Page 59 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)

Amy

By the time I pull up at Geraldine’s house, I’m drenched in sweat and on the brink of a mental breakdown.

Wyatt’s fancy car sports long scratches and I’m pretty sure one of the taillights is shattered, but Wyatt only taught me to drive forward.

His lesson didn’t cover backing out of a garage through a too narrow door.

I guess I should be grateful this car is automatic too, because if I had to figure out how to operate the stick thing to change gears, I would have probably just ran over to Geraldine’s instead of attempting to use a car.

Wind slams into me as I exit the car, the storm slowly picking up.

Wincing, I glance at the poor vehicle. Once I reached the open road, it was easy to keep the car in a straight line, but before that…

Let’s just say we’ll have to plant a few new bushes around our driveway, aside from repairing the damage to the garage door.

Who would have thought turning the car around is so damn difficult?

Nolan and Geraldine are waiting for me in front of her door, and I breathe out a relieved sigh at seeing her unharmed.

In fact, she’s smiling, and so is Nolan.

A lanky kid with a bad complexion, he looks like the epitome of innocence.

“There she is,” he says, smiling widely.

“Right on time. I’m afraid I will have to take my leave, Mrs. Wilkins. ”

“Yes, yes.” Geraldine pats his shoulder in a friendly manner. “Tell Wyatt I said hello. Oh, and Amy? I told you about Rebecca, right? My friend’s daughter? Well, she was here yesterday, and she just loved that cake you made. She said if you want that job at the cafe, it’s yours.”

“Oh? That’s-that’s great, thank you Geraldine, but I’m not sure if I can accept that.

” Because I might be dead soon. Oh god, who am I kidding?

I’m totally going to be dead soon. It’s not a good time to be accepting job offers.

“How about I call her later?” I ask to stop Geraldine from launching into another one of her steamroller monologues about how I should just grab the opportunity and enjoy life and whatnot.

“Perfect! She’ll be so thrilled. She couldn’t find anyone reliable for the job for ages and she’s running herself ragged trying to do everything on her own.

I told her— Oh.” She chuckles. “I’m babbling again when you have places to be.

Have fun on your trip and come back to visit me soon. Both of you.”

Nolan’s smile is brilliant as he inclines his head in a nod. “I surely will.”

Like hell you will, bastard, I think to myself while focusing on maintaining my smile. “Absolutely! Bye, Geraldine.”

Nolan’s friendly facade drops the second Geraldine shuts the door behind herself. “Get in the fucking car,” he murmurs, lifting his jacket to show me a gun hidden underneath.

Looking around, I realize he must mean Wyatt’s car because there are no other vehicles parked here. How did he even get here? Did he take an Uber to the house of a woman he was about to murder?

Automatically, I head for the passenger side, but Nolan growls. “Are you dumb? You’re driving.”

God, not this again. “I can’t drive! I don’t have a license and I barely managed to get here. Just look at the car!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re such a useless bitch,” Nolan spits out. “You’re still driving. You managed to get here, so you’ll get us where we need to go. And don’t fucking try anything stupid or I’ll shove this gun up your cunt and pull the fucking trigger.”

“Okay, okay.” Damn, this guy has a short fuse. I need to be careful around him or he’ll kill me before we even get to Wyatt. “Whatever you say.”

“Damn right. Now, drive.”

Driving a car for the third time in my life is scary enough, but with a gun—a golden gun, like he’s a villain from a Bond movie—trained on me, it’s a downright horrifying experience, especially as the trees bend in the strong gusts of wind and the rain starts falling.

The few seconds before I figure out how to turn on the windshield wipers are possibly the longest seconds of my life.

Thankfully, the roads we take are mostly abandoned, though I do panic when I have to pass a truck going in the opposite direction. The road doesn’t feel wide enough for both our vehicles. Somehow, I manage not to crash the car and even stay on the road. Mostly.

After what feels like an eternity, we arrive at an abandoned industrial complex.

A former sawmill, judging by the half-peeled letters adorning the side of the main building.

In a horror movie, this would be exactly the place where the killer brings his victims to slaughter them and, well, that’s exactly what’s happening, isn’t it?

Damn, how did my life get so complicated?

A second kidnapping in under two months? It’s gotta be some kind of record.

Tears prick at my eyes when I finally stop the car near the warehouse entrance. Nolan waves his gun. “Empty your pockets.”

Obediently, I hand over my phone and the car and house keys. “I don’t have anything else,” I whisper, my voice shaking with fear. What if he searches me?

Fortunately, Nolan seems satisfied. “Good. Get out of the car.”

I’m grateful for my oversized hoodie and not just because rain pelts me the moment I exit the vehicle, or because it makes me look less attractive. I’m wearing it for another reason, as a part of my plan to get us out of this mess. The plan that feels less realistic by the second.

Nudging me with the gun, Nolan leads me inside the empty warehouse, which is just as creepy from the inside as it was from the outside.

Rust covers the few remaining shelves and the whole place smells of mold.

What scares me the most is the disgusting mattress laid out in the middle of the building.

Catching me staring at it, Nolan winks. “I figured the floor would be a little uncomfortable. For me. You don’t really get a say in it. ”

Right. Blinking away tears, I look around the abandoned building again. “Where’s Wyatt?”

“Oh, he’ll be joining us soon. Don’t worry, we’ll wait for him with the fun parts. Now,” he points to an empty space near a tall shelving unit, “sit over there like a good fucking cunt and don’t move. If you do, I’ll shoot your kneecaps. You won’t be needing them anymore, anyway.”

Trembling, I move to the indicated spot, fighting tooth and nail to hold it together.

This is good, I keep telling myself. He didn’t search me.

Didn’t tie me up. Clearly, he doesn’t consider me a threat.

He might be planning to rape me to make Wyatt suffer, but it won’t come to that.

It won’t. He doesn’t even have Wyatt yet.

My husband could still barge in here with a gun in his hand, shoot the psycho, and rescue me, and we’d drive into the damned sunset together in his slightly scratched car.

Yes. That’s exactly what’s going to happen, because I’m not dying here today.

Wyatt is not dying here today, either, and I sure as hell won’t let this asshole touch me.

He can try. He’ll quickly figure out just how much of a threat I am.

Not much, really, but my plan isn’t to defeat Nolan myself. It’s giving Wyatt a chance.

Gravel crunches in the parking lot as another car approaches. Nolan, busy fiddling with some boxes and a long piece of rope, doesn’t seem worried, so it’s unlikely that help is coming.

My hopes at a swift rescue are dashed when Wyatt stumbles into the warehouse with his hands tied behind his back.

There’s some blood on his roughed-up face, but worse, he seems disoriented.

Squinting, as if he has trouble focusing his vision, he studies the room before his eyes land on me.

Defeat, regret, pain. The emotions swirling in his blown pupils are heartbreaking.

Also, they’re frightening, because it seems like he doesn’t see a way out of this.

And if Wyatt doesn’t see a way out, then we’re truly, royally screwed.

Fucked. Now would be a good time to start cursing, wouldn’t it?

Just as I try to wordlessly assure him that everything is going to be alright, he trips over thin air.

A tall, blonde woman whom I haven’t noticed before grabs Wyatt’s arm just in time to stop him from smashing face-first into the concrete floor.

She’s scary, and not because of all the piercings and tattoos.

Those actually kind of fit her. It’s the emptiness in her eyes that scares me.

Our eyes meet for a split second as she takes in the building, but she skims over me as if I wasn’t even here.

Or, more accurately, if I was completely inconsequential.

Which, to her, I guess I am. Whoever she is.

“Huh.” Looking up from his rope, which is now tied into a hangman’s noose, Nolan sizes up the woman, his lips curling back a little. “You’re a woman. I thought Slava was a male name. Never thought there were actual women in the biz.”

My eyebrows shooting up, I gape at the idiot. Did he really just say that? To a woman who looks like she could tie him into a pretzel one-handed?

Rolling her eyes, the blondie, apparently named Slava, sneers at him. “Actually, I identify as a figment of your fragile masculinity.”

Oh, she’s good. If she weren’t the one to drag Wyatt here bleeding and probably drugged or with a serious concussion, I’d like her.

“You wanted Wyatt alive?” Slava asks, her hand still firmly grasping Wyatt’s upper arm.

Logically, I know that she’s doing it to stop him from running or possibly from falling down, but I still don’t like it one bit.

That’s my husband she’s touching! “This is Wyatt. Alive,” she continues.

“Cut the crap and pay up so I can get out of here.”

“You can’t talk to me like that! I’m a customer! ”

Slava snorts. “Oh, please. You’re a wimpy kid who hired a grown-up to do the job you were too afraid to do yourself. Not that this asshole,” she jerks on Wyatt’s arm, “posed any challenge.”

“Excuse me?!” Dropping the noose, Nolan pulls out his gun and aims it at the woman.

She’s armed as well, and while I’m sure she could kill him five times over before he even got the gun out of the holster, she makes no move to defend herself, merely watching him with a raised brow as if she couldn’t believe his stupidity.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” Nolan repeats like a whiny broken record. “You’re just a woman! I’m better than you in every way.” His hand trembles, possibly with rage, but combined with his squeaky voice, it’s making him look like he’s afraid.

Sizing him up with an icy stare that would send me running for the hills, Slava smirks. “Try it. Pull the fucking trigger, kid. Let’s see who walks out of here alive.”

Despite having a clear advantage, Nolan hesitates.

He’s either not ready to kill someone in cold blood, which I doubt, given what Wyatt told me about the “greeting card” Nolan made, or Slava’s reputation is scary enough to deter him from even trying.

Looking at how confidently she carries herself, I’d bet it’s the latter.

“Well, I just meant it’s bad form to talk to your customers like that,” Nolan says as he lowers his gun. God, he really is a wimp. “Bring him here.”

As they maneuver Wyatt to stand on a half-rotten crate, I try to figure out if I could convince Slava to help us.

She clearly doesn’t like Nolan, which is no surprise, but I doubt that’s enough to turn her against him.

How much has he paid her for capturing Wyatt?

Do we have enough money to outbid Nolan?

But wouldn’t Wyatt have tried it already?

That particular theory is confirmed when Wyatt gives Slava a pleading look. “Think about my offer.”

She shuts him down with a scoff. “Fuck you, Wyatt.”

Okay, there goes that plan. And now we’re in even deeper trouble since Nolan hooks the rope over a support beam, ties one end off, and approaches Wyatt with the noose on the other end.

Dammit! Wyatt can barely stay upright on solid ground, let alone balance on a crate with a rope around his neck.

If Nolan gets that noose on Wyatt, it’s all over, because there’s no chance in hell I could fight off one armed killer, let alone two.

Wyatt seems to realize the same, because grim determination flashes through his eyes.

Knowing he’s about to do something desperate, I spring onto my feet just as he yells, “RUN, AMY!” and throws his entire weight on Nolan.

Since Wyatt is at least fifty pounds heavier than the lanky kid, they both come crashing down on the floor in a tangle of limbs.

That’s where Wyatt’s advantage ends, though, because he’s still tied up and disoriented.

Screaming, Nolan shoves Wyatt off, blood spurting from his ear where Wyatt must have bitten him.

I should run. Wyatt did this to give me a chance.

I’m not tied up, and no one’s really paying attention to me at the moment.

I should take this chance, possibly my last chance to save my life, but I don’t.

Like every stupid character in every movie ever, I run toward the danger, because there’s no fucking chance I’m leaving Wyatt behind.

The golden gun glints in the dim light, the barrel pointing at Wyatt.

From that distance, there’s no chance Nolan would miss, and I’m far, too far to get to him in time.

Screaming Wyatt’s name, I sprint for Nolan, my steps not eating the distance far enough.

Just as I’m convinced that Nolan will kill Wyatt, he turns the gun on me and pulls the trigger.

Well, fuck.