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Seemingly oblivious to my presence, Neil grabs Bunny’s breast with one hand while bracing himself on the bed with the other, and he starts kissing her neck as the two of them get going. Neil hesitates at first, awkward in his movements, but with Keys’ hands to guide him, he soon finds a rhythm. Bunny, confident as ever, bounces on Neil’s cock at a frantic pace. She throws her head back and arches her spine, moaning as Neil massages her breast. The wet sounds emanating from the room get me even more riled up, and I pump my fist faster. At this rate, I might come before any of them do.
When Neil moves his hand down and starts rubbing Bunny’s clit, she screams and comes, squirting in a wide arc. Neil shivers, and it’s a cascade of coming as he reaches climax next, then Keys.
Then me. I moan quietly while fisting myself to a finish inside my jeans.
Neil opens his eyes, and I dart back behind the door to prevent getting caught. I don’t mind if Bunny sees me watching them, but Neil might get upset. He’s a nice guy; I don’t want to give him a complex or anything.
On my way back to my room, I stop at the bathroom to clean up a bit. I strip out of my pants and boxers, rinse myself off, and decide to ignore my shame and just go back to my room as-is.
The hallway remains empty as I stroll through half naked. I slip into my room and shut the door, making sure it latches. As soon as I’m sure no one’s going to disturb me, I sit down at my computer and pull up the latest NIH report.
Some people read news articles or romance books to relax—not me. I read medical journals. I may never have finished medical school or gotten my license, but I still keep up on the latest in medical breakthroughs, epidemiology, and surgical techniques. I never know what I might need as the unofficial street physician of Summer City, so I devour everything like a sponge, soaking up the knowledge to keep myself on top of things.
There’s not always much I can apply to my back-alley style of medicine, but sometimes I find new concepts and practices that I can adapt to my own work. I pay particular attention to any advances in trauma medicine, as that’s what I deal with the most. People don’t come to me with a cold or the flu; they come to me with gunshots and stab wounds.
Acquiring the drugs, machines, and supplies I need is tricky. Whatever Kendrick can’t steal from the local hospitals and clinics, he arranges for on the black market with Keys’ help. Sometimes the deals are rotten, and we end up with a heart monitor that doesn’t work, but that’s where Keys comes in. He’s a whiz with any tech, not just computers, and he’s managed to restore countless machines for us. I think he readsPopular Mechanicsthe same way I readThe New England Journal of Medicine.
Several hours into my recreational research, a warm, wet drop lands on my arm. I glance down to see that it’s blood, and I curse as I grab a tissue and wipe my nose.
Even though I quit the drugs as soon as I met Bunny and Kendrick, the cocaine use over the course of med school proved to have some permanent aftereffects. The nosebleeds come less frequently if I keep hydrated and use a saline spray, but sometimes the slightest increase in blood pressure from stress—or arousal—causes a flood from my nares.
It doesn’t help that things have been increasingly chaotic since Neil arrived. We still don’t know what Justin’s connection with the Cobra was, or how deep it went. Was he in with the Vipers, or did they have some dirt on him? Is that why he spied on us, why he used Neil as bait to get us to come out of hiding and expose ourselves? So many questions, and with Justin dead downstairs, no answers coming anytime soon.
I should be worried about Bunny’s lack of regard for others. Sure, she cares about us here at the Burrow, but if a person isn’t in her inner circle, her little harem she’s collected, they’re not a person to her. I mean, dragging a man down four flights of stairs in a knapsack, letting his head and face bounce on the steps as she went … It’s beyond savage. For some strange reason, though, I just push it to the back of my mind, ignoring the serious danger there. With her sociopathy, Bunny could turn on any one of us at any time. All it would take is one perceived affront, one tiny little traitorous act, and she could kill one of us as easily as she kills street thugs and rapists.
Not that I necessarily blame her for being the way she is. From what Kendrick told me in confidence, and later Bunny herself, she had a rough childhood, and it wasn’t until she met Kendrick at sixteen that her life took a turn for the better.
I can’t imagine what she went through. Her stepdad, may he rest in Hell, abused her from day one. When he didn’t use the belt, he used his hands … and other body parts.
Body parts that Bunny eventually rid him of, once she was big enough to fight back.
As they tell it, Kendrick had busted into Bunny’s parents’ house for a quick ransack to steal some stuff to sell on the street. She lived in an affluent area, so he expected to find plenty of valuables to fence.
What he didn’t expect was to walk in on Bunny’s stepfather raping her.
Kendrick’s arrival turned out to be just the distraction Bunny needed. She grabbed the closest thing she could reach—a baseball bat—and swung it into her stepdad’s skull. While he lay twitching from the brain bleed she gave him, she took his own pocketknife and sawed off his dick. Then she slit his throat, took Kendrick’s hand, and led him away from the gruesome scene. Just left everything she owned and everything she knew to go off with a stranger … no possessions beyond the clothes on her back and the aluminum bat that became her signature weapon.
At almost ten years Bunny’s senior, Kendrick started out as a substitute father figure for her. He taught her how to make it on her own out on the streets, kept her safe, and most crucially taught her how to fight. Bunny’s first swing of the bat was pure luck, but every single hit since then has been mercilessly calculated.
Their romantic relationship started, oddly enough, with Bunny as the aggressor. Kendrick wasn’t always her Dom, wasn’t always in charge in the bedroom. He learned quickly, though, that Bunny needed balance, needed that stabilizing factor of someone else taking total control. Now that she’s had Kendrick as a guiding example of proper Domming, she handles herself perfectly well with softer personalities like Neil, Keys, or me, but Kendrick will always be her Daddy, the person she answers to. Whenever she’s out of control, he’ll always be the one who can reel her in and make her behave.
I shake my head to clear it and bring myself back to the present. There’s something I spotted in an ad for a news outlet that caught my eye …
There it is! An exposé on Samson Ramsey. I find a legitimate link for the article, so I don’t have to click on the ad, and start reading. The deeper I get, the more disturbed I become. From the way the article paints it, Ramsey’s like an older, crueler version of Bunny, minus the counterbalance of Kendrick’s influence. Minus the heart.
At the end of the article is a two-sentence tribute to the journalist who authored it. Her notes, it seems, were published posthumously, at great risk to the unnamed ghostwriter who compiled them.
More digging reveals the cause of the journalist’s death: brutally beaten and dumped in an alley, left to die alone in a Dumpster, with the imprint of Ramsey’s signet ring branded all over her skin. Her mouth had been sewn shut—while still alive—and her fingers had been cut off.
No investigation was ever opened into her murder, and it was officially ruled a tragic mystery.
I tried to find the location of the offices of the news outlet that published the article, but that went nowhere. The article had been emailed to them anonymously, and a suspicious explosion destroyed their main office building mere hours after the article went live. Several attempts had been made to erase the article from the web, but as Keys will tell anyone who listens, you can’t just delete something from the internet. Once it’s out there, it’s out there, and anyone with the right tools can find it.
Because of our current problems with Ramsey, I print out the article, as well as any links that I’ve found. Anything that might be of use to Keys in hunting down the ghostwriter gets printed and shoved in a manila envelope, which I leave on Keys’ desk in the control room with a note asking him to look into it.
With that done, I head to bed. It’s been a long day, and I get the sinking feeling that the days are just going to get longer and longer until we put an end to Ramsey and his reign of terror.
Chapter 16
