The Land of Rabbits (Long Shot Love Duet #1) (20 page)

I see his head for a split second, my body twirled in the cold water. He rises and falls... the woman’s arms are wrapped around his neck. She’s forcing him down, sinking him into a watery grave.

I kick faster, harder, advancing swiftly as he wheezes and huffs, trying to pry her arms away. He’s working against the flow, aiming for me while I’m headed straight for him.

“Addie!” He grabs my shirt, my arm, my waist... his hands frantically clutching every part of my body. I take deep breaths, straining to connect to him, kicking at her to let go.

“Hold onto me!” he yells. The three of us go under and her fingernails dig into my back, causing me to lose my grip and become separated from Quinn.

He shouts my name as she pushes me down. She’s trying to crawl onto my shoulders. I’m sinking. I can’t get up. I can’t see. I can’t fucking see the surface.

Her weight overpowers mine. There’s no way I can fight her off. My swinging arms are slowed with the resistance of the water. I can’t punch. I can’t get her off! I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!

I grab the knife from my pocket, trying to open it in the dark, not wanting to lose it from my hands. It’s my only chance to survive.

“Mmm-mm-mm!”
I mumble, my lungs squeezing tighter. God, I don’t want to die!

The blade flips open and I thrust upward, needing air, needing air now! I power into her, awakened when the blade pierces her flesh. I stab again. My hand warm... her blood... fuck, I feel her blood... I’m free... kick! Get air. Kick!

I break the surface taking mammoth rattled breaths.

“No—”

She’s clawing at my jeans, climbing up my body. No!

We’re terrified, both of us battling to be the one who survives.

I no longer know up from down. My lungs are crushing... I’m descending to a murky tomb. Jesus, she’s gonna kill me... I’m gonna die... I’m gonna die...

I squeeze the handle of the knife—there’s no rationalization, no thought or planning to what I’m about to do—I just do it.

My arm lowers and the blade pierces the top of her head.

The freedom’s instant.

The handle slips away while the last of my adrenaline’s used to rocket upward until I can see the moon. A breath! I can breathe!

“Addie!”

“Quinn!”

I’m hauled into a rapid embrace, held so close that I know he’s never letting go. Never. I’m his.

Thank you. Thank you, God.

“Stay with me.” He pants. “Kick if you can. Work your legs toward the bank. I’m here. I’m here... you’re safe. Keep kicking.”

I start to cry. My chest spasms and my body trembles.

“Quinn...”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re almost there.”

Large hands lock onto my shoulders, hoisting me out of the river. I land on my back in labored breaths, coughing and straining for air.

Quinn collapses next to me, his chest heaving, legs in constant movement, unable to stop fighting to survive.

“Fuck.” He exhales. “Fuck you, Dylan. Fuck you.”

“I pulled you out, didn’t I?”

“Get away... get the hell away from us. I mean it.”

“I-I killed...” I cry harder, turning on my side. “I killed her.”

“What?” Quinn says.

“What the fuck do you mean you killed her?” Trent asks.

Quinn stands, pushing Trent away from me. “You fucker! That woman drowned because of you! Her pimp’s gonna come looking for her, then we’re all dead!”

“I killed her. I’m s-s-sorry. I’m so sorry.” I cover my face and cry.

“No, Trent did. He killed her. He threw her in. Don’t take the blame for this.”

“I stabbed her. The blade went in her head!”

“What?” He kneels next to me, trying to pry my hands from my face. “Look at me... what happened?”

“It w-was the only way to get free.”

“Oh shit,” Dylan says. “Where’s the knife?”

“Addie?” He picks me up, walking along the river toward the camp. “I’m taking you home. You need to get out of here.”

“I killed her.”

“You can’t be down here if the cops show up or if the pimp comes looking for her.”

“Where the fuck’s the knife?” Dylan repeats.

“In... it’s stuck in her.”

Quinn stops, turning back to Trent with the fiercest expression I’ve ever seen.

“You ruined us. You destroyed all of our lives!”

“No, your bitch did. It would’ve been an accident. A drowning. But now, it’s murder. That’s her fault, not mine.”

My face twists in guilt and sadness, suffocating from tears as he sets me on the muddy ground. His walk is steady and deliberate, in a straight line toward Trent.

“Don’t even think about—”

Trent’s punched before he can finish his sentence—his jaw, nose, eyes, all clobbered. Dylan crosses his arms, spitting on the ground and walking around them to find the best view.

“I think he’s had enough, Quinn. You’re gonna bust up your hands.”

“Shut up.” He leans back, wiping his face with his forearm. “I hate both of you. Don’t follow me. Don’t come looking for me.”

“That’s bullshit, bro. Go get laid, you’ll feel better.”

Trent moans, slowly rising after Quinn moves away and heads for his brother. He stops directly in front of him, his fists clenched and nostrils flaring.

“She’s dead. She’s fucking dead, Dylan.”

“I didn’t do it.” He shrugs.

“Did you call? Did she have your name?”

“Trent called.”

“I tossed her cell. Her pimp will never find it.”

“The cops will! And the pimp will know without her cell. He fucking knows!” Quinn fumes. “It’s my fucking knife!”

“This isn’t on you, man. And no one can trace that cheap knife.”

“It is on me! It’s on fucking all of us!” he shouts. “And your dickhead friend tried to kill us!”

“No way. I was just messing around. It’s your fault for trying to take our pussy money away.”

“That was
my
cash.” He turns to Dylan. “I didn’t work for you to buy a whore!”

“For Christ’s sake, you sound like a woman.”

“Addie, get back to the tent. Start packing.” Quinn points toward the woods.

“No. I’m not going home. Not all wet. Not crying. Not this upset! My aunt and uncle will freak. They’ll know something’s wrong.” My voice cracks as I continue to sob.

“It doesn’t matter. We need to leave. We can’t stay here.”

I’m weak from fighting the woman and the river. Moving’s impossible, even to the tent. I can’t think... my legs are numb... my head hurts.

He picks me up, cradling me against his chest as he carries me to the woods, his shoes squishing with each step. I lean into his wet shirt, smelling beer on his breath and blood on his flesh.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Get your shoes on and let’s get the fuck out of here. Stay with me. Stay strong, okay?” He sways as he walks and my stomach churns, both of us still drunk.

“No fucking cops!”
a voice says from the woods.
“Get away from us! Pack your shit and leave!”

“We’re heading out!” Quinn yells.

“Are they calling the cops?”

“Doubt it. No one wants ‘em down here. But just in case, we gotta move.”

I wiggle free when I see my tent, stumbling to pack up. People are already dismantling their sites, in a hurry to get away from the area.

“Make sure you don’t forget anything. Use your flashlight to check.”

“Okay.” I wipe my tears so I can see.

Trent walks past us, ripping his tarp away from a tree and kicking it into the woods. He lights a cigarette and narrows his eyes, taking a deep drag while his head tilts toward the night sky. His left eye’s barely open and his lip’s split.

“The cops won’t have a problem bringing us in with our faces looking like this. Ain’t that right, fuckhead? Breaking my face is the same as putting a bulls-eye on my chest. How we gonna blend in on the streets?”

“It’s not my problem. Pack your shit, Trent. Move out.”

Dylan pats him on the back. “I’ll be at Dad’s if you need me. Where you headed?”

He pays no attention, stuffing his clothes into his backpack.

“You ignoring me?”

No response.

“Here.” He drops a pile of cash at his feet. “Stay safe... Trent, what about you?”

“Tivoli... or wherever. Then to my cousin’s tomorrow, maybe.”

“Faster, Addie,” Quinn says. “We need to roll. Pack as fast as you can.”

My hands are shaking so violently that I’m having a hard time folding the tent. I give up and cram it into the bag, punching it to get it to fit, realizing I’ve got his sleeping bag wrapped inside.

All I want to do is cry, just fall over and cry... but I keep going. My body’s drained... but I keep going.

“Is that everything?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He sets a bag over each shoulder and grabs my hand. I’m hurried through the dark woods, each of us carrying a tent, on alert to every movement and sound.

“Hey, Quinn! Don’t lose control, man! You’ll end up dead... and take that bitch home!”

My fingers are numb from his firm grip, but he refuses to let me go.

“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.