Page 62 of Stealing His Cupcake
I want to say the voice is wrong, but is it, really? I consider myself a pacifist, but the idea of Wyatt being hurt heats my blood to a boiling point. Yeah. I would absolutely shoot someone threatening my husband. In the leg, or something, not to kill them, but still.
As I watch Wyatt slip out of the bedroom, I wonder if this bloodthirstiness is new, if he has somehow infected me with it, or if it was always there, deep inside of me, and I just suppressed it because I was trying to be a good girl everyone liked. A good girl people wouldn’t abandon.
Wyatt isn’t abandoning me, I remind myself. He’s never going to abandon me, not willingly, and I better make sure no one takes him away from me either. I can start by not sitting here like a stupid practice target, right in full view of the floor-to-ceiling window.
Slipping behind the bed, I glance inside the box Wyatt left open. A second bulletproof vest is there, just like he said. Why does he keep two vests under his bed when he never has anyone over? Is it like keeping an extra toothbrush in case someone stays over, or did he add it there specifically for me? How sweet would that be? A little scary that he’d expect someone to attack us in our bedroom, but still.
Putting the vest on, I grab the gun that looks most familiar and check that it’s loaded, begrudgingly thanking Ricky Morales for all those shooting range “dates”. Who would have thought they’d actually prove useful one day?
Keeping low, I leave the bedroom, thinking about the best place to hide. The living room has one entire wall made of glass, so that’s hardly the best place, and the kitchen is connected to it. The guest room, on the other hand, only has one regular window that opens to the front of the house. I have a feeling that’s where Wyatt went and, while I intend to follow his instructions and stay inside, I want to see what’s happening.
Drawing on every action flick I’ve ever seen, I stalk over to the window, peering out without moving the curtain. At first, all I see is our driveway, bathed in near complete darkness. There’s some moonlight illuminating the scene, enough to distinguish the rough shapes of the mailbox or the trash cans, but I don’t see Wyatt or anyone else. In fact, there’s no movement and everything is eerily quiet. Except…
There! A flicker of light, like from a lighter. It comes from the bushes to the right. A single, tiny flame at first, then it spreads a little, as if the flames are licking at something larger.
An indistinct figure rises from behind the bushes, the flaming object in one hand. With a start, I realize it’s a bottle with a piece of fabric sticking out of it, fabric that’s on fire. A Molotov cocktail.
Before I can react, the figure tosses the bottle at the house. The flames flicker and almost die, only to come back with renewed intensity as the bottle shatters against the front door. There’s no explosion, though, and as far as I can see the fire doesn’t spread too far, either, the flames only licking the part of the door soaked with whatever accelerant was in the bottle. We might need a new front door but unless the stranger has a lot more of those bottles at hand, it’s unlikely the house would catch on fire.
He seems to realize this as well. I can’t see his face, hidden under a hood, but his clenched fists and tense posture scream of frustration. Instead of attempting to launch another bottle, he makes his first wise decision of the evening—he turns to leave.
Then Wyatt is there, the crack of a gunshot deafeningly loud in the night's silence. The flickering flames from the door cast more light on the scene now so I can see the stranger stumble as the bullet hits him, but he doesn’t fall. Before Wyatt can shoot again, the stranger disappears between the trees.
Paying no attention to the dying fire, Wyatt keeps scanning the treeline, the barrel of his gun steady as he moves it between the shadows. I hate that he’s just standing there so exposed, but I have to believe he knows what he’s doing. It’s not like I would be of any help out there. I might know how to fire a gun, but I doubt I’d hit anything smaller than a barn door from this distance. The only thing I’d achieve would be distracting him and possibly getting him killed.
Deciding to do something actually useful instead, I drop the gun and hurry to the utility room to grab a fire extinguisher. The air behind the front door is a little smoky, but there are no flames on this side. Either the door was specifically designed to withstand fire or the stranger had no idea what he was doing. Probably both.
Setting the fire extinguisher by the door, I move back to the guest room to see what’s going on. Wyatt is still there, now studying the spot where the stranger had been hiding. The danger must be over because he’s using hisphone as a flashlight, making himself a bright target for any shooter hiding in the woods.
Me
All clear?
It only takes a few seconds for the response to arrive.
Mr. DarkAndMysterious
STAY INSIDE!!!!!!!!
Me
Of course I will. I’m not stupid *eyeroll emoji* I put the fire extinguisher by the door. When it’s safe, you can put out the rest of the fire.
Mr. DarkAndMysterious
Good thinking. Don’t leave the house.
Rolling my eyes, I send him a thumb up before returning my attention outside. Aside from the fact that our door is still somewhat burning, everything seems quiet and peaceful, as if we hadn’t just been attacked. Is this a normal occurrence for Wyatt? He’s rattled, but perhaps that’s just because of my presence. I’m his weakness now and, according to my TV experience, it doesn’t bode well for either of us. Especially for me. The woman almost always dies in situations like this. Perhaps it’s just Hollywood sexism, but there might be a grain of truth to it.
I don’t want to die and become an inciting incident to Wyatt’s spectacular revenge arc, but what can I do? It’s not like I can learn to defend myself against someone with years of training in just a few days. I could make Wyatt teach me some basic self-defense and perhaps visit a shootingrange to improve my aim, but if push comes to shove, I’ll always lose against whoever is after him. As lame as it sounds, right now the best I can do is to just stay back and keep myself as safe as possible.
Chapter 45
Wyatt
Thefuryroaringinsideme makes it nearly impossible to think straight.
Nolan was here. Right here, near my house. The house where Amy slept. He could have fucking killed her!
