A Demonic Bundle (21 page)

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Authors: Lexi George Kathy Love,Angie Fox

BOOK: A Demonic Bundle
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“She’s sixteen and homeschooled,” Bunny protested. “She’s a new girl for them to flirt with.”
Uh huh, and what about Horace Clement? He brought you all those roses.
“He grows roses. He had a bumper crop this year.”
Smart Bunny made a rude noise.
Bumper crop, my ass. He stripped his prize rosebushes down to the nub for you. And how do you explain Jackson Pritchard and the lemon meringue pie he’s left on your desk every Monday for . . . oh, let me see . . .
THE LAST SIX WEEKS
? Rat Godwin down at the garage, the druggist, the guys down at the hardware store—
Smart Bunny’s list seemed to go on and on—
your parents’ yardman, your brothers’ friends—their MARRIED friends—they’ve all been coming on to you.
Bunny shifted in her seat. Being a single female in a small town, she had her share of admirers. But lately she seemed to attract anyone with a moving part.
And a few without a moving part, as well,
Smart Bunny said.
Deanna Wilkerson down at the Kut ’N Kurl put the moves on you big time when you went for a pedicure. DEE! You’ve known Dee since kindergarten.
Smart Bunny was right. It was as though she’d morphed into some kind of sex goddess, shedding pheromones wherever she went, like a Lab blowing its coat. She hadn’t paid much attention to it. Too busy living in Dopeville strung out on a certain hunk.
A handsome hunk from another dimension who claimed to be a demon hunter.
A demon hunter who claimed to have changed her.
She could still hear him his words.
I gave you a portion of my essence, Bunny. You are no longer human.
She began to shake.
Oh, God. She needed sugar. A buttload of it.
She swerved the car into the parking lot of a Gas ’N Gulp and rushed inside.
Chapter Six
B
unny threw the train of her wedding dress over one arm and cruised up and down the aisles of the Gas ’N Gulp. She stuck a two-liter bottle of Dr Pepper under each arm, grabbed several packages of powdered donuts, a large bag of Skittles, two boxes of Hot Tamales, a giant Sweet Tart and a PayDay, and hurried to the register. After plunking her items on the counter, she selected a giant-sized Butter-finger from the display rack, then put it back. The thought of eating chocolate made her queasy.
Strange. Usually she was all about the chocolate.
The row of Good & Plenty boxes caught her eye. She hated licorice. But for some reason it sounded good today. Better than good; essential. She added three boxes of Good & Plenty candies to her cache of sugar and threw in two bags of barbequed peanuts for good measure. A little salt to balance out the sugar, she rationalized.
The woman behind the counter sported a female mullet—buzzed, short hair in front and on the sides and long and scraggly hair in the back. She regarded Bunny with a curious expression over her double chins.
“Nice dress,” Mullet Woman said. “Getting married, huh?”
No, I wear this to clean the toilets,
Bunny thought irritably, gazing longingly at the licorice candy at the top of the pile.
Oh, what the hell. If she didn’t have some sugar soon she’d go ballistic and twirl Mullet Woman around by the hair.
The hair in the back, of course. That fuzzy stuff in front would do a Marine proud.
Bunny picked up the nearest box, tore it open and dumped the contents in her mouth, chasing it with half a liter of Dr Pepper. She burped and smiled as the sugar euphoria took hold.
Her desire to throttle the woman behind the counter abruptly faded. She handed the cashier the empty candy box and the opened soda bottle. “You can ring me up now, please.”
The woman shook her head and started totaling the purchases. “Honey, you got man troubles if ever I seen ’em. Wuddee do, hitcha?”
“No, nothing like that. I found out he lied.” Bunny wrinkled her nose. “No, that’s not fair. He didn’t
lie
. He just didn’t tell me everything. Lots of things.
Important
things.”
“
Deceive me not by omission, love
,” Mullet Woman said. “
The heart is pierced as deeply by silence as e’er by spoken lies.”
“Why, th-that’s beautiful,” Bunny said, fighting back tears. God, her hormones were all over the place. Homicidal to maudlin in a nanosecond.
“I write poetry sometimes. Keep one of them composition books by my bed.”
Bunny blinked in surprise. “You wrote that?”
“Yeah. Come up with it after I found out my second husband, Travis the Louse, had him another wife and kids in Loo-zee-anna.” She gave Bunny a narrow-eyed stare. “He was a truck driver, see. Traveled a lot. Your husband ain’t a truck driver, is he?”
“No.”
“Good. I was a prize idiot. Got stuck with the payments on Travis’s boat and truck when he left.”
“That’s awful,” Bunny said, tearing up again. Good grief, she couldn’t stop crying.
“Yeah, Brittany got Travis and I got the bills. That’s why I’m working here. Sucks, don’t it?”
“Sucks the big one,” Bunny agreed. She grabbed a napkin off the deli counter and blew her nose.
“Haven’t been able to stand the name Brittany ever since.” Mullet Woman gave Bunny another hard look. “Your name ain’t Brittany, is it?”
“No, my name’s Bunny.”
“Bunny? What kind of name is that?
“Mine, I’m afraid.”
“Is it a nickname?”
“Unfortunately, no. I was born on Easter.”
“Huh,” Mullet Woman said. “You don’t look like a Bunny. Look more like an Emma or an Olivia, to me. No disrespect, but your parents screwed the pooch on the name thing.”
Bunny slapped her hand down on the counter. “I
know
. I could have been Elisabeth or Jane or Grace.” She made a face. “Instead, I get stuck with Bunny. And if that isn’t bad enough my middle name is
Nicole
.” She shuddered. “Isn’t it awful? Bunny Nicole. Sounds like a pole dancer.”
“My name’s Nicole.”
Bunny gaped at her. It felt like all the blood in her body rushed to her head. “Uh . . . yeah . . . well . . . um . . . you don’t look like a pole dancer either.”
“I worked at Bobby’s Booby Trap in Pensacola for three years. That’s where I met Travis.”
Mullet Woman the poetry-writing pole dancer. Huh.
Bunny gave her a weak smile. “Your name’s Nicole. Isn’t that the funniest thing?”
“Yeah, a real stitch.” Mullet Woman shoved the bag of junk food at Bunny. “That’ll be $18.29.”
That’s when it hit Bunny. She didn’t have any money. Or a purse.
“My purse,” she cried. “I forgot my purse! Oh, my goodness, I’ve been driving without a license.”
“You ain’t got no money?” Mullet Woman pulled the bag back across the counter. “I’ll put these things back then.”
Bunny grabbed the other end of the sack and held on. “Wait. You don’t understand. I
need
this stuff.”
“I need a lot of things, sugar, including $18.29 from you. You can’t pay, you don’t get the goods. This is a gas station, not the Salvation Army. You’d best be worrying about how you’re gonna pay for the candy you ate and the half a bottle of Dr Pepper you drank. I can’t put that soda bottle back on the shelf. It ’ud be unhygienic.”
“But . . . but,” Bunny stuttered.
“Bunny Raines, is that you?”
Bunny whirled around. A woman wearing skintight jeans, a camisole that exposed her golden cleavage, a bright orange cropped jacket and high-heeled sandals stood in the doorway. She regarded Bunny from behind a pair of Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses.
“Trish Russell,” Bunny said, her heart sinking.
Great, just what she needed. Trish and Meredith Peterson had run around together in high school. They made fun of everybody who wasn’t in their clique, snaked other girls’ boyfriends just ’cause they could, flirted with the male teachers—and slept with some of them, according to rumor—and generally made life miserable for the uncool kids at Hannah High, a number that had included Bunny.
“In the flesh.” Trish clicked over to the register on her high heels. “Only it’s Trish Baughman now. I married an orthopedic surgeon five years ago with a practice in Fairhope. Maybe you heard about it? It was in all the society papers.”
Oh, yeah, she heard about it. Trish was a receptionist at the doctor’s office until the first Mrs. Baughman caught Trish and her husband making the beast with two backs in one of the examining rooms. Gave a whole new meaning to the term “bone doctor.” One nasty divorce later and Trish Trash Russell was the second Mrs. Baughman.
Trish twirled a lock of her honey blond hair. “My Jimmy Wimmy is crazy about me. Spoils me something rotten.” She looked Bunny up and down. “So, what’s with the getup? You finally get married or is this what passes for plumber chic in Hannah?”
Still with the cracks about her dad being a plumber. Bunny refused to take to the bait. She caught a whiff of something unpleasant and looked around. “Is something burning?”
“I don’t smell anything.” Trish examined her painted nails. “You headed for the beach?”
“Yes,” Bunny said.
“Awesome. My Mercedes broke down. You know how it is with these expensive luxury cars. They are
soooo
temperamental. Would you be a doll and give me a ride to Foley?”
“Well . . . I . . . uh,” Bunny stammered, trying to think of an excuse.
Pfft
, the sugar rush from the Good & Plenty candies evaporated, leaving her sucrose-starved brain unable to form an intelligent thought. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I guess.”
Was she out of her mind? Be locked up in a car with the bitch from hell for forty miles? Great, couldn’t she just poke her eyes out? If she was blind, she couldn’t drive, right?
The cashier cleared her throat. “Why don’t you get your friend to pay for your groceries in exchange for a ride?”
“Thanks, Wide Load. That’s a good idea.” Trish slapped her platinum card on the counter. “Hold on while I get something to drink.”
“Her name is
Nicole
and she’s a poet,” Bunny said as Trish clattered off in the direction of the coolers, jean clad hips swaying.
Trish waved one manicured hand. “Whatever.”
Nicole shook her head. “That there’s a Brittany if ever I saw one. Sure you don’t wanna hang out here until your man shows up? I’m working three to eleven.”
Her man
. Bunny’s stomach fluttered nervously. Holy mackerel, she still found it hard to believe she was married. For better or for worse, only her “worse” included demons and a supernatural hunk for a spouse.
She grabbed the PayDay out of the bag and bit the end off of it, paper and all. She chewed frantically. “I appreciate the offer, Nicole, but I’m not sure he’ll come after me.”
“Are you kidding? He’ll be on you like white on rice. You got that sweet, helpless thing going for you. Men love that shit.”
“I am
not
helpless . . . or . . . or
sweet.
What a horrible thing to say.”
Nicole shrugged. “I call ’em like I see ’em. Course, it don’t hurt none that you’re gorgeous. I noticed that right off soon as you walked in the door. You look like something off one of them romance novels, all soft and elegant and refined looking. Not that I’m hitting on you or nothing like that. I don’t swing that way. I’m just saying you’re a mighty purty woman. You ever thought of taking up exotic dancing?”
“Uh . . . no.”
“Too bad. You could make a killing.” She waved her hands around, causing a ripple effect up and down her fleshy arms. “You could call yourself Bunny Love. That ’ud be your stage name, see?”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Trish sauntered back up to the counter, a bottle of cheap wine in each hand. “I’ll take these and two of your chili dogs. Extra onions,” she said.
Strawberry wine and chili dogs? Bunny’s stomach roiled. The stench that permeated the little store didn’t help, either.
“Whew, what
is
that smell?” The cashier produced a can of air freshener and sprayed the area behind the counter. “That dang sorry Luther musta left the garbage in the storeroom again.”
She bagged the wine and Trish’s chili dogs and handed Trish her credit card and the receipt to sign. “Anything you want me to tell that man of yours in case he shows up here looking for you?” she asked Bunny.
Rafe. Oh God, Rafe
.
Rafe with his magic hands and mouth, and his sexy bedroom voice, deep and full of sultry promise as a hot summer night. Just the thought of him left her weak and willing. Willing to do anything he wanted.
She felt a spasm of self disgust. There she went again, listening to her hootie. It had to stop. There was the baby to think of now.
“No messages,” Bunny said. She ripped open a pack of powdered donuts and jammed two of them in her mouth. “I doubt you’ll see him anyway.”
Trish handed Nicole a card from her wallet. “But if he does come in, give him my card.” She gave the cashier a glittering smile. “Be sure and tell him
I’m
with Bunny now, and that I’m going to take good care of his sweetie.”

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