Page 21 of Stealing His Cupcake
Doesn’t it just show that there’s something inherently wrong with me? First, I was in love with Craig, for an entire year, and now I’m lusting after a murderer. Am I really only into assholes and psychopaths?And rapists, my subconscious reminds me. I still have a hard time wrapping my head around that. “Was it—” I start then stop myself. No one likes nosy hostages. The less I talk to Lucifer, the better.
He doesn’t seem to share that sentiment, though. “Yes?” he prompts. “You can ask me anything, Amy. The worst that can happen is that I won’t give you an answer. Or that you won’t like it.”
And that’s the root of the problem here, isn’t it? I came to Turbo’s in search of answers, but do I even want them anymore? “Was it true? About the—the rapes?” I ask quietly, studying my hands in my lap. I should probably be watching where we’re going, memorizing the route or something, but I can’t focus on that.
Please say no. Please say no.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” I don’t question the truthfulness of Lucifer’s words. What reason would he have to lie to me? God, how do you deal with someone you loved for a year being a monster? That’s probably something I should talk to Miranda about but, of course, I’ll be too busy being kidnapped or dead to attend our next session.
“I’m sorry, Amy.”
He sounds so sincere it’s absurd. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because the truth hurts you and I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
Jesus Christ. How deep have I fallen for a murderer to be pitying me? I snort in response, for once not caring whether it will anger him. As my mind replays the rest of his conversation with Turbo, though, more questions arise. “You said you were sent here to kill Craig.” It still sounds unreal, like a plot from an action movie. Maybe I’m hallucinating?
“Yep,” he answers like it’s no big deal. It probably isn’t for him. “One of the girls…” Pausing, he glances at me as if gauging how much more I can take before losing it completely. It’s a fair question, one I don’t have an answer to. “Her father paid me to kill Craig,” he finishes.
I have a distinct feeling he left something important out but I don’t ask. I shouldn’t even be asking about Craig. How do I expect Lucifer to ever let me go after he told me all this?
As if he was going to let you go before. The tiny voice that had been happy about Craig’s death snickers.It’s either Lucifer or a shallow grave and honestly, what’s so terrible about him again?
I ignore the voice. It’s just my messed-up-ness speaking and I don’t need that right now. What I need is something to focus on before I fall apart. To my chagrin, the only two things my mind seems to be capable of focusing on are the hot stranger next to me and Craig’s death. “But you were asking about Craig’s death,” I say, pursuing the safer conversation topic that isn’t really safe at all. “So you didn’t kill him?” Should I be relieved about that or not?
“No. I honestly have no clue who did. They weren’t after the contract, that’s for sure, because I still got paid. My bet would be it was one of the girls he hurt.”
His glance lets me know he considers me one of them, too. I bristle. “I didn’t kill him. I loved him!” I repeat the line I gave to everyone ever since Craig’s death before realizing it’s not true anymore. “I mean, I had loved him back then, before finding out about all this…” I throw out my hands to indicate the ridiculous situation I found myself in.
Unwilling to dissect my feelings for Craig, I push back without thinking. “So you took money for a job you didn’t do? That’s not very ethical.” I know. Too stupid to live, remember?
Lucifer watches me incredulously for a long moment before bursting into laughter. “Cupcake, I kill people for a living. What makes you think I care about ethics?”
“Well, when you put it like that…” He has a point, of course. “I’m sorry.”
My belated apology is met with a wide grin. “Don’t be. I like your sass.”
What a flattering way to describe my stupidity. Watching him look at me, his smile is so contagious that the corners of my mouth twitch, which is a feat. I haven’t laughed in forever. I stubbornly force my expression back into a frown. Hostages are not supposed to be smiling. Then, because I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut, I continue questioning my captor. “Why are you calling me cupcake?” I don’t hate it. In fact, it’s kinda sweet. Craig never gave me a pet name. He’d call me baby, yes, but the way he said it always felt a little sarcastic. I thought I was imagining it but now I know I wasn’t.
“I’ll tell you later,” my kidnapper replies with a wink. “For now, let’s get out of the car.”
Oh, we’ve stopped. I hadn’t even noticed but of course he wouldn’t be able to drive while looking into my eyes for so long. Taking in our surroundings, I’m startled to see that we’re in an abandoned back alley tucked between warehouses and a questionable-looking car repair shop. It’s the kind of place where you lock your car from inside and don’t getout, especially if you’re a lone woman and it has just started getting dark. Is that where I’m supposed to die?
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I reply without thinking. Seriously, is my brain damaged or something? I should be scared. Frightened. And I am. Truly. But I’m also angry. At Craig, at Turbo, at this bastard who thought it was a good idea to kidnap me, and most of all, at myself. How did I not see who Craig was? How could I have loved someone like him? Why did I not leave him earlier when all he did was treat me like shit? That’s the question that hurts most. I couldn’t have known about the other things, but I did know he was not good to me. Instead of leaving him like a normal person would, I kept making excuses, kept being grateful for every speck of attention he deemed to grant me, kept crawling back to him after we fought, kept forgiving him just because he showed up with flowers and a smile and I was so lonely, so desperate for attention that I soaked it up even if deep down I knew it was poisoned.
So yes. I’m angry. Scared. Hurt, tired, freaking overwhelmed with everything and I need a moment to process it all, which I’m not going to get because, hello, kidnapped much? I’ve always been a good girl, the polite girl who did everything right, but this situation is bringing out my inner toddler. Worst timing ever, I know, but it’s not like I can do anything about it.
Lucifer, bless him—oh my god, did I actually think that about a murderer?—doesn’t get angry. He looks amused more than anything as he shrugs and unclips his seatbelt. “Alright, as you wish. But I’m leaving the van here for certain people who will make it disappear, including all of its contents. If you stay inside, I’m afraid you’ll be included in the contents along with Turbo’s body. So really, the choice is yours.”
“Oh.” Disappear? I don’t want to be disappeared! In my haste to get out of the van, I get tangled in the seat belt, nearly strangling myself on it. Still grinning, Lucifer rushes to my rescue, his large, strong hands holding me steady as I untangle myself. “Thanks,” I murmur, because it’s commoncourtesy, not because I’m actually grateful because screw this guy. If he hadn’t kidnapped me, he wouldn’t have to be helping me now.
“My pleasure,” he rumbles, his hands lingering on my hips for a few seconds longer than they need to. I hate that I don’t entirely hate it.
He holds his hand out to me. “Come on, cupcake.”
I stare at the offered hand with trepidation. It feels like if I take it, there will be no going back. Like I’m giving in to this situation, to this man, and it’s frightening. Then again, it’s not like I have a choice, do I? I have to do what he says. The realization is surprisingly liberating.
