Page 67 of Stealing His Cupcake
Chapter 48
Wyatt
LeavingAmywasthemost difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. She tried to pretend she was okay, but even a blind person could see she wasn’t. She hated that I was leaving her, hated the idea of me taking another life. She might not have put it to words, but she hates what I do. Ever since she came into my life, I’ve refused all contracts, even ones that stirred my hunting instincts. I just didn’t want to leave Amy alone. First because I was afraid she’d try to escape and then because I enjoyed her company too much.
However, I’ve always planned to go back to my old life. Maybe not as much as before, but my soul still craves a hunt now and then. I intended to accept contracts closer to home or perhaps—and I’m literally shuddering at the thought—even taking a plane so that I wouldn’t be away from Amy for too long, but I never planned to stop entirely.
Now, after seeing her trembling and terrified, I know things will have to change.Iwill have to change if I want to keep her or, more specifically, if I want her to want me. I could keep her against her will, of course, but after being bathed in her affection, I don’t want to go back to her being frightened of me. A bit of fear is fun to spice things up, like with playingwith that knife, but I don’t want her to be truly terrified, and how could she not be if I keep coming home after killing people? Touching her with hands that just hours before were drenched in blood? Amy’s too delicate to accept that.
Nolan will have to be my last. I don’t like it, but it is what it is. At least I intend to fully enjoy my time with him. Not too much, I’d rather spend it with Amy, but enough to make him regret all of his terrible life choices. Especially the one where he became obsessed with me. I’m going to give the “never meet your heroes” phrase a whole new meaning.
It doesn’t take me long to get to the motel where Nolan is holed up. It looks like the fucker stayed in the area, probably concocting another lame attempt at my life. He’s so pathetic I might have even humored him if it were just me, but he threatened Amy and that’s inexcusable.
Normally, I would have waited for nightfall, but I don’t want to drag this out for too long. Besides, there’s a storm coming, the clouds heavy with rain casting shadows almost as if it were twilight instead of noon.
Parking across the lot from the rooms, I force myself to wait an hour, watching my surroundings. A few people come and go, but the place is not too busy. The door to room 18 stays closed the entire time. The motel might not have security cameras, but they keep digital booking records, and while my hacker failed to gain access to Nolan’s phone, he confirmed that Nolan has been staying here for a couple of weeks.
I scoff. He’s not even using a fake name. What an amateur.
The curtains are closed in room 18, but I see light from around their edges. It flickers and changes color, making me think the fucker’s watching TV. Pulling a baseball hat over my head and the collar of my jacket up, I get ready to exit the car just as the lights in Nolan’s room stop flickering and turn into a normal yellowish hue. He turned off the TV. Now what? Is he getting ready to go out? Taking a nap? Making another attempt at those Molotovs? Fuck if I know.
I should wait, I know, but the bag of cookies on the front seat reminds me of Amy and how rattled she was as I was leaving. It’s not throwing caution to the wind when the other side is incompetent, is it?
Looking around to make sure the parking lot is momentarily abandoned, I stride straight to Nolan’s door, pretending to look at my phone as I pause and listen. At first, I hear nothing. Then my ears pick up a soft sound of falling water and off-key humming. He’s taking a shower? Jesus fucking Christ! Could he make it any easier for me?
Gently trying the knob, I realize the door is locked. Wow. At least one thing done right, though this one is more like common sense. Fortunately for me, the motel is old, in dire need of renovation, and it takes me exactly thirty seconds to pick the lock.
The door creaks as it opens and I wince, but the sounds from the bathroom don’t stop. Closing the door behind me as quietly as possible, I tiptoe across the room with my gun in hand. A precaution I’d rather not use. Even with a silencer, a shot would draw too much attention. Especially since silencers in real life really don’t work the way they do in the movies. Turning a loud bang into a barely audible puff? Yeah. Sure. That’s about as realistic as hyperspace travel.
The bathroom door is open a few inches, the sounds of water and the horrible humming spilling through the crack. A glance inside reveals the shower curtain is drawn. It’s thick enough I can’t see who’s behind it, but the sounds are coming from there. It’s got to be Nolan showering. Right?
Except something doesn’t feel right. Something’s off and it takes me several seconds to figure out what. It dawns on me as I catch my reflection in the mirror. In the completely dry mirror, without a hint of condensation in sight. If the shower was running, there’d be steam, right? Unless Nolan’s into freezing cold showers.
The hair on my neck bristles as I back out, every instinct screaming at me to get out.
I’m too slow. Something heavy smashes into my chest just as I move through the doorway, knocking the wind out of me. I struggle for breathas my diaphragm spasms, my vision blacking out at the edges. Before I can get a shot out, someone pries the gun out of my hands, whipping it across my cheek for good measure.
Heaving in a labored breath, I reach for a knife, but a steel-toed boot introducing itself to my ribs sends me sprawling onto the floor. “Well, this was fucking disappointing,” a voice says from above me. I can barely understand it through the ringing in my ears, but it’s feminine, which means it’s not Nolan.
Craning my head, I look up, my stomach falling through the floor when I recognize the figure standing over me. “Slava…” I groan as she boots my ribs again, hitting the exact same spot as before with deadly precision. “What—”
Smirking, the bitch kicks my stomach again. I make a desperate attempt to catch her foot, but she easily breaks out of my flimsy grip, her next kick sending me retching all over the floor. “Seriously, Wyatt? That’s it? I mean, my expectations were low but still,” she chatters as she deftly removes every single blade from my body and ties my hands behind my back.
I don’t go down easily, but it’s hard to fight off someone when your stomach is trying to exit your body through your throat and you can’t get enough air in your lungs. The few good hits I get in earn me a solid kick in the balls and after that, it’s game over. “That was not cool,” I groan, the zip ties digging into my skin as I curl up to protect my crown jewels from further abuse. My blood runs cold at the memory of what Slava does to her victims, and especially their genitals. Fuck this! I don’t even know why she’s here, though I have a hunch, and if I’m right, Amy’s in terrible danger.
“Not my fucking problem that men have such a glaring vulnerability hanging between their legs,” Slava replies. Pulling out her knife, she grins viciously. “I could get rid of it for you if you want.”
I cross my legs. “No thanks. Why are you here?”
“Why the fuck do you think I’m here?” Jerking her head, she flips the longer part of her hair away from her eyes.
Slava has a deep undercut, the smoothly shaved half of her head revealing complex tattoos running down her neck and disappearing into the collar of her plain black T-shirt. Where I try to blend in with the crowd using various disguises, Slava doesn’t give a fuck. Yet, despite sticking out from the crowd like a sore thumb with the memorable hairstyle she often dyes in neon colors, her tattoos and multitudes of piercings, she somehow never got connected with any of her victims. Hell, I doubt the police even know she exists. She’s fucking good at what she does, and I walked into her trap like an absolute idiot. “Nolan hired you,” I state the obvious.
She shrugs, busy fiddling with my phone. “Don’t know the name. Don’t really care, either.”
Of course, she doesn’t. I wouldn’t have either. “I can pay you more. Anything you want.” It’s beyond embarrassing to be begging for my life like this, but with Amy’s life at stake, I’m willing to sacrifice more than just my dignity. “Just name your price.”
“Seriously?” Lifting a pierced brow, Slava looks at me with utter disgust. “You know what I wanted? A fucking challenge. But no, you had to walk in here like a braindead asshole. Really, Wyatt, I’m disappointed. How the fuck did you stay in this business for so long? How are you even still alive?”
