Page 68 of Stealing His Cupcake
As much as I hate to admit it, it’s a valid question. “I underestimated Nolan.” Massively. I’m beginning to think his botched attempt at burning down the house was just a ruse to make me think he was incompetent. And I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Jesus Christ! I’m so fucking useless. “So, he’s paying you to kill me for him?”
“Sadly, no. It’s just capture and delivery. As much as I’d love to play with your cock for a bit, I’m supposed to deliver you unharmed. Well, mostly,” she smirks. “You know how it goes.”
I do know how it goes. I also know that there’s no point in trying to bribe her or convince her to help me. Like me, Slava is proud of her impeccable record. She won’t be pushed into breaking the contract. That doesn’t mean I won’t try, though. “Look, I don’t care what happens to me.” It’s only partly true. I don’t crave death, especially not from Slava’s hands orwhatever Nolan has in store for me. However, if my death means Amy is safe, I’ll gladly take it. After how terribly I fucked this up, dying is the least I can do.
“Really?” Chuckling like the deranged cunt she is, Slava pockets my phone and pulls out a knife instead. Grabbing my hair with one hand, she presses the tip of the blade against the lower lid of my eye. A sharp pinch tells me it broke skin. “Some say that, you know? ‘I don’t care what happens to me.’ Like they’re some fucking heroes. Guess what?” She pushes on the blade. A drop of blood rolls down my cheek like a scarlet tear. “They all care what happens to them. They all cry when I start cutting. Will you cry for me too, Wyatt?”
Jesus fuck. This woman is completely nuts. “Focus, Slava.”
“Pfft. I’m focusing. I haven’t poked out your eye yet, have I?”
“No, you haven’t.” Reining in my temper, I do my best to ignore the pinch where the knife is touching my fucking eyeball and keep my voice calm. “I’m a terrible person. You are a terrible person. Nolan is a fucking bastard. We all deserve to die.”
Slava cocks her head. “So?” Her eyes maintain their distant emptiness, a warning sign that reason has left the premises and madness reigns.
We’re all a little broken on the inside. To survive in a business like this, we have to be, but Slava’s more than just a little broken. Still, she’s my best bet at saving Amy. “Nolan’s after someone close to me. Amy is… Fuck, she isn’t like us. She’s a good person and if—”
Going from zero to hundred in point six seconds, Slava shrieks, “GOOD?!” Flipping the knife, she draws it back, and just when I’m convinced she’s going to drive it into my eye socket, she slams it into the floor, nicking my ear and taking off a few strands of my hair. The knife scrapes against the concrete under the worn carpet, the sound I feel rather than hear over Slava’s shouting. “Good?! There’s no fucking good anywhere. No one is good! No man, no woman. No one. Good.” She scoffs. “Nothing in the world isgood. Nothing!”
So much for reasoning with her. That word is clearly a trigger for her, but how the fuck was I supposed to know?
Since Slava is distracted and there’s currently no blade wedged against my eyeball, I kick out, managing to get her off me. Before she can collect herself, I scramble up to my feet, which is not fucking easy with my hands tied behind my back and my rib cage hurting like a motherfucker. Returning the favor, I kick against the mad bitch’s stomach, but she rolls away. Out of time, I lunge for the bed where she piled my knives. I grab one but it slips from my numb fingers just as Slava tackles me, laughing madly. “Bad Wyatt,” she chastises playfully, still grinning like a deranged psycho. “See? No one is good. Nothing is good. There are only bad people and terrible people and everyone deserves to die.”
When I struggle to knock her off, she stabs my arm. It’s superficial, but it fucking hurts. “You’re insane! I was trying to make a deal with you.”
“Yeah, to kill the bad guys.” A tap of her blade against her mouth leaves a smear of blood on her lips. “But we’re all bad guys, don’t you see?”
“Then you should have no problem killing Nolan!”
Slipping back into that detached state, Slava purses her bloodied lips. I wear that mask when I kill as well, but that’s what it is for me. A mask. With this psycho, it’s the real deal. “It’s a little bad for business to kill paying customers, don’t you think? I’m not a knight in a fucking shining armor, Wyatt, and neither are you, so don’t pretend otherwise. Everyone dies eventually. You and your girl will just die a little sooner. Ask me if I care.”
“You’re a crazy cunt.”
She shrugs. “Aren’t we all? Come on. It’s time to get moving.”
I’m ready to fight her again the second I’m free to move. Slava might be almost as tall as me and a trained fighter, but I still have forty pounds of muscle on her. All I have to do is tackle her against a sharp edge. Knock her out or kill her, I don’t care which. A needle pinches my shoulder, telling me I won’t get the chance. “The fuck?” Within seconds, my vision blurs, the world rocking like I’ve had too much to drink. I don’t lose consciousness,but it’s nearly impossible to focus. My coordination is fried and when Slava pulls me to my feet, I stumble merely trying to take a step. An attempt to attack her ends up with me collapsing back on the bed while she giggles like crazy. “Date rape drugs?” I slur, my tongue feeling too thick for my mouth. “Seriously?”
“Well, I’m not dragging your unconscious ass across the whole parking lot, and I’m not keen on fighting you in front of witnesses. Saving you from public humiliation and all.”
“Fuck you. Why…” I shake my head to clear it. It doesn’t help. What was I going to say? “Why? I mean… Fuck, you’re such a bitch. Why did you not drug me straight away?”
Something flashes over Slava’s expression. I’m too doped up to recognize the emotion, but for a second, it makes her look almost normal. It’s gone when she smirks. “Perhaps I was hoping for a good fight. Or an intriguing conversation. Only to be disappointed on both accounts. How fucking typical. You’re a useless fucking disappointment, Wyatt.”
I am. I’m such a fucking disappointment. I set Nolan’s sights on Amy. Walked into a trap. Failed to fight off this mad bitch. What am I good for, really? Nothing, that’s what. Now Amy’s going to die and it will all be my fault. I never should have brought her here. Never should have taken her from Kansas City. If I hadn’t been so obsessed with her, would I have looked into Craig’s murder so hard? Doubtful. I wouldn’t have been in Turbo’s apartment when she was. I wouldn’t have been forced to kidnap her.
Fuck. I kidnapped her. Forced her to marry me. To have sex with me. Slava is right. I’m a terrible fucking person and I deserve to die. But Amy doesn’t. No matter what Slava says, Amy is a good person, and I need to figure out a way to save her.
I let Slava lead me to my car. If Nolan has Amy, I need to get to him. It would be better if I were going there with a gun in my hand and a potential ally on my side, but I can’t be picky. For now, getting to the location is what matters. Nolan doesn’t have Slava’s experience or skills. He’s boundto make a mistake, and I need to be ready to take advantage. I just hope I’ll get a chance before he hurts Amy.
Chapter 49
Amy
Wyatthasn’tevenbeengone two hours, and it already feels like an eternity. For a while, I distracted myself by baking the cake. It’s now cooling in the fridge, while I start on the glaze. I wanted to make a strawberry cheesecake since Wyatt has a few strawberry plants in his little garden that are just getting ripe, and what’s better than using your own produce for cooking? Then I realized I can’t go outside because some crazy asshole might murder me, which threw me right back into worrying about Wyatt.
He last texted me about a half an hour ago, saying he was going to make his move soon. Shouldn’t he be done by now? Even if he wanted to torture Nolan, surely he’d at least text to say he’s alive? Should I text him? But what if that distracts him? What if his phone beeps at the worst time, betraying his location? No, he keeps it on silent. Still, if he saw a message from me, he might think that something’s happening here when nothing could be further from the truth. A big ol’ nothing is happening here, other than my glaze mixture slowly cooling down. Too slowly. It’s not ready to pour yet, and stirring while watching the thermometer isn’t distracting me at all.
I should text him. I mean, I shouldn’t text him, but I really want to. He wouldn’t mind. Would he? Perhaps—
