The Land of Rabbits (Long Shot Love Duet #1)

by Aven Jayce

  “If we pass anyone on the trail, latch onto to me, act like we’re in love.”

  “But—”

  “And if anyone stops us, let me do all the talking. Go with whatever I say.”

  “But your face.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make up a story. And if you see a cop, don’t run. That’ll be your first instinct, don’t do it. Stay calm.”

  “I—”

  “It’s been two hours since they called that woman. Too long. Too fucking long for her not to check in with her pimp. They only paid for an hour. He’s gonna come looking for her. Someone will come looking.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To clean up.”

  “The shelter?”

  “No. Not this time of the night. Not all bloody and drunk.”

  We reach the trail and walk toward the city. The people ahead of us lugging their bags on their shoulders and their homes in their arms—all of their possessions uprooted and transferred to another land in a matter of minutes.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know where.” He inhales sharply, glancing over his shoulder.

  More people emerge from the woods, cursing at the disruption, confused by who caused it and unaware of all the details. I wipe my eyes and lower my head, trying to keep up with Quinn’s brisk pace. My jeans are waterlogged, making it difficult to walk. The only dry things on my body are my sneakers.

  “It’s gonna be okay.”

  “She... I couldn’t—”

  “I know... she was big. She was taking me down too.”

  “Phweeet-phweet-phweet.”

  We turn, hearing Dylan whistle as he points that he’s heading off the trail with Trent.

  “Fuckers,” Quinn says. “That shortcut will take them under the Interstate, then they’ve got a long walk to Swinton Street and the park.”

  “I can’t do this.” I drop to the ground, still crying. “Quinn, I can’t, I can’t...” I look at my quivering hands. All I can think about is the relief my panicking body felt when the blade entered her flesh. Yes, relief. “There’s something wrong with me,” I whisper. “I killed a woman. She had to die so I could live. I couldn’t get her off any other way.”

  “Shh.” He kneels, moving wet strands of hair behind my ears and softly kissing my forehead. “We’re gonna talk about this. I promise. But right now, I need you to get up and walk with me. We gotta go and we gotta go now.”

  I sniff, holding in my tears. His tight grip returns and I’m hustled along.

  The Interstate rumbles as cars and trucks pass overhead. We’re getting closer to the downtown area. City lights flicker through the trees, everything’s louder, the air’s heavier and smells more polluted—a mix of tar, diesel, and exhaust fumes.

  I see streetlights ahead, a parking lot, and a sign for Quay Street. This is where I came in.

  “Over here.” He leads me through the lot and under I-787, placing his arm over my shoulder when he sees two scantily dressed women headed in our direction.

  “Hey, you comin’ from that trail?”

  “Yeah,” Quinn says, not stopping to talk.

  “Wait a sec. Where ya goin’? I’m talkin’ to you.” She puts a hand on her hip, trailing us with clumpy raccoon lashes. “You see a big ho down that way? Ya see her? She’s meetin’ a job on that trail.”

  “I haven’t,” Quinn says. “Sorry.”

  “Ya know a guy named Trent?”

  “No.”

  “Why you rushin’? And why you all wet? You homeless? The cops kicking you out, or what? Hey hold up, white boy.”

  “No cops, my girl’s sick. That’s all.”

  “Ya? You the one who looks sick.”

  They ask the next person walking by the same questions, then one of them says she’s calling Rafe.

  “Do you know who that is? Rafe?” I ask.

  “No, but he’ll be searching all the homeless camps until he finds out what happened to his property. Trent better get his ass out of this city. Us too.”

  He tugs my arm, forcing me to jog across a main street. We walk through a second parking lot and over railroad tracks, slowing when we reach a corner gas station.

  He doesn’t say a word, just points to the small brick gas station that looks abandoned. Half the lights of the Sunoco sign are burned out, the blue and red pumps are unlit, and the trashcan next to the entrance is overflowing.

  We walk along a stone path on the right side of the building, past overgrown bushes and low hanging branches, stopping outside a rusted white bathroom door. He tries the handle, but it’s locked.

  “Step back,” he says, giving it a swift kick. It doesn’t open. He looks toward the parking lot, checking if anyone’s around, then tries again.

  A loud crack sounds with the second kick, splintering wood with the third, and the door breaks open, smashing into the interior wall on the fourth try.

  The dim bulb overhead flickers when we step inside, gradually growing brighter. I drop my tent and slide down the wall until my ass touches the grungy floor. The small room smells like urine and shit. There’s no stall, just a toilet and a sink.

  “That stupid son of a bitch!” Quinn rages. “That motherfucker!” I jump when the door slams shut—a piece of doorframe falling next to my foot. My hammering heart feels like it’s breaking through my chest.

  He opens his bag, taking out a T-shirt and jeans, both damp from the rain earlier, but not soaked like the clothes he’s wearing. He undresses in haste, pitching his shirt at the wall in a burst of anger.

  “Stop... please.”

  “I need to get you home,” he says, running the water in the sink. He washes his face and rinses the blood from his nose and chin, patting his swollen lip with a paper towel before hurling it in the corner with a jagged breath.

  His hands clasp the grimy porcelain sink and his head lowers, appearing completely wrecked. He’s so upset that I picture him yanking the fixture right out from the wall.

  “Goddamn him,” he says. “Both of them.”

  His hand touches the mirror, circling his reflection. He licks the blood from the corner of his mouth then spits in the sink.

  My head tilts back, staring at him, tears still streaming down my cheeks.

  “What if I go to the cops?” I ask.

  “No way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re not going to prison for Trent, that’s why.”

  “I-It was self-defense.” I sniff, wiping my cheeks. “I’ll explain—”

  “You don’t understand any of this.” He wets a paper towel and lowers next to me, holding my chin as he cleans my face. “A woman’s body is going to be found floating in the Hudson with a knife in her head. She wasn’t attacking you, she was trying to survive, and there’s no proof of what happened. A whore’s dead. What if someone thinks she was thrown into the river after she was stabbed? This is all fucked up.”

  Tears continue to drops after each pat of the paper towel, causing his troubled expression to grow.

  “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “I killed her. I’ve been sad for so long about death and now it’s here again.”

  He lifts my shirt off my shivering body and digs through my duffle bag. “You need to warm up. Do you have a hoodie in here?”

  “I killed her,” I say again. “It was the only way to be free.”

  “I know.”

  “No one knows. No one saw it. No one felt what I was feeling. No one understands that I was suffocating. She wouldn’t let me breathe. She wasn’t going to let me live!”

  “Addie.” He holds my cheeks. “I promise you, I’m gonna figure this out, but we’re not going to the cops. My brother got three years for a fight. I can’t imagine what’ll happen to you.” His palms are clammy and it sounds like he’s having a hard time swallowing. “This should be on Trent, not us, except it wouldn’t be seen that wa
y. We’re all involved, and I don’t want you to be arrested for this. It’s not your fault. You did what you had to do. You hear me?” He squeezes my face and I nod, my hands rising to his chest.

  “Okay,” I say softly.

  I’m brought into a gentle hug, his hand on the back of my head and his lips pressed firmly on mine.

  “We’re gonna get dressed.” He wipes my tears. “We’re gonna take deep breaths.” He tries to smile. “And we’re gonna get through this, one step at a time.”

  My hoodie’s found and he gestures for me to raise my arms, placing it over my head. He tugs it down and rifles through my bag for a pair of shorts.

  “Put these on.”

  I dress, wash up, and fix my hair into a ponytail. My heart relaxes and my shivering subsides, but I’m still queasy and I need to pee. The shit filled toilet makes me gag so I go in the bushes, Quinn watching over me until I step back inside. He locks us in, slowly placing his hands on the back of the door. His fist slams the rusted metal... again and again with a groan before setting his forehead on his arm in distress.

  “The back of your neck has—”

  “I feel it,” he answers. “My skin’s under her fingernails. She tore my flesh away.” He exhales, smacking the door again.

  “Jesus.”

  “My blade, my flesh.” He rubs the back of his neck, feeling the scratch marks. “My life. People in that camp know my name, if any of them...”

  His forehead bumps the door as his arms wrap around himself, taking shallow rapid breaths.

  “... where am I gonna go?” he whispers.

  I caress his back, hoping a gentle touch will help in some way. “You’re not taking the fall for this. Trent may not come forward, but I sure as hell will. I’ll tell the cops I did it. I’ll turn myself in and confess.”

  “Do you believe this shit? That it could come down to you or me. One of us could go to prison because my brother and his cocksucker friend couldn’t keep their dicks in their pants. Fuck!” He slams the door again. “And Trent would turn on you if he were ever arrested for this. He’s not loyal to anyone except himself. It’d be a fucking disaster.” He turns around, staring over my shoulder into space. “I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. My body’s so full of hatred that I can’t think straight... all I know is I need to get you home and away from me.”

  “Don’t even think about that. I’m tired of hearing it and it’s not a solution.”

  “It’s safer.”

  “No, then I’ll just be sitting on my ass waiting to be arrested!”

  We speak at the same time, our next two sentences crossing...

  “That’s not my home!” I say.

  “I’m taking you home!” he says.

  He circles me, running his hand up the back of his head while searching for an answer, “I’m leaving the city... but... fuck, how does that work? What happens to us?”

  “Quinn—”

  “How can you disappear from your family? You have to tell them something.”

  “Quinn, do you—”

  “Think about it. We’ve got the cops, the pimp, and your family... people coming at us from all directions.”

  “Quinn!”

  “What?” He stops, taking one final deep breath. “What?” he says in a softer tone.

  “Do you still like me?”

  “Yeah, I’m crazy about you,” he whispers. “But I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, even if at some point that means letting you go.”

  I hold out my hand and he immediately draws me closer. Our foreheads meet and our eyes lock, his lips brushing lovingly over mine.

  “I don’t want to lose you... my feelings are so out of control. It hurts—my body, heart—it all aches when I think of you,” he says.

  I lower my head to his shoulder, looking down at his bandaged leg, feeling his muscular back, thinking about the marks on his face and the scratches on his neck. Days, weeks, years of abuse... he’s tried to get out, tried to make a better life for himself, but the dangers of the city, his family... bad luck keeps striking him down. How does he survive? Where does he go?

  Us.

  Where can we go?

  “Deeper into the rabbit hole,” I say in my softest voice.

  “Hmm?”

  “I know what to do.”

  Chapter Eleven

  NO WAY

  QUINN STARES at his dad’s house with crossed arms and a look of dread. He kicks his backpack, mulling things over. “I can’t believe I’m standing here contemplating this.”

  “It’s a good plan,” I whisper.

  “There are no good plans in this situation, we’re just buying time until one of us gets arrested.”

  “I don’t agree with that.”

  He rubs the nape of his neck, glancing at the house.

  “I’m so mad at Dylan for treating me like I’m nothing, and Trent... fuck Trent. I hate those two right now.”

  “We need Trent to go along with this. If he doesn’t agree and the cops pick him up... or that Rafe guy comes after him... Quinn, it’s the only way. If he’s in the city we’re still in danger, even if we leave. Like you said, he’ll turn on us. I know it’s not fair... I hate him just as much as you do, but—”

  “As long as he hangs around, we’re fucked, I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “No.” He exhales and runs his hand down his face. “This is crazy... except the more I think about it, the more I realize you’re right. Afterglow’s the safest place to be, even for that dickhead, Trent, but who knows what Roxanne’s gonna say about you showing up with us. She wants me back as her massage boy, and she loves Trent... you... what the hell are you gonna do? You can’t whore yourself out for that woman. Fuck, Addie, what if that’s what she wants? And we could wind up in even deeper shit if she touches you. I don’t know what I’d do in that situation. I’d hate to hurt a woman, but to protect you...”

  I haven’t told him that she knocked me on my ass in the barn. I’ll take care of her myself.

  “She’s a hag, but her retreat’s better than prison.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  He sighs and picks up his stuff then walks to the side of the house, opening the wooden gate that leads to the backyard.

  “Don’t say a word out here, I don’t want to wake my dad,” he says in my ear, pointing to the second-story window directly above us.

  He steps into the window well and looks around the basement, reaching his hand through the broken pane to unlock it.

  “Yo... that you, Trent?” Dylan’s voice calls out.

  I drop my bag and step down next to him, seeing Dylan spread out on the flowered couch in his boxers. The room’s lit by a corner lamp and a six-pack of beer’s on the floor next to a pile of vintage car magazines.

  “Shh, it’s me. I’m coming in.”

  “What the fuck time is it?” He scratches his nuts. Gah, that’s so nasty.

  “Four or five.”

  “In the morning?”

  “Yeah, dumbass.”

  Quinn drops to the floor and helps me inside, guiding me as I hang on the sill and lower next to him.

  “Dad’s here, ya know.”

  “We’ll keep quiet so he doesn’t wake up.”

  “You wanna beer?”

  “No, we don’t want any fucking beer.”

  “Relax. I’m trying to be nice.”

  “It’s too late for that... where’s Trent? Where’d he end up tonight?”

  He looks around the basement and shrugs.

  “Think, would you? Did he head over to Tivoli or somewhere else?”

  “You worried he’s gonna fuck up?”

  “Of course I am,” Quinn snaps. “I’m terrified he’s gonna fuck up. My life... Adlyn’s life is in his hands.”

  “Nah, that’s bullshit. You’re blaming Trent for all t
his? That ain’t right.”

  “What are you talking about?” He raises his voice. “It is his fault.”

  Dylan gets dressed, sliding into a pair of jeans and picking a white T-shirt off the floor. “You and your girl need to take more responsibility than Trent. You acted like a pussy and tried to stop my fuck, then princess over here stabbed the whore. What was that about? All Trent did was toss you guys in the river.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “Me? Screw you. You didn’t even visit me this past year. You left me to rot after all I did for you. You never even thanked me for protecting you that night.”

  “That’s a lie and you know it! Just tell me where I can find Trent!”

  “Why? You gonna kill him too?”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Quinn’s furious and unable to stand still while Dylan laughs and falls back on the couch, cracking open a beer. “I’m just fucking around. I love you, Quinn, go ahead and say and do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care. You can even blame me for the whore’s death. What does it matter?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Think about it... I’ll never get a job cuz I was in prison, I can’t go out at night for two years, not supposed to drink.” He raises the can and takes a big gulp. “I owe this little shit and that little shit money. Fines, and fees, and who knows what else.”

  “Your life’s starting again, ours could be ending because of this. Tell me where he’s at so we can figure something out.”

  “Just go stay in the park and stop being such a whinyass crybaby. The pimp’s not coming after you, he won’t even care his ho’s gone.”

  “You’re such a pig,” I say, in disbelief that he’s so unsympathetic.

  He glares back and cracks his fists, signaling I better keep my mouth shut.

  “Quinn, you’re doing exactly what you used to do when we were kids... like when Mom left. Remember? You thought the world was gonna end. You cried for months. Quit overreacting and take a beer.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Hey, listen up. I’m trying to give you some brotherly advice. This isn’t a big deal. No one cares about whores. The cops will view it as one less problem on the streets. You did them a huge favor.”