Page 21 of It’s Kind of a Bunny Story (Hey There, Hop Stuff #3)

I kicked off my shoes and quickly pulled my shirt over my head and wiggled out of my jeans.

Folding them, along with my undergarments, I tucked them into the hiding place and hoped they’d still be there when I returned.

I was pretty sure the police arrested people for walking into a city naked, and that would be my only option if my stash went missing.

Swimming with clothing on wasn’t an option since I needed to move freely and didn’t want to deal with the drag.

Not wanting to waste any more time, I ran lightly across the rocks and dove into the lake, disappearing into the inky water. As I swam, I became one with the water, focusing on nothing but the steady pumping of my muscles as I moved ever closer to the far shore.

The long swim should have exhausted me, but instead, it cleared my mind and released the anxiety from my tight muscles. By the time I pulled myself from the icy water, I felt nothing but determination.

I could do this.

I would do this.

There would be no hesitation because I would do whatever I had to in order to save my men.

It was sometime past midnight by the time I crept into the village.

I made my way toward a familiar large oak that had fallen years before.

Reaching inside, I sighed with relief as my fingers brushed against the Ziploc bag I’d hidden there.

I’d stashed several tiny “go kits” around the edge of the burrow land, never knowing when I might have needed one.

Shame rushed through me because I’d never been brave enough to actually leave. Not until Fletcher had made that decision for me. But I was a different person now. I was stronger, and I was loved. Most importantly, I had something to live for—my mates.

Quickly unzipping the bag, I pulled out the pair of leggings and a tight crop top.

While I would have preferred a comfortable baggy cotton shirt, dealing with excess fabric when trying to be stealthy was a bad idea.

The last thing I needed was to get hung on a windowsill or give an assailant a handful of fabric to grip and yank me backward.

Slipping on a pair of thin ballet flats, I pulled my hair into a ponytail. Finally, I reached down and picked up the last item; a large hunting knife. I’d heard the phrase “it fits like a glove,” but did anything feel as nice as the handle of a weapon that you’d whittled to create the perfect grip?

Violence was something I despised. I prayed I wouldn’t need to use the knife that night, but there was a comfort in knowing I was familiar with this blade.

Over the years, desperate to feel a little less vulnerable, I’d spent hours hiding in storage closets and in the woods with a knife.

I’d practiced moving with them until the blade became an extension of my arm.

I slid the knife back inside the sheath, and tucked it in the tight band of my leggings, feeling the cool leather press against my skin.

It was game time.

Without a sound, I made my way down the dirt path, blending with the shadows cast by the towering forest as I headed toward the house of a man I’d hoped never to see again.

It didn’t take long before I was creeping around the red brick house, searching for any sign the man was awake, as well as hunting for the best entry point.

The house was dark; not a single light was shining in any of the windows—at least until I reached the back of the house.

There, going up on tiptoes, I peeked into the first-floor room. A tiny reading light was on in his bedroom, providing just enough illumination to see the man. He was sitting in a recliner across from a large bed.

His chin rested against his chest, and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses had slid down until they clung precariously to the tip of his nose.

Even through the glass, I could hear his snores.

If he sucked any harder, I was pretty sure he was going to peel the wallpaper from the walls.

It was a sound that had kept me awake countless nights when he’d visited women in the rooms nearest mine.

Now that I knew which room he was in, it made my decision on where to enter much easier. I made my way back to the front of the house, where I’d noticed a small window above the sink. It had been left slightly ajar, as though he’d intended to close it, but hadn’t pushed it all the way down.

Or maybe he’d burned something and was letting in a bit of fresh air? That seemed more likely, since as far as I’d been able to tell, there wasn’t a man in the burrow who knew how to cook. Why would they bother to learn when that was a woman’s job?

Gritting my teeth, I lifted the window, opening it one slow inch at a time. I crossed my fingers and toes, hoping it wouldn’t let out a screech of protest. To my relief, it didn’t.

Thanks to my small stature and lack of proper nutrition, I didn’t have to lift it very far before I was able to slip inside. I balanced myself over a sink filled with dirty dishes, probably looking like one of those huge Australian spiders.

The stench of days’ old food wafted through the kitchen, and I fought the urge to gag.

He clearly couldn’t cook, but did the man not know how to clean, either?

I’d heard the rabbit shifters cracking jokes about how stupid mutt shifters were, but at least my wolf mates knew their way around a kitchen.

Knowing where his bedroom was located made my job easier, and I made my way down the maze of hallways toward the back of the house. I crept into the room, careful not to wake him.

I looked around at the beautifully decorated room. Even in the dim light, I could tell that every piece of antique furniture and art was expensive. It was a stark contrast to the bareness of the women’s rooms, which were more of a military dorm room than a home.

Fighting to suppress my sudden annoyance, I moved silently across the thick carpet.

For a moment, I longed to lead an uprising against the men of Blackberry Burrow and demand that the women be treated fairly.

Then I remembered how terribly it had gone for me the last time I’d taken a stand, and the desire was quickly squashed.

Right now, the best thing I could do for the women of my burrow was to prove that it was possible to escape and remain out of the council’s clutches.

Maybe then they’d be willing to speak up for themselves.

Despite what I’d gone through, I believed change was possible, but it was likely to be slow to come.

Pushing aside my momentary distraction, I stepped behind his chair. I unsheathed the knife and pressed the cool steel against his throat.

With my lips beside his ear, I hissed, “Wake up, old man.”