Page 29 of Wicked Truths
SweetBunny: Wow. You’re rich.
Me: I have enough to look after you. Is that what you want? To be cared for SweetBunny.
SweetBunny: Where do you work?
Me: In finance. In the city. I have a beautiful apartment overlooking the Thames. Do you want to visit?
I can almost feel her hesitation through the screen. It gnaws at me, but curiosity grips me tighter. How desperate is she to leave Australia? Is she truly contemplating it?
She glances at the ceiling and then back at the screen with a smile on her face.
SweetBunny: Sounds amazing. But how do I know you’re not some creep?
I chuckle softly, a dark humor creeping into my thoughts. Who wouldn’t be suspicious of a stranger promising a new life? I’d probably think the same if I were Amara.
Me: You can trust me, bunny. I’m not like those other guys. I’ll give you the world—diamonds, money, whatever you desire.
SweetBunny: Diamonds? You’re serious?
Her excitement is clear, and I hate how much it stirs something inside me—a need to protect her from all that darkness swirling around her life.
She glances at the tennis bracelet I bought her for her eighteenth birthday. The one I track her every move with.
Me: Absolutely. Everything you want and more. Just say the word.
SweetBunny: But what if I just want someone to keep me safe? Can you give me that? A safe place to live?
That hits hard, like a punch to my gut.
A rush of panic washes over me as her words sink in.
Does she think about leaving so desperately that she’s willing to throw herself into the unknown?
Me: Safety is what I do best, SweetBunny. I’ll keep you safe; nothing will touch you again.
Her silence lingers too long, and doubt creeps in again—am I saying too much? Is this too far?
SweetBunny: And what if it all goes wrong?
I clench my jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Why can’t she see everything will be perfect with me?
Me: It won’t go wrong with me; trust me on that. Just imagine it—a new life without worries.
SweetBunny: Maybe…but it sounds too good to be true.
Her hesitance ignites something possessive in me—a desire to convince her I’m everything she needs and more.
Me: It’s not too good to be true if you let me show you.
Every part of me aches for her to take that leap.
SweetBunny: How do I know you’ll actually come through for me?
I stare at the screen, considering my next maneuver, aware of how much she hangs on my words.
Me: Get your passport. Go to the Gold Coast Airport on Sunday at four in the afternoon and I’ll be waiting.
Two minutes pass as she stares at the screen, surprise written across her face.
