Page 23 of Stealing His Cupcake
There’s fire in my cupcake. Right now, it’s buried under fear of me and the results of Craig’s abuse, but it’s there. Maybe I should stop promising Amy sunlight and freedom, because she might use it to have my stupid ass arrested, but I can’t help myself. Her vulnerability gets to me.
My original plan was to keep her afraid, docile, until we reached my house, where I’ll have complete control over her movement and who she interacts with, but I hadn’t expected how much I’d hate her being scared of me. Not the fear itself—I’ve seen it countless times—butherfear.
I’ve heard screams and watched tears. Some of my targets deserved it. Some…maybe not. But none of those frightened faces ever hit me like Amy’s does. I’m still half-convinced magic is involved. Maybe she’s a witch. Or maybe I’m losing it. It doesn’t matter, because Amy is mine now. If she runs, I’ll catch her. If she talks to the cops… I’ll figure it out. Kidnapping her to a private island comes to mind. And yes, I’m aware I sound completely unhinged.
Just as I’m about to check on her, Amy appears in the doorway, duffel bag in hand. She takes a tiny step back as I approach, and I hate that reflex. I force a smile. “Let me help with that.”
Her fingers linger on the strap, but she lets go. “I can carry it.”
“I’m sure you can. But let me be a gentleman.”
She snorts, then flinches like she expects to be punished. It might be a reaction to seeing me kill someone, but I don’t think it’s just that. I think that bastard Craig has something to do with how she shies away from touch. He didn’t sound like a person who responds well to being laughed at. Amy stiffens as I cup her cheek but doesn’t move away. I soften my voice. “It’s okay, Amy. Laugh at me all you want. I don’t mind.” She’s still on edge, so I change the subject. “So, packed everything? Pajamas? Toothbrush? Favorite vibrator?”
That gets me a reaction. She sputters and jerks back. “Y-you—what? No!”
I grin. “No vibrator, or no, you didn’t pack it?”
“You can’t ask me that!”
So shedoeshave a favorite. Can’t wait to watch her use it. “I just did. Do you want to pack it yourself, or should I just grab everything from your bedside drawer?”
Her mouth drops open and I can’t help but imagine how that perfect O would look wrapped around my cock. “H-how do you even know— No. I’m not doing that. You can kill me or torture me—”
“Amy.” I let a hint of warning into my voice. “I told you that I won’t hurt you. But Iwillraid that drawer if you don’t do it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Will you go, or shall I?”
She’s back to glaring at me, but it’s better than fear. “Fine, you…” She stops herself before cursing me out. I wonder what she’s thinking. Probably something that starts with “sick fuck”.
“Make sure to grab all the toys!” I call after her. “I’ll be checking.”
Her muffled harrumph makes me chuckle. She’s going to be fun to have around. It’ll be a big change from the silence of my house, but a welcome one. Amy barely talks to me and Ialreadyenjoy sparring with her. I can’t wait to see her when she’s no longer scared.
She returns holding a small, wrapped bundle, which she quickly hides in her bag. I don’t push. She’s still too skittish, her anger the only thing keeping her steady. I need to make a good impression before that wears off. Fortunately for me, her stomach growls, so I can dazzle her with my French toast. No pun intended.
She shakes her head as her eyes drift to the food I prepared. “That’s too much. We can’t eat all that.”
“Never underestimate me when it comes to food, cupcake.”
I pull out her chair and she eyes me warily, but sits down. I serve her what I’ve made, nothing fancy, and it was technicallyhergroceries, but I hope it shows I’m trying. “We can pack leftovers for the road.”
“Right. God forbid I leave perishables behind when ‘moving out’.” She doesn’t use air quotes, but I hear them.
I grin. “Exactly. Now dig in. We’ve got a long way home.”
Home.I’ve never called my place that before. My house has always been just a place where I sleep, eat, and train. Safe, sure, but neverhomey. Maybe it just needed the right person.
Amy sighs but reaches for a toast. I watch as she sniffs it, then takes a bite. A fleeting blissful expression crosses her face before she masks it. She likes it, even if she won’t admit it.
It’s stupid, but I’m proud. It’s like caveman mating rituals. Step one: find a mate. Step two: impress with food. Step three: drag her to your cave and ravish her. Now, if only my “cave” wasn’t six hundred miles away.
Chapter 15
Amy
Idon’tknowwhatto think anymore. The emotionless monster who tortured and killed Turbo is gone. In his stead, there’s a perfect gentleman who made me dinner and who hasn’t threatened me or hurt me once. I just don’t get it. At all. Does he have one of those split personality things? Or is the monster just a mask he pulls on when he goes to “work”, like a doctor pulls on a lab coat? Shuddering, I remember his detached voice as he interrogated Turbo. “I’d enjoy a bit of cutting and slicing with you.”No, that wasn’t a mask. He meant every word. But then he found out I was there and his entire personality shifted. That’s gotta be a mental disorder, right?
