Page 15 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)

Wyatt

She’s here. Here. In front of me. In the flesh. In all her supple, voluptuous flesh. I want to wrap myself around her and never let go. Amy Hudges. My cupcake goddess.

Cross-eyed, she stares at the barrel of my gun hovering inches away from her forehead.

Does she think I’d kill her? What an absolutely ridiculous notion.

I don’t remember pulling the gun out; it was instinct.

The second I heard the noise and realized someone was watching, I leapt toward the witness, determined to swiftly deal with them.

I avoid killing innocents whenever I can, but that rule doesn’t cover people whose testimony would put me behind bars.

If they see me, they’re dead. Period. Until now, because there is no way I could ever hurt her.

Lowering the gun, I reach out to Amy’s cheek. She whimpers but doesn’t move away as I touch her, hating the leather of the glove between my fingers and her skin. Amy doesn’t vanish upon my touch. Not a hallucination, then. She’s really here. But why?

Obsessed with finally being in her presence, I don’t realize I’m smearing Turbo’s blood over her cheek until I see the red streak. It infuriates something primal inside of me. If Amy is to wear someone’s blood like war paint, it should be mine.

Trembling, she closes her eyes, two big tears rolling down her cheeks.

She doesn’t try to fight or escape, and her complete surrender is intoxicating.

Would she surrender like this in bed? Or would she kick and claw at me as she chased her pleasure?

It’s the quiet ones who tend to be the wildest in the throes of an orgasm.

Fuck, I can’t wait to find out.

A groan from the living room reminds me I still have unfinished business here. Reluctantly, I lower my hand. Stepping away from Amy feels like fighting the gravitational pull of a neutron star, but I somehow manage, placating myself with the promise of being back with her soon. Forever.

“Stay right here,” I order, my voice hoarse from all the emotions churning inside me. Unused to having strong feelings about anything, they nearly overwhelm me with their intensity. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Wide-eyed, Amy watches me return to the living room.

She doesn’t look like she’s about to run, and even if she did, she has nowhere to hide.

I’m between her and the door and I’d catch her before she could open the bedroom window.

Even if she did somehow escape, there’s nowhere for her to hide.

The only somewhat inconvenient thing she could do right now would be to start screaming for help, but somehow I know she won’t.

My little cupcake isn’t the type to scream at the top of her lungs.

For naturally polite people like her, it’s a surprisingly difficult skill to master.

I’ve been gone for a few minutes, yet Turbo has only managed to crawl halfway to the door. I’ve had people with much worse injuries get to their feet and stagger off, but this guy? Didn’t even make it off the floor. Truly pathetic. I’ll be doing both him and the world a favor by killing him.

“Please,” he whimpers as he sees me approaching. “I don’t know who killed Craig.”

I believe him. “Yeah, it’s a mystery. Truth be told, I don’t really care anymore. He’s dead, and that’s good enough for me.”

“So…yo u’ll let me go?” Hope shines in his red-rimmed eyes. The right one is just beginning to swell from the beating I gave him earlier when he insulted Amy. No one fucking insults Amy!

I laugh. It’s not a nice laugh. It’s cold and cruel and it beautifully smothers Turbo’s budding hope.

I watch it vanish, slowly being replaced by terror as he realizes he’s not making it out of here alive.

It took him long enough. I bet Amy figured it out long ago.

I’ll really be doing humanity a favor by removing this vermin from the gene pool.

“I was sent to kill the man who raped Eleanor Washington. Now, Craig is dead, but he wasn’t the only one who got his dick wet, was he?”

Turbo desperately shakes his head. “N-no! I didn’t touch her. I swear!”

“Bullshit.” I raise him by the collar and shove him back onto the plastic sheet.

He looks like he’s about to piss himself and I’m not cleaning that.

“You don’t even know which one of them she was.

And you’ve had ‘fun’ with all of them, haven’t you?

” Leaning over him, I feast on the terror in his eyes.

I’m normally much more detached during my kills, but not today.

Today, it’s personal, and not only because of Eleanor.

“I told you, Travis , lie to me again and you’ll lose more than a finger.

You’re lucky I don’t have time to make you suffer properly before you die.

I don’t normally do torture, but something tells me I’d enjoy a bit of cutting and slicing with you.

As it stands, I have a beautiful woman to attend to, so you’ll get a quick death. Any final words?”

“I—”

“Didn’t think so.” With one hand on his chin and one on his nape, I tilt his head back, then twist sharply. It takes a lot more strength and skill to snap someone’s neck than action movies make it look like, but I’ve had enough practice to master the technique.

A muffled whimper from the bedroom tells me that Amy has not only stayed put, but she’s watching too.

Good. I don’t revel in her fear like I did in Turbo’s but for now, keeping her afraid will be more useful than reassuring her she’s safe with me.

If she’s terrified, she’s less likely to do something stupid .

Her hands are covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face, and her shoulders are heaving as she sucks in sharp gasps fast enough that I’m worried she’ll hyperventilate, but she hasn’t moved from her spot, just like I told her. What a good girl.

“I’ll be right with you, cupcake,” I tell her. “Try not to pass out, okay? Lugging one body out of here will be a chore enough.”

I could just leave Turbo here but the cops would connect him to Craig and start sniffing around harder.

While I haven’t killed Craig, I have been asking around about him.

Most people I’ve talked to know to keep their mouths shut but there’s always a chance of someone talking and I prefer to stay under the radar.

Turbo’s disappearance will be suspicious but without a body, everyone will just assume he’s gone on a bender to commemorate his friend’s passing.

I have a drop off point arranged where they’ll disappear his body forever, I just need to get him there.

I also have to figure out what to do with Amy.

I still can’t believe she’s here. Come to think of it, why is she here?

In Turbo’s bedroom of all the places on this planet?

Anger surging through me, I stomp toward her, grabbing her arms when she stumbles back. Not painfully, just firmly enough to keep her steady. “Were you sleeping with him?” The words come out harsher than I intended and Amy flinches.

“W-what?”

“You’re in his bedroom.” She was here before I arrived.

Before even Turbo arrived. Was she waiting for him like a little sexy surprise?

The mere thought makes me see red, and I have to remind myself not to squeeze Amy’s arms too tightly.

Even if she was sleeping with this pig for whatever reason, I still don’t want to hurt her.

“No! I wasn’t-wasn’t sleeping with him!” Her voice is a little stronger as she says it and she even looks affronted, as if I’ve insulted her.

It soothes me a little. “I came to ask about Craig. The door, it was open, I heard music, came in, and I’m just stupid.

Stupid. Stupid.” She lets out a broken whimper.

“I’m sorry. I won’t say anything, I swear. Please, don’t kill me. ”

My heart nearly breaks as I look into her doe-like eyes. I want to wrap my arms around her and soothe her, tell her I’d never hurt her and that everything will be alright, but I can’t. Not yet.

Once I have her safely at my house, I can reassure her, but right now I need compliance.

Still, I can’t have her passing out from fright, either.

“I won’t kill you,” I say slowly, waiting for the words to truly reach her panicking mind.

She doesn’t seem to believe me but her frantic breaths slow down.

“If you do exactly what I say, everything will be alright.” Better than alright. Everything will be perfect. “Okay?”

“O-okay.” Like Turbo’s did, her eyes hold a spark of hope now. Though unlike with Turbo, I’m not looking to extinguish it.

“Good. Now, go wash your face. I might have accidentally smeared some blood on it earlier.”

She swallows roughly, losing a bit of color, but doesn’t say anything, simply nodding before disappearing in the bathroom. A good girl indeed. I think I’ll love having her around, though I still have to plan how to go about that.

As I wrap Turbo’s body in the plastic, I think about the miracle that brought her here, right into my path, just when I was determined to leave. I mean, what are the odds? It’s like the universe is telling me I can’t possibly continue my life without her.

I would have left. I truly would have, no matter how painful it would have been.

Convinced that Amy deserves someone better, I planned to take care of Turbo, get in my car, and drive away, never to return.

Even the thought had me breaking out in cold sweat like a junkie giving up his poison of choice, but I was determined to do the right thing for once.

But now? Now I can’t leave her behind, even if I wanted to. Funny how these things work out.

Noticing Turbo left some blood on the floor as he tried to crawl away, I call to Amy, “Cupcake? Would you bring a bucket of water and a scrub over here? If this pig even owns one,” I add as I look around the filthy room.

I’m honestly surprised it’s not swarming with cockroaches.

Or ants. Or giant mutated antroaches or something.

“Okay,” comes the answer, a little shaky but stronger than her previous whimpers. My girl is strong, which is a good thing because I’m about to mess with her a little to make extra sure she doesn’t cause trouble.

By the time she shows up, I have the body wrapped up and taped, ready for transport.

Getting a body out of an apartment is tricky, which is why I usually lure victims elsewhere, but Turbo’s place is on the second floor, and his bedroom window opens onto a back alley where I’ve already parked the dingy old van I purchased with cash solely for this purpose.

I’ll just drop the body behind it and swing around to pick it up.

Of course, I didn’t expect to find myself with a beautiful hostage, but I’ll make it work.

Stopping in the doorway, Amy makes a conscious effort to not look at the wrapped body, keeping her eyes downcast. She raises the bucket. “Here.”

“Wash that blood away for me, please,” I instruct her, pointing at the dark streaks on the wooden floor.

Amy pales, her deep umber skin taking on an ashen cast, but she obeys.

Seeing her swallow repeatedly, I add, “If you’re going to vomit, make sure to aim for the bucket, or you’re cleaning that up, too.

” With how messy the place is, I don’t worry about leaving some DNA behind, but I don’t intend to make it easier for the police.

Her brows twitch like she wanted to glare at me, then thinks better of it, and I’m a bastard for finding it funny. A good girl with a pinch of fire. I love it. I just need to make sure the fire is contained so that it doesn’t burn either of us.

“Oh, you should probably give me your phone, too.” I should have thought of that earlier. In my defense, I’m not used to taking hostages.

Reaching into the pocket of her deliciously tight jeans, Amy hands me an old device with a cracked screen. I make a mental note to buy her a new one. Once she’s settled into her new life, of course.

“I haven’t called anyone,” she says quietly, sounding almost surprised, like that option hasn’t even occurred to her .

“That’s a good thing, cupcake, because then I’d have to kill them and it could get messy.

” Her eyes widen and the tremble is back, but I push on.

“I will kill anyone you ask for help. Anyone. And their deaths will be on your conscience. So think before you open that beautiful mouth of yours. Now, get cleaning.” I know. I’m an asshole.

As I bring Turbo’s body to the bedroom, I notice a bag on the floor. It contains fresh groceries and a crinkled newspaper. One glance at it explains Amy’s presence here. Her ex-boyfriend’s conquests plastered across two pages. It’s no wonder she showed up here demanding answers.

When I come back to the living room, Amy is done with the cleaning and hesitantly eying the door, no doubt thinking whether she should make a run for it.

I’m relieved when she chooses not to. I would have caught her, but then I’d have to restrain her and I’d very much prefer not to do that. Outside of the bedroom, of course.

“Good job,” I praise. “Now that you’re officially an accessory to murder, I assume you’ll be eager to help me get rid of the body?”

Amy sputters. “I-I’m what? You made me do this! I didn’t want to.”

“Oh, really? Have fun proving that to the police. Who do you think they’ll believe?

” Her. Of course they would believe her, but she doesn’t know that for sure, and I’m convincing enough to erode that belief even further.

I can silence her friend or anyone else Amy tries to contact, but not an entire police department.

If she ever gets a chance to call the police, I need her to think twice about it and then decide against it.

Her glare melts away faster than snow on a warm summer day.

“They would believe me. Wouldn’t they?” By now, she probably realized I’m a rich, well connected white guy, and she’s anything but.

I won’t point out the racial dynamic at play, because it’s disgusting that such issues still persist in the 21st century, but Amy is smart enough to figure it out on her own.

“Do you want to test it?”

“I… ”

She hesitates, and that’s good enough for me. “Alright then. Let’s go collect our body.”