Page 75 of Stealing His Cupcake
“How about you go fuck yourself? I just told you—”
“Yes, you did!” Okay, screw being polite. “‘There’s no good left in the world’, blah blah blah. Maybe there isn’t. I don’t give a damn. I’m notasking you to become a freaking Mother Teresa, for fuck’s sake! You said Wyatt owed you a favor. Well, newsflash, bitch! You can’t collect it if he’s dead! So shut your stupid mouth and help me pick him up.”
Did I just yell at an insane contract killer who nearly made Nolan piss his pants? Yes, I did. Do I regret it? Not in the slightest, especially since Slava actually does shut her stupid mouth and helps me. Together, grunting and groaning under Wyatt’s weight, we half drag, half carry him outside, where the raging wind nearly knocks us over. Both of Wyatt’s cars are there, and I realize I don’t have keys for either of them.
“I’ll take the red one,” Slava says, producing the SUV key from her pocket.
“Suit yourself.” I’m not happy giving her anything for showing a bit of common decency, but it’s not like I can stop her. “Nolan had the keys.”
We’re completely soaked by the time we drop Wyatt on the back seat of the SUV. He groans, but doesn’t wake up. Smoothing a patch of bloodied hair off his forehead, I gently kiss him. “You’ll be all right. I promise.”
“Yeah, he’s a tough motherfucker,” Slava agrees. Handing me Wyatt’s phone, she continues, “Bring him to this place. They’ll know not to call the police. And tell the fucker he owes me when he wakes up.”
Glancing at the screen, I see that the GPS navigation is set to a private clinic about fifty miles from here. Fifty whole miles. I groan. I absolutely don’t want to be driving that far, but I don’t think Slava would respond well to a request that she take us there. Somehow, I feel like that would be the last straw and I’d end up shot for the second time today. Damn, I got shot! When did my life become so crazy?
Of course, the answer to that question is bleeding all over the backseat of the SUV. Wyatt happened to me, turning my life upside down, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it. Well, maybe not getting shot would be nice.
“Thanks,” I tell Slava because I might hate her, but I am still grateful for her help.
“Fuck you,” she replies in Slava fashion. “You should go now. All of this bullshit will be for nothing if he croaks on the way to a doctor.”
“What about, um, Nolan?” I don’t want to think about the man I killed because it’s sending me into a panic attack, but I also don’t want to go to prison. “Shouldn’t we, like, burn the place down or something?”
Slava rolls her eyes. “And have a dozen fire units here in under an hour? I’ll take care of it. And don’t you dare thank me,” she adds angrily, making me snap my mouth shut. “I’ll add it to Wyatt’s debt. Now, fuck off before the storm gets worse, or before I change my mind and slit your stupid throat.”
I’m under no illusion that she’s joking, but I still can’t help but laugh because her prickly attitude is simply hilarious. On second thought, I might also be in shock. “You know, Slava, you’re a cunt.” Yes, I said it! “But I still kinda like you. I think that deep down inside, you’re a good person.”
Before I can even blink, there’s a blade in my face, the cold steel resting against my cheek. “Say that again, bitch, and I’ll fucking carve your face.” Shoving me into the car, Slava retreats, her breaths labored. “Go.”
This time, I don’t waste time with stupid remarks. Even in shock, I realize that poking this particular bear might not be the best idea. “Okay,” I whisper, a little shaken. “Thanks, anyway.”
After successfully turning the car around without hitting anything, I head away from the creepy warehouse. “Just hang in there,” I tell both Wyatt and myself. “Everything will be just fine.”
Chapter 53
Wyatt
Sixweeks.It’sbeensix fucking weeks since Nolan nearly kicked me to death, and I’m still not back to my usual self. A ruptured spleen, the doctors said when justifying why they had to cut me open and play Operation with my insides. Why I had to spend two damned weeks in a hospital, hooked to a million machines. It’s also what they said when trying to convince me to stay longer, but I’ve had enough of their “hospitality”. I can lie in bed at home just as well as in the hospital.
I’ve been injured before, many times, but never this badly, and I find that I don’t have any patience for this “recovery period”. The only thing making this bearable is Amy’s presence. Yet, she’s also the main reason these weeks in bed are unbearable, because I should be the one taking care of her. I should be the one spoiling her, cooking for her—or rather, ordering takeout because I can cook like five meals and none of them are healthy—helping her dress and bathe and comforting her and doing everything else for her. Instead, she’s the one taking care of me like I’m a child. Or a cripple. A useless fucking cripple who nearly got her killed. Whom she had to save.
I don’t understand why she is still here. Can’t she see how useless I am? I couldn’t even save her. She had to kill Nolan herself, and then somehow wrangled Slava into helping her, a feat I would have considered impossible, all while I was taking an undeserved nap. Then she drove me to a hospital and threatened the staff with bodily harm if they even thought about calling the police. It must have been quite a sight, her covered in Nolan’s blood from head to toe, taking on the arrogant doctors and surly nurses. My precious Amy, brave like a lioness. And me?
I snort, grateful that the action no longer makes pain lance through my abdomen. All I did was walk straight into Slava’s trap like an idiot, and then nearly got beaten to death. Hail to the fucking hero.
“Hey.” Peeking inside the bedroom, Amy gives a dazzling smile when she realizes I’m awake. Yeah, I’ve been taking a post-lunch nap like a fucking toddler.
I force myself to smile. She deserves better than being the lightning rod for my surliness. So much better. “Hey. Getting ready for your driving lesson?” It was my idea to get her a driver’s license. If Amy’s going to live in the middle of nowhere where I dragged her, she needs to be self-sufficient. That cunt Slava stole my fucking Ferrari, but there’s still the SUV, and I’m planning on buying something new just for Amy. She’ll need it if she takes the job at Samantha’s café.
What she won’t need is a dead weight like me holding her back.
Her smile turns nervous. “Yeah, Mrs. Flagstone is picking me up in ten minutes. I just came to see if you needed anything before I go.”
My reply comes a little sharper than I intended. “Cupcake, I can take care of myself.”
She masks it quickly, but the hurt flashing in her eyes stabs me like a blade. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No. It’s me who should apologize.” A million times over and it still won’t be enough. “I’m just not used to being idle for so long. I’ll be fine. Go learn to drive. Don’t hit any bears!”
