Page 58 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)

Amy

Wyatt hasn’t even been gone 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—

My phone chimes and I drop everything I’m doing to grab it.

Unknown

This is Wyatt. There was trouble and I had to ditch my phone. Can you come pick me up?

Frowning at the screen, I hesitate. My fingers itch to reply that of course I’ll come pick him up. I might have only driven a car once in my life, but if Wyatt needs me, I’ll handle it. Probably. But isn’t this exactly the kind of stupid move that gets the spouse killed or captured in the movies?

Me

How do I know this is you?

Unknown

It’s me, cupcake. I really need you right now. Please. We can watch a few episodes of Price of Passion later, but I really need a ride now.

Okay that does sound like Wyatt. Doesn’t it? Who else would know his nickname for me or what show we watch together?

Anyone who read your texts, dumbo. Ask him something you haven’t texted about!

Unknown

I’m bleeding.

“What?!” I’m in the garage before I realize what I’m doing, staring in dismay at the empty spot next to the red sports car.

Of course. Wyatt took the SUV and now I’m about to crash his beautiful…

something. I know literally nothing about car brands.

This one has a horse on the front and I bet it was insanely expensive, but if Wyatt is bleeding and needs help—

Or you’re just about to do the stupidest thing ever, the persistent voice growls at me. What if this is not Wyatt?

Torn by indecision, I chew on my lip. Is it Wyatt? Or someone else? But if someone else is texting me, doesn’t that mean Wyatt is in trouble?

I try calling his number, but the call goes straight to voicemail. Either he turned his phone off to make sure nothing distracted him or he really did have to get rid of it. Maybe he had to ditch it to avoid leaving a trail for the police. I should have asked him more about how these things work.

Since I promised not to do anything stupid both to Wyatt and to myself, I decide to make sure this is Wyatt first.

Me

I told you I’d bake something for when you get back. What was it?

Unknown

What are you talking about? Amy, I need help. Now! Stop with this bullshit.

Okay, that doesn’t sound like Wyatt at all. Or maybe he’s in pain?

Me

Tell me. Please, Wyatt.

Please, be Wyatt.

Unknown

Cupcakes, obviously. Now get your ass in that car and come pick me up. Come on, baby. I need your help.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I stare at the text, my knees growing so weak I have to lean against the wall to steady myself.

This is not Wyatt. Not because he didn’t remember about the cake I told him I’d make.

He might’ve forgotten about the cake. It’s that cursed, wretched word.

A normal word of endearment for most, but a trigger for me.

Baby . Wyatt used it once, noticed it freaked me out, and never said it again without me having to explain.

It’s what Craig used to call me, except from him, the word always carried a sarcastic edge, like I was just a joke to him.

Of course I was, I just didn’t know it then.

All I knew was it hurt a little when he used that word, but that hurt was nothing compared to the warmth of his attention. God, I was so pathetic.

Wiping at the tears, I try to focus on the present. Craig is rotting in his grave, good riddance, but Wyatt is still alive. He must be. I need to be smart if I ever want to see him again.

Me

You’re not Wyatt.

Unknown

Aren’t you a smart cunt? Well, it was worth a shot. Now, get into that fucking car or your precious Wyatt dies.

Ragged whimpers echo through the garage, and it takes me a few seconds to realize they’re coming from me.

What am I supposed to do? Handing myself over is a terrible idea, but what other options do I have?

It’s not like I can call the police or ask anyone for help.

Aside from Kayla, I don’t have a soul in the world, and I doubt Wyatt has any close friends who’d rush to rescue him.

Maybe if I knew more about how Wyatt’s world works, I could hire someone to kill Nolan, but I’ve never asked for any details.

Me

You’re just going to kill us both

Unknown

Yeah, you got me there *laughing emoji* How about this? If you don’t come, I’ll draw his death out and I’ll make sure he knows it’s your fault. He’ll go out cursing your name.

Jesus Christ. This man is completely mental. I bet he’ll torture Wyatt anyway. Maybe torture me in front of him to make him suffer more if I go. I can’t give in. I’m certain Wyatt wouldn’t want me to.

Me

No

It’s the hardest message I’ve ever sent, and I want to take it back the moment I hit send, but I don’t.

Unknown

No? Stubborn cunt. Fine. I guess I’ll have to resort to other means of convincing you.

Other means? What other means? I'm sure I’ll cave if he sends pictures or videos of Wyatt being tortured, but I can’t bring myself to block him .

“What do I do?” Whimpering, I hug myself as if that could stop me from falling apart.

I’ve never felt more alone in my life. I need Wyatt to pull me into his arms and tell me everything is going to be okay but he can’t, because he’s at the mercy of a psychopath getting tortured because I’m too scared to leave the damn house.

But if Wyatt couldn’t defeat Nolan, then what chance do I have?

Perhaps I should call the police. It’s better if Wyatt’s in prison than dead, right?

Besides, I’m sure he could bribe his way out or escape or something. I can’t let him die.

My phone beeps with an incoming message again and I have to gather all my courage to even look at the screen, breathing a relieved sigh when I see it’s a message from Geraldine. The relief is short-lived, though.

Geraldine

Your friend is lovely, Amy! Such a bright young gentleman.

Oh, no. Nolan wouldn’t threaten an old lady, would he? Oh my god, who am I kidding? Of course he would!

Unknown

Ready to do what I say, bitch? You have fifteen minutes to get here before I slit this old hag’s throat. And don’t even think about calling the police. I’ll kill you both before they even get their fat asses out of the car.

Well, that settles the question of calling the police. Good thing someone solved that dilemma for me. Hysterical laughter bubbles up my throat. Do I really need someone to tell me what to do? How useless am I?

I need to go to Nolan, that much is obvious. I would never forgive myself if Geraldine got hurt because of me. Wyatt got into this life knowing what he was in for and, in a way, so did I, but Geraldine is innocent. However, that doesn’t mean I have to just walk there like a lamb to a slaughter.

A plan hatches in my mind. A desperate plan that’s unlikely to work, but it’s better than nothing.