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

by Aven Jayce

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. I’m fine... I’ve gotta get off the phone and get to work.”

  She remains quiet, still flipping through channels.

  “Why don’t you believe me?” I prod for an answer.

  “Because, I’m fully aware of all those times you lied to your mom.”

  “What?”

  “She used to call me every week complaining that you never told her the truth, you defied her left and right. She was at her wits’ end with your constant fibbing that last year.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true and you know it. You lied to her about everything. Admit it! Admit that you’re lying now!”

  Quinn flinches when he hears her screaming through the cell. I hold it away from my ear and wait for the line to be silent before saying anything else. I can’t talk over her... it will only escalate if I try.

  “Put it on speaker,” Jack requests with a firm grip on his gun.

  I sigh and press the button, setting the cell on the table.

  “Nadine...” My fork twists between my fingers, producing glints of sunlight with each turn. “You’re making me sound like a monster. My mom loved me.”

  “I never said she didn’t. I said she was troubled by your lack of honesty, and I am too. Did you know she used to follow you?”

  “I knew,” I mutter.

  “Every place you said you were going turned out to be a lie!”

  “They weren’t lies!” I lose control, tightening my lips before I embarrass myself. “They weren’t,” I say softly. “Stop doing this. My mom must’ve exaggerated all that stuff to you. It wasn’t that bad. I was eighteen and wanted privacy, okay? That’s not unusual. It’s supposed to happen. It’s called rebelling against your parents. I’m sure you did it. All kids do... I wasn’t gonna say I was going to a party to get drunk. Fuck, this is so wrong. Stop comparing my past to this situation! Why do our conversations always have to turn out this way?”

  “You know what? You’re right. I’ll base it on facts.” She turns up the TV so I can hear an update...

  “... Witnesses have reported a fight the night before, between three men and a woman at a location upstream where the homeless are said to frequent. The victim, identified as Charletta Jones, is known for prostitution. A motive has yet to be determined for her murder. Trent Byers, who has a police record that includes arrests for teenage prostitution and theft in the Schenectady area, is wanted for questioning. The police are still...”

  “Oh fuck,” Quinn groans. “Someone recognized Trent which means I’m next.”

  “Quinn?” Nadine says. “Get away from my niece!”

  Jack leans back, placing his clasped hands in his lap, listening and studying my behavior.

  “Detective Connelly, of the Albany Police Department, made a statement earlier this morning, asking for help from the public...”

  “We would appreciate it if people would come forward with any information they might have as we continue the investigation. We’re still in the process of gathering evidence from the scene where Miss Jones was removed from the edge of the river, and the area where an assault may have occurred the day prior...”

  I look over at Trent, his shoulder resting on the building and his feet crossed, calm and composed as he listens like it’s no big deal.

  “Adlyn. Margo. Moore.” Nadine’s slow voice fills the backyard. “I’m calling the police then I’m coming for you. Stay inside, lock yourself in a room, away from those men until I get there.”

  “No, this isn’t—”

  “Listen to me!” she screams.

  “I killed her,” I whisper. “It was her or me.”

  “Or both.” Quinn exhales as Jack chuckles, finding pleasure in all this.

  “No cops,” he says under his breath.

  “Y-y-you... what?” Nadine says.

  “Did you hear me?” Jack raises a brow. “No cops. Make sure of it.”

  I plead with Nadine, “You gotta understand what happened... you can’t call the police...”

  I tell her about being pulled under and fighting to survive, hearing her cry when I mention there’re no credible witnesses, no way to prove it was self-defense, and no way I’m chancing going to prison. I’ll only be forced to step forward if Quinn’s arrested.

  “No.” She sobs. “You have so much... let him. Just let him take the blame! The police will believe you over him. You come from a decent family. Let him take the fall!”

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” I take the call off speaker, protecting Quinn from any further bullshit.

  “And I can’t believe you ran off. You’re scared, I understand, but come back and we’ll—”

  “We’ll what? Take our chances?”

  “Y-yes.” She blows her nose. “Do this legally and things will work out.”

  “Tell her how much time Dylan got for a fight,” Quinn mentions in a low voice. I tap his leg to keep quiet. Now’s not the time to bring up that Dylan was in prison.

  “Nadine, I left. Even if I changed my mind and came back, I’ve already fucked myself. I’ve been gone since yesterday. Tell me how leaving the city looks if I’m ever in court?”

  “You tell them the truth!”

  “No, Quinn and I have discussed this. Being here is our best shot at staying out of sight until the case goes cold on a shelf in a back room, and the pimp forgets... uh.” I shouldn’t have said that.

  “In another decade or two it might get put aside! And there’s a man after you? A pimp? Dear Lord, what is happening?!” A loud rumbling sounds from her end like she’s stomping her feet.

  “Look...” I raise my voice. “No one ever calls about my mom. I think the detectives have given up, which tells me they won’t care about this woman by the end of summer, maybe sooner, considering she was a hooker.”

  Jack gestures that he wants my cell. I shake my head, but he snaps it out of my hand before I have a chance to move away.

  “Nadine, Jack Jameson. I’m the owner here at Afterglow. Your niece...” He stands and walks toward the pool, his voice becoming faint when he gets further away.

  “What the fuck? What’s he saying to her?”

  “Sit tight. Even though Roxanne doesn’t seem to think the cops are a big deal, he certainly does.” He grips my forearm, preventing me from getting up. “He doesn’t want them here anymore than we do.”

  “The way he parades that gun around non-stop, I’m surprised one of us isn’t dead. What if it accidentally fires?”

  “I don’t think it will be an accident.”

  “And he said last night his dad has victims... something about singing when he watches people die... or, I don’t know... he’s fucking weird!” I’m out of breath trying to keep up with the words firing from my mouth. “God, this is really hitting me now. What the hell are we doing? I think we should leave. Where can we go? Maybe...” I look at the tops of the trees and at our surroundings. “Maybe we can make it in the woods for a few weeks.”

  “Shh. It’s okay to freak out about this, it’s a lot to go through, but don’t get so worked up that you start making rash decisions. Or more daring ones than we’ve already done.”

  “Rash? Was I wrong about Afterglow? I was wrong, right? I mean, wrong. I... did you hear me? Should we hide in the woods?”

  “I’m not much of an outdoorsman. I doubt I can kill a deer with my bare hands so we can eat.” He tries to make me laugh, but it isn’t working. “Let’s see what he wants from us first. If it’s sex, we’ll leave once guests start arriving in a couple of days. I don’t know where the fuck we’re gonna go, but just wait, okay?”

  “I’m trying, but... but he’s not gonna let us go. Don’t you think he’s worried about us talking?”

  “No, not at all. To who?” He rubs my hand, tending to my panicky state. “This guy totally gets that we’re staying miles away from the cops. He’s not worried we’re gonna seek them out.”r />
  Dylan steps outside, cupping his dick through a short black robe. He appears hung over, with puffy morning eyes and stubble on his face. He surveys the grounds, squinting at the sparkling inground pool then spotting the outdoor bar.

  With a nudge to Trent, he motions toward the phone conversation, then at Quinn and me. Trent offers no response, leaning against the building and lighting a second cigarette.

  “Fuck. Like we don’t have enough to deal with this morning,” Quinn groans, seeing his brother grab a beer from the bar and head in our direction.

  He stops in front of us, stretching his arms with a yawn, taking his time to say hello...

  “Ah, man.” He wiggles his hands like he’s trying to free himself of bugs. “What a slut that woman is in the sack. Nasty, nasty wench.” He sits next to Quinn, patting him on the back. “She looks just like mom, doesn’t she?”

  “Shut up, Dylan.”

  “What? Doesn’t she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” He chuckles. “It must be why you won’t fuck her.”

  “There’re other reasons... she’s disgusting, unattractive, and a whore.”

  “What does that have to do with getting your dick wet?”

  “Would you go inside and leave us alone. We’re kinda busy.”

  “Kinda busy? Sounds like you’re still mad at me... you know you don’t have to look at her, just close your eyes.”

  “I don’t need to hear this.”

  “Well, in case you do ever fuck her, she’s got a horse mask in her room you can ask her to wear... then you won’t have to see mom’s face when you screw.”

  “Ugh.”

  “So it’s better to imagine you’re dicking a horse?” I ask in total disgust.

  “Huh? What’s wrong with that? Yo.” He smacks Quinn’s arm and leans closer with his hand over his mouth. “She wants me to call her mom. Ya think she knows she looks like her?”

  “No, she wants everyone to call her that.”

  “I guess I’m not special then.” He laughs. “It wasn’t all that bad though. She’s saggy, but the hole works... all three of ‘em.”

  “For fuck’s sake, shut the hell up!” I shout.

  “Wha?” He shrugs.

  “Wha?” I mock in a deep doofus voice, like his. “You act like a goon, that’s what.”

  “Here’s the deal.” Jack slams my cell on the table, making the silverware clang and the three of us jump. “You.” He points the gun at Dylan. “Take your beer and get the fuck outta here. I didn’t invite you to sit at this table.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to wave a gun in my face, just ask, man. Just ask.” He stands and ties his robe with a pissed off expression and a grunt, taking a big gulp of beer before walking away. The men a few tables away do the same.

  Jack sits next to me, waiting for everyone to disappear, wanting privacy before he continues.

  “Listen, you little shits. I’ve got the homeless working here for a reason, and no, it’s not all about avoiding a payroll. Some of it’s personal and some of it has to do with unknowns being safe.” He jabs the pile of pancakes with his fork, releasing the handle so it sticks upward. His hands close into fists as he crouches forward. “My managers do a decent job picking the ones from the streets who are ripe. Dirty, hungry, been that way for some time. Connections no longer exist for that type. They either don’t want to be found, or mom and dad, friends and relatives, have all given up... they haven’t a clue where little Johnny, or baby Jane, is sleeping. And I don’t give a flying fuck if the people brought here are dealers or prostitutes, or if they’ve cut someone’s head off! What I do care about is if they’re gonna have family calling them, hounding them, and knowing where the fuck they are!” He gets an inch from my face, spit hitting my cheeks as he yells. “Problems like aunts calling cells don’t exist with discarded souls. No one cares where the fuck they are!”

  I shrink back, but he clutches my jaw—bringing me forward until our noses are an inch apart, at the same time pointing the gun at Quinn.

  “I asked you last night if anyone knew you were here. You remember what you said?”

  I stay silent, noticing Quinn raising his arms in my peripheral vision.

  “What did you say?!”

  “N-n-no.”

  “That’s right.” I’m released with a push. “That’s right. ‘No.’ And even though that was your answer, I’ve got your aunt threatening to come up here.”

  “Is she?”

  “Of course not.” He grabs his fork from the stack and drags another piece to his plate, drowning it in thick syrup.

  I tilt my head at Quinn, baffled by what Jack said to Nadine, and lost as to what the fuck he’s gonna do with us.

  “W-what did she say?” I’m nervous to ask, though feeling better that he’s no longer on my cell.

  He checks the time and responds to a text while speaking... “When you explain the worst that can happen, people always back off, especially when it comes from a voice of authority and not the high-pitched squealing mouse tone you use. No one will take you seriously until you stop sounding like a wimpy girl.”

  “I’m tough.”

  “You could’ve repeated yourself a million times and she never would’ve listened. I say the same bullshit and it’s clear.”

  “So she’s not coming?”

  “You don’t hear too well, do you?” He shakes his head. “No... at least not today. She’s talking it over with your uncle. I guarantee they sit on it for the night, then come morning they’re in the same boat as you because they didn’t go to the cops straightaway. People are timid... and predictable.” He takes another bite while he views his cell. “What does he do? Your uncle? What’s his job?”

  “He’s a football coach.”

  “High school?”

  “No, at a university.”

  Jack nods with a big grin. “Even better. He’s loaded, so your aunt must stay at home, which means she’s used to a carefree lifestyle—shopping every day, big house, maybe a sports car. Perfect. She feels secure... she doesn’t want to go through this, that’s the reason for her hesitation. You’re turning her happy-go-lucky lifestyle upside down. The woman’s worried about herself, not you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It’s why she blew up on the phone. You’re fucking her over!” His powerful voice fills the patio. “You’re one of those people with a storm cloud hanging over her head. The bad luck type. Sounds like your mom felt the same way.”

  “Hey, dickhead,” Quinn cuts in. “If you didn’t have that gun, you’d be swallowing your teeth right about now.”

  He leans back, satisfied he can make us so incredibly uncomfortable. “And what about Linnet? Did you stab her, too?”

  Quinn leaps forward, trying to throw a punch at Jack. His hand’s captured mid-swing, his head slammed to the table, and his arm’s twisted behind his back. Down in less than a second, causing my coffee to spill and the plates to flip.

  “I don’t need a gun to take out pricks like you, I just prefer it over getting sweaty.” He lets go, sitting down and casually pouring another drink. Smug bastard.

  Quinn slithers next to me with a flushed face, more annoyed than ever.

  I was wrong. Jack doesn’t need a fucking gun to dominate, he can fight, but he also knows how to take control by using our past to get under our skin.

  “My mom was strangled,” I whisper. “It was a senseless act that I’ll never understand. So don’t you ever compare her death to what happened in the river. I didn’t knife that woman to snag a cheap ring and a pair of sunglasses.”

  He sips his coffee, focused on my frustration and cracking voice.

  “She knew her killer,” he says, lowering his cup to the table and removing a metal container from his front pocket. He flips it open, bringing out a joint.

  “Why do you say that?”

  He stares at the end as he light
s it, taking a deep, cross-eyed drag before holding it out to me.

  “No thanks... why do you think she knew the person?”

  “What ‘bout you?” He presents it to Quinn. “No hard feelings. Like I said, we’re just chillin’ this morning.”

  “I’m good.”

  The joint lingers, twisting in the air before our faces. “You sure? We could all get high and head into one of the rooms for the rest of the morning. I’ll give you half the day off if you wanna fuck.”

  “No way.” Quinn leans back, his hands behind his head in a macho pose. “You mean you? No, you’re not touching me. And to hell if you think you’re laying a hand on Addie.”

  “It’s all good. I already smelled her.” He relights the joint, expelling deep coughs with puffs of skunky scented smoke, the back of his hand covering his mouth while he tears up. He smiles at Quinn’s troubled face, knowing just the right thing to say to strike a nerve. “Was she raped?”

  “Who? The woman who drowned?” I ask.

  “No, dumbass, your mom.”

  “I thought we were talking about—”

  “We’re discussing life, more yours than mine. Answer the question.”

  “No. She wasn’t raped.”

  “Then a woman must’ve killed her. Someone she knew. The items were taken off her body to make it look like she was mugged. Any idiot can figure that one out.”

  “The detectives never mentioned that to me.”

  “Did they question you?”

  “Of course they did.”

  “And I bet you don’t have an alibi for where you were that morning.”

  “Fuck you! I didn’t kill my mom!”

  “Stop harassing her,” Quinn demands.

  “Hold up. There’s no reason to throw a fit. You two still aren’t catching on that we’re friends.” He leans back with steeple fingers high in the air.

  “You’re a fucking psycho,” I say.

  “Maybe so. But if I were you, I’d want to be nice to the psycho, so stop overreacting and enjoy your fucking pancakes!” He grips his knife, stabs a piece, and thrusts it in his mouth, chewing noisily while spinning the silverware in his hands.

  “Afterglow’s much crazier than I thought it was going to be,” I say in Quinn’s ear.