She's too smart—"
"Smart, yes. But also traumatized, chemically dependent, and desperate for meaning." I watched a plane trace lines across the darkening sky. "I give her purpose. Direction. The illusion of choice while keeping her leashed tighter than you ever managed with that collar."
