Page 24 of Stealing His Cupcake
There isn’t anything disorderly about him now, though. Sitting across the table from me, he smiles as he chews on the toast, which is delicious, by the way. A sexy man who can cook. What a rare treasure. Of course, he’s also a deranged killer, so let’s call him a haunted treasure, like in those pirate movies with ghosts and zombies. Damn, I’m spiraling again. Focus, Amy.
Yes, focus on that tongue, my subconscious helpfully points out as Lucifer licks at his fingers. The way he winks at me as he does it tells me he knows exactly what sinful thoughts are running through my mind. Jerk.
“Why are you doing this, anyway?” I can’t help but ask, damn the no-questions resolution. He didn’t seem to mind my questions before, and I really need some answers before I go crazy.
Unhurriedly, he finishes his toast, then captures me with his intense gaze. “What exactly do you mean by ‘this’, cupcake? You gotta be more specific.”
I want to say “everything” but that would hardly be helpful, so I simply gesture to myself. “Me.” My voice lowers to a near whisper. “Why haven’t you just killed me?” I can’t believe I’m asking such a blunt question and I’m not sure I will like the answer, but I need to know.
Resting his elbows on the table, Lucifer leans forward, his eyes still keeping me captive. “I could never kill you, Amy. I told you, you are precious. I want to cherish you and give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Oh my god. How can he keep saying such things with a straight face? My inner slut fans herself, ready to jump his bones. “But…why?” I shake my head. “I’m not special. I’m not slim or pretty or anything.”
Now he frowns. Great, I’ve made him mad. I should really keep my mouth shut. “Amy,” he starts, his voice low and gravely, his eyes smoldering with emotion. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I blink, waiting for the “but”. For the barb that turns a compliment into something hurtful. Craig would follow it with, “Do you have any idea how lucky you are that someone sees you that way?”or something similar. Not that he ever told me I was beautiful.
I wait with bated breath, readying myself for the insult without even realizing what I’m doing. When Lucifer remains quiet, relief hits me like a tidal wave. The joy of receiving a compliment that doesn’t have a bitter aftertaste is immense. It drives home how unhealthy my relationship with Craig was. I’ve never been overly confident, but being with Craig turned me into a bundle of nerves, fearfully cowering every time someone talked to me, expecting them to put me down. Sometimes, I even do it with Kayla,who has never been mean to me in my entire life. Not even when I avoided her because Craig didn’t want me to be her friend. Or anyone’s, really. Damn, how could I have fallen for such a person? And, more importantly, why did it take a literal murderer being nice to me to realize all this?
Raising my eyes to him once again, I realize I’ve been quiet for too long for it to be polite. He doesn’t seem fazed, watching me with a light smile and something akin to hunger. Hunger that can’t be sated by the feast set on the table. “I’m sorry, I got a little lost in thought.”
Nodding, he diverts his attention back to food, his long, slender fingers picking up a slice of ham. “I can imagine you have a lot on your mind. Take your time going through it,” he says. He means it, too, letting me think as we finish the food. Once we’ve eaten all that we can, he raids the fridge, tossing everything that could go bad into a garbage bag, leaving the fridge nearly empty. All that’s left is a bottle of ketchup, jars of pickles and olives, and my baking extracts. Those were expensive and I hate leaving them behind, but it’s not like I’m going to need them again.
As I lock up the apartment, tears well in my eyes. This is my home, for better or worse, and leaving it is scary. Even scarier since I’m not leaving of my own volition, because gentleman or not, Lucifer is still kidnapping me. I have to remind myself of that fact, because it doesn’t really feel like I’m being kidnapped. Shouldn’t it be, I don’t know, violent? Scary? I am scared, don’t get me wrong, but I have a feeling that I’m not nearly as scared as I should be.
It’s Lucifer’s fault, I decide. He’s not acting like a proper kidnapper, confusing me with being nice to me. Why is he nice to me?
“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Truth? Lie? I used to think I was good at discerning those, at reading people, but just look at how I majorly misjudged Craig. Clearly, my judgement cannot be trusted, and if it’s telling me that I can trust my captor, it’s all the more reason to remain vigilant.
He puts my duffel bag into the trunk of his car—no bodies there, thank god—between his own bag and a tote filled with…yarn? I don’t get a good look from where I’m standing next to him like a picture-perfect obedient captive, and I don’t want to be nosy asking him about it, but it definitely looked like balls of yarn. What could he possibly need it for? Does he strangle people with it? Use it to soak up blood?
The seats in his car are comfortable, and the near darkness that surrounds us once we leave the city lights behind wraps around me like a soft blanket. Lucifer doesn’t speak and neither do I, but the silence isn’t oppressive or uncomfortable. It’s soothing, as crazy as it sounds. It allows me to let my mind wander. Back to Craig, back to everything I’ve discovered today, only this time, I’m not freaking out. I go through my thoughts methodically, sorting through them until they settle. For the first time, I allow myself to ponder my new reality.
I’m moving in with a man who thinks I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and wants to spoil me.
When put that way, it doesn’t sound so terrible. Of course, there are red flags, like Lucifer’s obvious psychotic streak and the whole killing for a living thing, but as long as he keeps being nice to me, I’ll be fine. I’ll play along, get the lay of the land, and figure out my next move from there. He could still hurt me but, and maybe that’s my naïve part talking, I don’t think he will. He’s treated me with more respect than Craig and the few boyfriends I’ve had before him ever had, and he’s a freaking murderer! It either paints a terrible picture of mankind in general, or I’m just picking assholes to date.
We drive for a couple of hours, all in silence. I glance at him a few times, trying to guess what goes through his mind, but the occasional glimpse of his profile illuminated by the lights of a passing car doesn’t reveal much. He doesn’t seem angry, at least, which helps me settle. So much so that when the car rolls to a stop at a motel parking lot, I squint around in confusion, not even noticing we left the highway. Did I really fall asleep?
It’s still dark, the clock on the car’s dashboard revealing that it’s almost 2 a.m. No wonder I’m so tired. I haven’t been sleeping well for the past week and today hasn’t exactly been a relaxing day either.
Yawning, Lucifer stretches out his arms as far out as the confines of the car allow and I’m absolutely not ogling the way his biceps stretch the fabric of his shirt. “We’re going to grab a few hours of sleep,” he says, and I shiver with trepidation. I might be naïve, but I’m not naïve enough to expect separate rooms. Will he do it tonight? Rape me? He might act polite and respectful, but his interest is clear. He’s attracted to me, and I’m not in a position to refuse.
While I’m having a mini freak-out, Lucifer pulls something from his pocket and frowns at it. I frown too when I recognize my phone. It’s silent but the screen is lit up with an incoming call. Kayla. Fear is a brick of ice in my stomach as Lucifer rejects what I’m assuming is only the most recent of many of Kayla’s calls.
“Your friend is persistent,” he notes in a neutral tone, but if there’s something I’m good at, it’s recognizing veiled anger. God knows I’ve had plenty of practice with Craig. Lucifer isn’t angry per se, but he’s aggravated, which is bad enough. His next words confirm it. “I’d hate it if she became a problem.”
A problem. I swallow the lump forming in my throat at the thought of how he deals with people he considers “a problem”. A sickening crunch. A hoarse wail. “Scream again and I’ll sever your vocal cords.”Thesnapof a spine. I can’t let him hurt Kayla, but what can I do to stop him?
Chapter 16
Wyatt
Thefourmissedcallson Amy’s phone are easy to ignore but the message has me frowning.
Kayla
