Page 71 of Stealing His Cupcake
“Yes, yes.” Geraldine pats his shoulder in a friendly manner. “Tell Wyatt I said hello. Oh, and Amy? I told you about Rebecca, right? My friend’s daughter? Well, she was here yesterday, and she just loved that cake you made. She said if you want that job at the cafe, it’s yours.”
“Oh? That’s-that’s great, thank you Geraldine, but I’m not sure if I can accept that.” Because I might be dead soon. Oh god, who am I kidding? I’m totally going to be dead soon. It’s not a good time to be accepting job offers. “How about I call her later?” I ask to stop Geraldine from launching into another one of her steamroller monologues about how I should just grab the opportunity and enjoy life and whatnot.
“Perfect! She’ll be so thrilled. She couldn’t find anyone reliable for the job for ages and she’s running herself ragged trying to do everything on her own. I told her— Oh.” She chuckles. “I’m babbling again when you have places to be. Have fun on your trip and come back to visit me soon. Both of you.”
Nolan’s smile is brilliant as he inclines his head in a nod. “I surely will.”
Like hell you will, bastard, I think to myself while focusing on maintaining my smile. “Absolutely! Bye, Geraldine.”
Nolan’s friendly facade drops the second Geraldine shuts the door behind herself. “Get in the fucking car,” he murmurs, lifting his jacket to show me a gun hidden underneath.
Looking around, I realize he must mean Wyatt’s car because there are no other vehicles parked here. How did he even get here? Did he take an Uber to the house of a woman he was about to murder?
Automatically, I head for the passenger side, but Nolan growls. “Are you dumb? You’re driving.”
God, not this again. “I can’t drive! I don’t have a license and I barely managed to get here. Just look at the car!”
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re such a useless bitch,” Nolan spits out. “You’re still driving. You managed to get here, so you’ll get us where weneed to go. And don’t fucking try anything stupid or I’ll shove this gun up your cunt and pull the fucking trigger.”
“Okay, okay.” Damn, this guy has a short fuse. I need to be careful around him or he’ll kill me before we even get to Wyatt. “Whatever you say.”
“Damn right. Now, drive.”
Driving a car for the third time in my life is scary enough, but with a gun—a golden gun, like he’s a villain from a Bond movie—trained on me, it’s a downright horrifying experience, especially as the trees bend in the strong gusts of wind and the rain starts falling. The few seconds before I figure out how to turn on the windshield wipers are possibly the longest seconds of my life.
Thankfully, the roads we take are mostly abandoned, though I do panic when I have to pass a truck going in the opposite direction. The road doesn’t feel wide enough for both our vehicles. Somehow, I manage not to crash the car and even stay on the road. Mostly.
After what feels like an eternity, we arrive at an abandoned industrial complex. A former sawmill, judging by the half-peeled letters adorning the side of the main building. In a horror movie, this would be exactly the place where the killer brings his victims to slaughter them and, well, that’s exactly what’s happening, isn’t it? Damn, how did my life get so complicated? A second kidnapping in under two months? It’s gotta be some kind of record.
Tears prick at my eyes when I finally stop the car near the warehouse entrance. Nolan waves his gun. “Empty your pockets.”
Obediently, I hand over my phone and the car and house keys. “I don’t have anything else,” I whisper, my voice shaking with fear. What if he searches me?
Fortunately, Nolan seems satisfied. “Good. Get out of the car.”
I’m grateful for my oversized hoodie and not just because rain pelts me the moment I exit the vehicle, or because it makes me look less attractive.I’m wearing it for another reason, as a part of my plan to get us out of this mess. The plan that feels less realistic by the second.
Nudging me with the gun, Nolan leads me inside the empty warehouse, which is just as creepy from the inside as it was from the outside. Rust covers the few remaining shelves and the whole place smells of mold. What scares me the most is the disgusting mattress laid out in the middle of the building. Catching me staring at it, Nolan winks. “I figured the floor would be a little uncomfortable. For me. You don’t really get a say in it.”
Right. Blinking away tears, I look around the abandoned building again. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“Oh, he’ll be joining us soon. Don’t worry, we’ll wait for him with the fun parts. Now,” he points to an empty space near a tall shelving unit, “sit over there like a good fucking cunt and don’t move. If you do, I’ll shoot your kneecaps. You won’t be needing them anymore, anyway.”
Trembling, I move to the indicated spot, fighting tooth and nail to hold it together. This is good, I keep telling myself. He didn’t search me. Didn’t tie me up. Clearly, he doesn’t consider me a threat. He might be planning to rape me to make Wyatt suffer, but it won’t come to that. It won’t. He doesn’t even have Wyatt yet. My husband could still barge in here with a gun in his hand, shoot the psycho, and rescue me, and we’d drive into the damned sunset together in his slightly scratched car.
Yes. That’s exactly what’s going to happen, because I’m not dying here today. Wyatt is not dying here today, either, and I sure as hell won’t let this asshole touch me. He can try. He’ll quickly figure out just how much of a threat I am. Not much, really, but my plan isn’t to defeat Nolan myself. It’s giving Wyatt a chance.
Gravel crunches in the parking lot as another car approaches. Nolan, busy fiddling with some boxes and a long piece of rope, doesn’t seem worried, so it’s unlikely that help is coming.
My hopes at a swift rescue are dashed when Wyatt stumbles into the warehouse with his hands tied behind his back. There’s some blood on his roughed-up face, but worse, he seems disoriented. Squinting, as if hehas trouble focusing his vision, he studies the room before his eyes land on me. Defeat, regret, pain. The emotions swirling in his blown pupils are heartbreaking. Also, they’re frightening, because it seems like he doesn’t see a way out of this. And if Wyatt doesn’t see a way out, then we’re truly, royally screwed. Fucked. Now would be a good time to start cursing, wouldn’t it?
Just as I try to wordlessly assure him that everything is going to be alright, he trips over thin air. A tall, blonde woman whom I haven’t noticed before grabs Wyatt’s arm just in time to stop him from smashing face-first into the concrete floor. She’s scary, and not because of all the piercings and tattoos. Those actually kind of fit her. It’s the emptiness in her eyes that scares me. Our eyes meet for a split second as she takes in the building, but she skims over me as if I wasn’t even here. Or, more accurately, if I was completely inconsequential. Which, to her, I guess I am. Whoever she is.
“Huh.” Looking up from his rope, which is now tied into a hangman’s noose, Nolan sizes up the woman, his lips curling back a little. “You’re a woman. I thought Slava was a male name. Never thought there were actual women in the biz.”
My eyebrows shooting up, I gape at the idiot. Did he really just say that? To a woman who looks like she could tie him into a pretzel one-handed?
Rolling her eyes, the blondie, apparently named Slava, sneers at him. “Actually, I identify as a figment of your fragile masculinity.”
