Page 73 of Stealing His Cupcake
The stupid drugs Slava pumped me with still make me uncoordinated, but Nolan is standing so close that it’s ridiculously easy to kick his knee. I don’t hear a snap, which is a little disappointing, but he howls, the sound music to my ears. I immediately crave more. What was I thinking giving up when this asshole still lives? Was I really going to let him walk away? I don’t even want to acknowledge what he just said, I only know that I’m never letting this happen, and if I have to chew through his fucking carotid artery with my fucking teeth to make sure he doesn’t touch Amy’s body, I will.
Since he doesn’t go down like I hoped, I kick in his direction again. He’s too far away this time, and when I try to roll closer, my numb hands squished under me like fat bladders, he kicks my stomach again. Retching with broken ribs is no fucking fun. I try to focus on the target, on the rage, but will alone won’t get me a victory here.
Through my hazy vision, I see Nolan, cursing and limping, and Slava, casually leaning against a support beam, watching the scene unfold with amildly amused expression. “Bitch.” I spit out some blood in her direction, but most of it just ends up on my chin.
She merely shrugs. “Everyone’s gotta die.”
I can’t see Amy’s body over the clutter on the floor. I hoped to see her face one more time before my inevitable death, but perhaps it’s for the best. This way, I can remember her smile instead of having an image of her lifeless eyes burned into my retinas. It’s bad enough my mind keeps replaying the look of pure shock on her face from when Nolan shot her. Why didn’t she run away? I told her to run. She promised she’d stay safe. She promised! If she’d kept that promise, she’d be alive right now. I hate myself for being angry with her, but I can’t help it. She promised she wouldn’t do anything stupid.
“Why, Amy?”
She doesn’t respond, of course. Because she’s dead. I’ll never hear her voice again. The pain is drowning out my rage, stealing my will to fight. What’s the point, anyway?
Amy
Godalmighty,thishurtsso damn much! I thought the stupid vests were supposed to protect you, but I feel like someone smashed me with a baseball bat. Everything hurts, including breathing, and the urge to cough and retch is almost as great as the temptation to cry. Somehow, I hold back both, because right now, everyone thinks I’m dead. If I start making sounds, even someone as dumb as Nolan will figure out I’m still alive, and this time, he’ll shoot my head instead of my chest, and the vest certainly won’t save me from that.
Dammit, why does it have to hurt so much?
Tasting copper on my tongue from how hard I’ve been biting the inside of my cheek to stay quiet, I reach into my pants to grab the knife strapped to my thigh. Yeah. The same one we’ve had so much fun with just a few days ago. Loose clothes have helped me conceal both the blade and the vest, though I didn’t dare to bring a gun. I should have. Nolan hadn’t even considered the chance of me being armed, and I could have used the gun to shoot the bastard. All I have now is a flimsy knife and an even flimsier plan on what to do with it. I mean, obviously I plan to put the sharp part inside Nolan, but how do I get to him without getting shot again? I’m not sure I’d survive another bullet, even if he hit my chest again.
I will have to do something soon, though, because it sounds like Nolan is about to beat Wyatt to death and I’ll be damned if I let that happen, especially after getting shot for him. Grinding my molars together, I get up on my knees, real damned proud of myself for not even whimpering because it feels like everything inside of my chest is broken. Confirming that Nolan is still distracted, I scramble onto my feet, squeezing the handle of the knife in my hand. It’s a pathetic weapon compared to Nolan’s gun but I’ll make it work. There’s no acceptable alternative.
“What a pathetic piece of shit you are!” Nolan yells at Wyatt, kicking him again. Wyatt isn’t even fighting back, and what’s with that? Shouldn’t he be keen on avenging me? He can’t be that badly injured, can he? What did that bitch do to him? The bitch, who is intently watching me, I realize as icy terror floods my veins.
Leaning against a support beam with her arms crossed in front of her chest, Slava looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world, like someone didn’t just get shot, and another person isn’t getting beaten to death a few steps away from her. I guess to her, it’s probably a normal occurrence. She smirks at me, clearly getting off on my fear.
I must make some kind of sound because Nolan pauses mid-kick and is about to turn in my direction. To my absolute astonishment, Slava stops him. “Well, this has been surprisingly entertaining,” she drawls. “But I’d very much like to get out of here and I still didn’t get paid.”
Intentionally or not, Slava captures Nolan’s attention. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he exclaims, glaring at her. “Can’t a man have a moment here to exact his fucking revenge?”
“I don’t care about your fucking revenge, man. I want my money.”
“Ugh. Fine.” Pulling out his phone, Nolan focuses on the screen and I know that this is my one and only chance. Unless Slava decides to protect Nolan, but that seems unlikely. I mean, she seems unhinged enough that it’s difficult to predict her actions, but the smirk she sends at me as I move closer is almost friendly.
My attempt at a stealthy approach is laughable, but somehow Nolan doesn’t notice me, too busy confirming Slava’s payment, probably eager to get rid of her and have privacy for his grand revenge on Wyatt. Or for having fun with my dead body. Yeah, I heard that. What the actual fuck? What is wrong with that guy?
I don’t allow myself to look at Wyatt. I know that if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from running to him and then we’d both be dead. Hearing his wheezing breaths, I know he’s still alive, and that’s all that matters at the moment.
My palm is slick with sweat but the knife’s handle still sits comfortably in it, probably made of some non-slip material. I squeeze it tighter, trying to imagine what it will feel like to sink it into Nolan’s body. Where do I even hit him to make sure he stays dead?
Wow, that’s not a question I ever thought I’d be asking.
Slava’s phone chimes. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure doing business with you,” she tells Nolan, “but you suck. May I give you one free piece of advice?”
Nolan bristles. “I don’t need fucking advice from a woman. You got your money, now get the fuck out.”
“Okay,” Slava replies with a shrug. “Suit yourself.”
Their conversation gives me the chance to cross the last few steps. Finally noticing me, Nolan whirls to face me, his eyes wide and mouth gaping open. “Wh—” He doesn’t get to say more. The knife I’m holding in frontof me slides into his stomach with sickening ease. Blood spills on my hand, the trickle turning into a spurt when I yank the knife out.
I should be horrified, and a part of me is, but a bigger part of me takes sick pleasure in the wet gurgle coming from his mouth. Suits the bastard well. Watching him collapse to his knees as he frantically tries to stop the bleeding awakens something dark inside me. “I think the advice was to never underestimate a woman.”
Chapter 52
Amy
Nolan,unsurprisingly,doesn’treply,but Slava scoffs. “I was going to say you should always search your hostages, but that works too. You missed the heart, by the way.”
