Page 25 of Stealing His Cupcake
Pick up the phone or I’ll come straight away.
Kayla Reynolds’ persistence is remarkable. Normally, I’d appreciate my cupcake having such a loyal friend, but Kayla’s persistence might cause problems. If she comes to Amy’s apartment and finds her missing, she’ll definitely contact the police.
I could message her, pretending to be Amy. Tell her that Amy is moving away and that she wants to put her old life behind her, including all the people in it. That she wants to be alone and not pestered by five phone calls a day. Except Kayla knows Amy better than I do. She knows that if there’s one thing my cupcakedoesn’twant, it’s being alone. Kayla would know something was wrong and would search for Amy even harder. Amywas Craig’s emergency contact. The public clearly didn’t know about her being his girlfriend, but the police did, and so did his parents. The asshole’s mother already threatened to try to pin Craig’s death on Amy. A smart detective would draw a line between a dead Craig, a missing Amy, and a missing Turbo, and start asking questions I’d much rather left unasked.
The easiest solution would be to kill Kayla, but I can’t do that. I mean, I could, easily, but I’m certain that’s something Amy would never forgive me for. She might get over me killing Turbo because he was a rapist, maybe even over me killing people she’s never met, but killing her only friend would be a step too far. Even if I made it look like an accident, she would still suspect me and never fully trust me. And, as crazy as it sounds, I want her trust more than anything. I know I’ll have to work hard to get it, but hard work has never stopped me from achieving my goals before.
For all intents and purposes, Kayla is Amy’s family, which means killing her is off limits. But how else do I make sure she doesn’t meddle with my business?
“Don’t hurt her. Please.” Amy’s voice is barely a whisper, tears once again filling her eyes as she looks at me with such desperation my heart aches to comfort her. “Please,” she repeats. “I’ll… I’ll talk to her. I won’t say anything about you,” she adds quickly. “I’ll just tell her…I don’t know. Something mean to stop her from calling again. Please. She won’t be a p-problem.” Her voice breaks on the last word.
“She wouldn’t believe you suddenly started hating her but,” I continue before Amy can say anything, “if you can get her to call you only… Hmm, let’s say once every two days? Yes. If you can arrange that and stop her from visiting, of course, then it will be fine.”
Amy bites on her lower lip, which is the sexiest and most distracting thing I’ve ever seen, then nods. “I can do that. But… What happens when she calls in two days and I don’t pick up again? Will you…” Trailing off, she wipes away a tear. “Please don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything you want.”
“If you don’t try anything stupid, you can talk to her again. I don’t have a problem with that.”
Her lips part, careful hope shining in her teary eyes. “Really? I thought…”
“Really,” I confirm, my heart soaring at the small smile brightening Amy’s expression. God, I’m so fucked. Pussy-whipped, I believe they call it. It’s ridiculous since I haven’t even touched her pussy yet, but that doesn’t make it any less true. “Rules apply,” I say, scrambling to regain at least some of my kidnapper authority. “You won’t mention me, Turbo, or anything you heard in his apartment. You will pretend you’re still at home, going about your life like you normally would. She can’t suspect anything or I will silence her.” I won’t, but dammit, I need at least some bargaining power here. I can’t lie down at Amy’s feet and tell her I’m at her mercy. “Understand?”
“Yes! Yes, absolutely. I won’t say anything, I promise. I just… Thank you. Thank you so much.” Another smile. Wider, reaching her eyes, making my pulse go haywire. I want her to smile like that every day for the rest of our lives.
Clearing my throat, I forcefully shove my pink-tinted, lovey-dovey thoughts to the back of my mind and offer Amy her phone. “Call her now.” It’s the middle of the night, but Kayla’s clearly not asleep, anyway. “Put her on speaker.”
Amy’s hand shakes a little as she takes the phone. The tips of her fingers brush against my palm, the brief contact leaving me longing for more. Soon, I promise myself. Soon, I’ll have her in a nice, big bed, all to myself, free to explore her body and finally find out what she tastes like.
The phone doesn’t even ring once before Kayla picks it. “Amy! Oh my god! Why aren’t you picking up your phone? I was so worried!”
“About what? It’s the middle of the night, Kayla. I’m sleeping.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t sleeping the last four times I tried calling you. You promised you would pick up.”
“I…” Amy hesitates, biting her lip again. I wish she would stop because it makes my cock harden, and I can’t even adjust myself properly sitting in the damn car. “I’m sorry, Kayla,” Amy continues. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Kayla sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so overbearing. It’s just…you looked so devastated I was worried that—”
“That I’d break the pinky promise?”
The pinky promise? Damn, I need to know what that's about. Perhaps instead of killing Kayla, I should just abduct her and torture her for information about Amy? Amy surely couldn’t be mad about that, could she?
“Well, yes,” Kayla says hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being annoying.”Very, I agree with her silently. “But I just wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you because I left you alone.”
Okay, maybe I wouldn’t torture Kayla too hard. She clearly loves Amy, which I respect, even if it infuriates me that a stranger knows my cupcake so much better than I do.
Taking a solidifying breath, Amy brings the phone closer to her mouth, as if imagining leaning closer to her friend. Her voice is steady, without a sign of the previous tremble as she says, “Kayla, I am not going to kill myself over Craig.”
My heart skips a beat. That’s what Kayla was worried about? Now all those desperate phone calls make sense. Scratch that torture. I should send the meddling bitch a thank-you card.
Is Amy hurting herself still something I need to worry about? Her hospital file didn’t mention any signs of self-harm, but how do I know she isn’t prone to it? Or was she just that devastated by losing Craig? It hadn’t occurred to me, because I knew what a monster he was right from the start, but she didn’t know him that way. He was manipulative, yes, but kept his abuse veiled enough to convince her he was a loving boyfriend. She cried for him, tried to go to that awful wake his awful parents—fuck, I forgot to burn down their house—held. Does she still love him?
I watch Amy intently, studying the slightest nuances in her expression, but there’s no trace of a lie as she speaks. “He was an asshole, Kayla. I know that now. I…I should have seen it earlier. You tried to tell me and I was mean to you and I’m so, so sorry.” More tears. As much as I wish to see Amy smile, I understand some tears need to be shed. I just wish she would trust me enough to let me comfort her.
There’s a sniffle from the phone, suggesting that Kayla is tearing up as well. Oh, great. A girl tear-fest in my car. Not the kind of entertainment I would imagine enjoying while we’re parked in this dark parking lot without a living soul to see us, but if that’s what my Amy needs, then I shall endure it bravely.
No longer worried that Amy will start saying something that would expose me, I relax in my seat, wishing I had my crocheting at hand but too lazy to go get it from the trunk. I finished the scarf for Amy during the long, sleepless nights as I watched her apartment window, so now I’m working on Ms. Wilkins’ blanket again. Unlike the gift for Amy, it’s a rather simple, if a much larger project. The upside is that the stitches don’t require as much attention as the pattern I designed for Amy’s scarf.
“Don’t apologize, Amy,” Kayla says through the tears. “He was manipulating you. You loved him. It tends to make people blind. Just look at me and Nick.”
