Page 36 of Stealing His Cupcake
Chapter 25
Amy
Forasecondthere,I thought Lucifer would flat-out murder that trucker simply for looking at me, and…I should have been scared. Just the thought of such senseless murder was terrifying. Abhorrent. And it scared me, yes, but it also made me wet, and if that’s not a reaction that should make me question my sanity, then I don’t know what would. Getting aroused because a guy I’m with—unwillingly—is about to kill someone for looking at my boobs? That’s wrong. Far on the wrong side of wrong. Yet…
An evil part of me I didn’t even know I possessed urged me to let it happen, reminding me how empowering it felt when Lucifer pulverized Turbo for insulting me, but thankfully that part was easy to silence. After all, the man didn’t do anything wrong. He just looked at my boobs, which isn’t exactly a crime. They’re kind of hard to miss, one of the few perks of being a big girl.
I was a little worried Lucifer might lock me in the car to go after the trucker. When he gets into the driver’s seat and fiddles with the navigation, I secretly let out a relieved sigh. I’m under no impression that I have thepower to make him stop killing people, but I’ll be damned if I let him kill people on my behalf. That’s not something I want on my conscience.
The silence between us is a little strained now, with neither of us knowing how to fill it. As I’m trying to come up with a neutral conversation topic, my mind finally registers the destination he set. “Minnesota?” We covered some distance yesterday, but the navigation still shows over 500 miles remaining. An almost eight-hour-drive. Wow. He wasn’t kidding when he talked about a road trip.
The town we’re headed to rings no bells, and Lucifer’s less than helpful when I ask him about it.
“We’re just stopping there for an appointment,” he replies, smiling cryptically.
“Uh-huh.” I don’t press because he clearly wants to keep this “special occasion” a surprise. I keep hoping it’s a good surprise and not one that would end with me in literal pieces. “Why not take a plane?” At his “duh” cocked brow in my direction, I explain, “Yes, obviously you wouldn’t take a plane with a hostage in tow. But you came down by a car too. Surely, a plane from Minneapolis to Kansas City would be faster?” I’ve never flown a plane but I imagine it would be much faster and more comfortable than ten hours of driving.
He seems to shudder but suppresses it so fast I’m doubting it was real. Perhaps he’s just feeling cold. “When you travel by a plane, there’s an easy paper trail to follow, proof you’ve been to a place at a given time,” Lucifer explains. “It’s also quite difficult to bring a substantial stash of weapons along, let alone some of the less than legal equipment I sometimes use.”
“Right. That makes sense.” I should have figured that out. He probably has a ton of guns on him and maybe some cool spy gadgets like they have in the movies. “Still, it must suck to drive for days straight.” Kansas City isn’t even that far from Minneapolis. What if he has targets in San Francisco? Surely he doesn’t drive then. Perhaps he’s just a local hitman, like he has his precinct while other hitmen—hitpeople? Are there female hitmen?—manage other parts of the country.
He shrugs. “I like driving.” Then he mutters something under his breath I don’t quite catch. Something about flying coffins? I smile at the thought of my scary killer being afraid of flying. I really want to know if it’s true, but I also kind of value my life, so I stay quiet.
Relieved that we’re back to somewhat casual conversation, I probe, “So, what’s this special occasion about? Can you at least give me some hints?”
“Nope.” He pops the P playfully, the last traces of the dark rage from the shop dispelled. It might seem that his moods change at the drop of a hat, but I think I’m starting to get a read on him.
“Come on. Just a little hint. Will there be other people?”
His sigh is almost a growl but it doesn’t scare me off. I stare him down and eventually, I get an uttered, “Yes.”
Okay, so it’s something in the city and involves other people. That could be…pretty much anything. After this morning’s misunderstanding and the possessive show at the gas station, at least I’m certain we’re not headed for a gangbang with me as the guest of honor. It still doesn’t rule out a ritual sacrifice. Or a theater visit. Dammit, I’ll die of curiosity before the day is over, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to pry much more information from Lucifer. There’s one thing I do need to know, though. “Are the other people…like you?” I ask, hesitating to say it aloud.
Lucifer has no such qualms. “Are they killers? No, cupcake, they’re not. They’re worse.” Before I can start freaking out and imagining torturers and cannibals, Lucifer grins. “They’re government employees.”
“What?!” I smack his shoulder, lightly because I don’t want him to swerve us into another car. “You’re making fun of me. Tell me where we’re actually going.”
Another popped, “Nope,” is all I get.
“Fine,” I grumble. “Keep your secrets.” I consider extorting the information from him by touching his cock but that’s a little too daring for me. Also, it seems like a game that could get out of hand really fast. “You never told me why you’re calling me that,” I inquire instead. “Cupcake.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s just unusual, and I was wondering if there’s a deeper meaning.” Hopefully, it’s nothing mean.
He smiles. “There is. When I saw your photos on Kayla’s social media, the ones with you baking all kinds of things, it was…well, I was interested before, but then it became an obsession. And once I tasted your cupcakes, well…” He shrugs.
“You tasted my—how?” I haven’t baked since Craig's death. Except for the— “The ones I made for the wake? You’ve been following me.” It’s not a question. I know he was. That feeling of eyes on me hasn’t been just a feeling after all.
“Yes.” He doesn’t sound even mildly apologetic about it. “I considered staying behind and killing the bastard’s parents for how they treated you, but you looked like you needed watching over.”
I walked across half the city in a daze. Crying. Had Lucifer been following me because he was worried something would happen to me? That’s sweet. Creepy but sweet. “But those cupcakes were ruined. I dropped them when—”
“His death is your fault, you conniving little bitch.”
I shake my head as if the motion could dislodge the ugly memory. “They were covered in dirt. That’s why I left them by a dumpster.”
“The gravel was a little crunchy,” Lucifer agrees easily and I can’t even tell if he’s joking or not. Probably not. “But it was still the most delicious thing to ever grace my taste buds, until I tasted your pussy, of course. I haven’t stopped thinking about them since.”
