Page 20 of Stealing His Cupcake
Chapter 13
Amy
Ofallthewaysthis day could have ended, hefting Turbo’s lifeless body into the back of an old van was definitely not one I had anticipated. In fact, it hadn’t even been on the list of options. Getting hit by a meteorite seemed more probable. Yet, here I am. An accessory to murder.
It’s all bullshit. I didn’t do anything. This guy forced me to wash the blood. The cops would believe me, wouldn’t they? Except, maybe they wouldn’t. Having never broken a law, I don’t have a record, but what if the police took one look at my bruises and my skin color and just thought“Yeah, that’s a criminal if I ever saw one”? My mother has been a drug addict for years, after all. Surely, she has more than one record. Would they think I’m the same?
Okay, calling the police might not be the best idea, at least until I can somehow prove without a shadow of doubt I had nothing to do with Turbo’s murder.
Oh my god. Murder. He’s dead and his murderer is standing right next to me, watching me with hunger I don’t like one bit. He said he wouldn’t kill me, but there are fates worse than death. Is he keeping me alive just tohave a bit of fun before putting me out of my misery? Or is he going to sell me to some sex-slave mafia? I’ve seen a documentary about flesh trade once and I’d choose death over such fate.
A whimper tries to escape my tightly shut lips, but I bite it back.“Scream again and I’ll sever your vocal cords.”The memory makes me shiver and tears well in my eyes. I try to blink them away, certain that the man would get angry if he saw me crying, but a few escape, trailing wet paths across my cheeks.
“Easy, sweetheart.” He’s there in a heartbeat, caging me against the murder van, so close that I can’t think, can’t breathe, my imagination running rampant. Hands cup my face, gently, but I can’t help but remember that awfulsnapas he broke Turbo’s neck. Is that what he’s about to do? Snap my neck and put my dead body next to Turbo’s?
I should fight him, I know I should, but I’m frozen, helpless to do anything but whimper like the pathetic waste of space I am. Why didn’t I scream when he led me through the hallways or when we circled the building to pick up the body? There weren’t any people inside, but there were a few out on the street. A normal person would try to call for help, wouldn’t they? Except…
“I will kill anyone you ask for help and their deaths will be on your conscience.”
He wasn’t lying. I could see it in that detached look of his. He’d kill anyone in his path without an ounce of remorse. Had I asked that young food courier or the elderly lady walking her dog for help, they’d be in the van right now, next to Turbo, and it would be my fault.
Fuck! What have I gotten myself into?
“Amy. Amy!” His concerned voice brings me back to the present. Black spots dance in my vision and I realize I’m breathing fast, too fast, without any idea how to stop it. “Look at me,” the man orders.
Against myself, I obey, and find myself captured by his intense green eyes. They aren’t cold or empty anymore and the emotions swirling in them completely transform his expression. Instead of a cold-bloodedmurderer, there’s just…a guy. A hot guy trying to stop a dumb woman from rendering herself unconscious.
“That’s it.” Even his voice is different. Warmer, making him sound like a human and not a psycho torturer. “Calm down. Slow breaths.” His thumbs move over my cheeks. Wiping the tears, I realize. I also realize he’s not wearing gloves and his calloused skin sliding against mine is a welcome distraction from my spiraling thoughts.
“S-sorry,” I push out between heaving breaths.
He smiles and…wow? It should be illegal for bad guys to look hot. I mean, they’re evil, right? He’s evil. He just tortured and killed someone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mourning Turbo’s death, but still, killing someone in cold blood like that is anything but normal, and it feels wildly unfair that a murderer would look this good. And I should really stop thinking about how hot he is. That’s just wrong.
“It’s okay. You’re safe, Amy, I promise. I won’t hurt you.” The intensity of his gaze is too much, and even when I lower my eyes, I still sense him watching me. Oddly enough, his words ring as true as when he said he’ll kill anyone I asked for help. It’s confusing, to say the least.
Not sure what to say, I nod, stiffening when he leans even closer, but he just kisses the top of my head before letting me go. Only when he steps back do I realize that something hard has been poking my stomach and it wasn’t his gun. He’s attracted to me, which is definitely frightening but also…flattering? A teeny tiny bit?
After being called a “fat Black chick,” and finding out I was nothing but a cruel game to my boyfriend, who wasn’t even my boyfriend, having someone so openly attracted to me is an ego boost. Even if that someone is a killer who’s probably planning on raping me before wringing my neck and ditching my body in the woods. Priorities, right?
Damn, I really do belong in a padded cell.
“Alright.” He gives me another once-over and, apparently satisfied that I’m not on the verge of hyperventilating anymore, nods. “I take it you’llbehave and ride in the front with me, rather than being a bad girl and riding in the back with Turbo?”
Christ! I don’t think I’d survive being locked up with a dead body. “I won’t cause any trouble,” I blurt out desperately. “Please.” What could I even do? Wave at the passing cars? Jump out of a moving vehicle? I might be stupid but I’m notthatstupid. Even I know that no one can outrun a bullet.
The man grins. “That’s what I thought.” I manage not to flinch when he slams the back door closed. “Well, hop in,” he urges, waiting until I’m seated and wearing a seatbelt before strolling around the car to the driver’s seat. Then we’re on our way, weaving through Friday afternoon traffic. With a dead body in the back. My breathing picks up again at that thought so I push it away, along with the fact that I’m sitting next to a psycho who has somehow turned into Prince Charming in the span of a minute. My thoughts drift to what Turbo said before there was that awfulsnapand— Nope. Not going there.
The things he said about Craig’s relationship with me—or the lack thereof—were bad enough, but the rest? The rapes? I try to reconcile the idea of my Craig with this image of a cruel sexual predator and…I don’t come completely short. I hate it. I really do. It feels like everything around me is falling apart, everything I ever believed in is turned upside down and all I want to do is curl up in my bed and cry and I can’t even do that because somehow I got myself kidnapped. How much bad luck can one person have?
Taking advantage of the heavy traffic that forces the stranger to fully focus on the driving, I study him from the corner of my eye. He truly is handsome. Like, the cover of a magazine level of handsome. His hair is long enough to tie into a bun or a ponytail but he keeps it loose and it somehow magically looks good despite him periodically running his hand through it when strands fall into his eyes. It’s goddamn unfair. If I ran my hand through my hair, it would be an absolute mess, and not the pretty kind.
A corner of his mouth curls upward, showing off a small dimple in his cheek, and I’m having trouble seeing the killer in him anymore despite literally having the body of his victim in the back of the van. I have to remember that he’s not Prince Charming. If he is a prince, he’s the Prince of Darkness. Lucifer. Tempting but evil.
“Like what you see, cupcake?” Lucifer quips without taking his eyes off the road. Is he a psychic or something? He can’t know I was looking at him!
“N-no,” I stutter before realizing that me not liking his looks might anger him. “I mean, yes,” I add, then realize that he might take me being into him like an invitation for rape. “I-I mean…” Dammit! What’s the right answer here? I must be the stupidest hostage ever. How do people know what to say in these situations? They always make it look so simple on TV.
To my relief, Lucifer just laughs, further dispelling the psycho vibe from earlier. If I’d met him when he was like this, I’d be totally into him. Platonically, of course, because he’s way out of my league, but there would be some daydreaming of our wedding day for sure.
