Page 61 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)

Amy

Nolan, unsurprisingly, doesn’t reply, 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.”

The heart? I wasn’t aiming for the heart. I didn’t even stab him, not really. He kind of stabbed himself when he turned.

Tilting her head, Slava glances down meaningfully. Following her look, I startle to see Nolan reaching for his gun. He’s still bleeding heavily, but it looks like he’s determined to take me down with him.

“Oh. Oh!” The heart. She’s telling me to stab his heart. Oh my god! I don’t even know where a human heart is, do I? Why can’t she kill him? She’s the killer here, but all she does is just stand there, smirking. Would she really watch me die without helping me?

Of course she would. Damn these psychos!

It’s a good thing Nolan is a little woozy from the blood loss because otherwise, I’d be dead already.

Why am I just standing here like an idiot?

As I kick the gun out of range, he tries to grab my leg, but his grip is weak, his fingers leaving bright red marks on my sneakers.

Does blood come off shoes easily? I really hope it does, because this is my favorite pair.

Focus, Amy! Just kill the bastard. Wyatt needs help.

Right. Wyatt. I should get Wyatt to a hospital, but I need to make sure Nolan is dead first. One would think he’d croak from all the blood he lost, but no, the asshole is still glaring at me.

“Why don’t you just die?!” I yell at him, furious at his stubbornness.

Will I really have to kill him? I’m not sure I can.

“Fuck you, bitch.” He spits the words out, along with an alarming amount of blood.

Surely he’s about to die, isn’t he? But can I be certain of that?

What if I leave him here like this and he somehow survives and years later, when we’re all happy, he comes after us again?

I don’t want to go through this again. Getting shot hurts, and seeing Wyatt in pain hurts even more.

The knife trembles in my hand as I crouch by Nolan’s side. “The heart,” I murmur to myself. “Where’s the heart?”

“He’s wearing body armor,” Slava notes. “The blade would go through if you stabbed hard enough, but it will be easier to slice his throat.”

His throat. Okay, I know where that is, at least. It shouldn’t be too hard, should it?

“You won’t dare,” Nolan gurgles. “You’re nothing but a—”

“A fat Black chick,” I interrupt him. “Yeah. I’ve heard that one before, and you know what?

I don’t really like it when people insult me, shoot me, or when they hurt the man I love!

” With a feral scream I never thought I’d be capable of, I bring the knife down on Nolan’s throat.

The wet wheeze that comes from him will surely haunt my nightmares, as will the fountain of blood erupting from the gash.

It’s everywhere. On my hands and on my front and on my face and in my hair and the worst part is that’s in my mouth.

I feel like I’m about to vomit but my chest hurts too much for it, and also Wyatt needs help, so I don’t have time for such luxuries.

Dropping the knife, I take off the hoodie, wiping off as much of the blood as I can with it before tossing it away.

I can still taste copper in my mouth. “Disgusting. So damn disgusting.” After a struggle with the vest straps, I angrily toss the stupid thing on the floor.

“Dammit,” I groan, rubbing at my chest. “I thought these things were supposed to protect you.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

Glaring at Slava over my shoulder, I make my way toward Wyatt.

It’s just the thought of him that keeps me going now that the danger is over.

It’s funny, thinking the danger is over when there’s still one psycho in the room with me, but I honestly don’t think Slava would kill me at this point.

I have no idea what is going on in that crazy mind of hers, but it clearly doesn’t involve my death.

Hopefully not Wyatt’s, either, because there’s no way I’d be able to fight her off.

“Wyatt?”

Anxiously, my hands hover over Wyatt’s body.

He looks so badly hurt that I don’t know where to touch him, afraid of hurting him further.

His eyes are so swollen he probably can’t see anything, his hands are still tied behind his back, and there’s blood everywhere.

Oh my god, what if his injuries are too serious?

People can die from being kicked or beaten! What if he dies?!

No, I can’t think about that right now. I need to stay calm and get him to a doctor. Yes. A hospital. That’s what he needs. Not me weeping or panicking.

Cursing myself for dropping the knife, I look around to find something to cut Wyatt’s ties with, but come up empty-handed. The thought of going back to Nolan’s body just to retrieve the knife almost has me wailing in despair.

Scowling at Slava, I point at the ties. “Can you cut these?”

She scoffs. “What do I look like, a fucking fairy godmother?”

“Oh my god, can you at least pretend to be a normal person for one fucking second?!” Oh, look. I didn’t stutter on the f-word. It felt good yelling it at her, too. Probably not smart, but definitely good. “Come on. You want money? I’m sure Wyatt can pay you whatever you want. ”

“Wyatt already owes me a huge favor,” Slava remarks, but crouches next to me. One flick of a blade and Wyatt’s hands are free. I didn’t even see where she pulled the knife from.

“Thanks. Wait, why would Wyatt owe you anything? You brought him here like damned cattle to be slaughtered and you didn’t lift a finger to help me kill Nolan!”

“Ah, but I also didn’t lift a finger to stop you, so you owe me. And since you look about as useful as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking fight, I’ll be collecting from Wyatt.”

I gasp at her audacity. “That’s just— Argh! You’re a— You’re a terrible person.” Damn, why didn’t I just call her a cunt? That’s not such a difficult word to say.

Laughing, Slava pokes Wyatt’s bloodied cheek. “That I am. So is he. And, in spite of what he tried to tell me, so are you. We’re all terrible people here, cupcake . There’s no good left in the world.”

“That’s not true. Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch and actually looked, you’d see the good parts of us and not just the bad parts.

But I guess that wouldn’t go well with all that emo look you’ve got going on.

Nineties called, by the way. They want it back.

” I have no idea why I’m needling her. She could kill me in a million different ways without breaking a sweat and wouldn’t lose a second of sleep over it.

Yet, I can’t seem to find my usual polite self when talking to her.

Especially since Wyatt is obviously unconscious and I have no clue how I’m going to get him to the car.

I’m terrified by how still he is, by all the blood, and by how faint his breaths sound, but he’s breathing and I decide to focus on that.

Gritting my teeth, I apologize to the psycho bitch. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I actually think you look pretty cool. I just… I’m out of my depth here. Will you please help me get Wyatt in the car? I need to take him to the hospital.”

“How about you go fuck yourself? I just told you—”

“Yes, you did!” Okay, screw being polite.

“‘There’s no good left in the world’, blah blah blah.

Maybe there isn’t. I don’t give a damn. I’m not asking you to become a freaking Mother Teresa, for fuck’s sake!

You said Wyatt owed you a favor. Well, newsflash, bitch!

You can’t collect it if he’s dead! So shut your stupid mouth and help me pick him up. ”

Did I just yell at an insane contract killer who nearly made Nolan piss his pants?

Yes, I did. Do I regret it? Not in the slightest, especially since Slava actually does shut her stupid mouth and helps me.

Together, grunting and groaning under Wyatt’s weight, we half drag, half carry him outside, where the raging wind nearly knocks us over.

Both of Wyatt’s cars are there, and I realize I don’t have keys for either of them.

“I’ll take the red one,” Slava says, producing the SUV key from her pocket.

“Suit yourself.” I’m not happy giving her anything for showing a bit of common decency, but it’s not like I can stop her. “Nolan had the keys.”

We’re completely soaked by the time we drop Wyatt on the back seat of the SUV. He groans, but doesn’t wake up. Smoothing a patch of bloodied hair off his forehead, I gently kiss him. “You’ll be all right. I promise.”

“Yeah, he’s a tough motherfucker,” Slava agrees. Handing me Wyatt’s phone, she continues, “Bring him to this place. They’ll know not to call the police. And tell the fucker he owes me when he wakes up.”

Glancing at the screen, I see that the GPS navigation is set to a private clinic about fifty miles from here.

Fifty whole miles. I groan. I absolutely don’t want to be driving that far, but I don’t think Slava would respond well to a request that she take us there.

Somehow, I feel like that would be the last straw and I’d end up shot for the second time today.

Damn, I got shot! When did my life become so crazy?

Of course, the answer to that question is bleeding all over the backseat of the SUV. Wyatt happened to me, turning my life upside down, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it. Well, maybe not getting shot would be nice.

“Thanks,” I tell Slava because I might hate her, but I am still grateful for her help .

“Fuck you,” she replies in Slava fashion. “You should go now. All of this bullshit will be for nothing if he croaks on the way to a doctor.”

“What about, um, Nolan?” I don’t want to think about the man I killed because it’s sending me into a panic attack, but I also don’t want to go to prison. “Shouldn’t we, like, burn the place down or something?”

Slava rolls her eyes. “And have a dozen fire units here in under an hour? I’ll take care of it.

And don’t you dare thank me,” she adds angrily, making me snap my mouth shut.

“I’ll add it to Wyatt’s debt. Now, fuck off before the storm gets worse, or before I change my mind and slit your stupid throat. ”

I’m under no illusion that she’s joking, but I still can’t help but laugh because her prickly attitude is simply hilarious.

On second thought, I might also be in shock.

“You know, Slava, you’re a cunt.” Yes, I said it!

“But I still kinda like you. I think that deep down inside, you’re a good person. ”

Before I can even blink, there’s a blade in my face, the cold steel resting against my cheek. “Say that again, bitch, and I’ll fucking carve your face.” Shoving me into the car, Slava retreats, her breaths labored. “Go.”

This time, I don’t waste time with stupid remarks. Even in shock, I realize that poking this particular bear might not be the best idea. “Okay,” I whisper, a little shaken. “Thanks, anyway.”

After successfully turning the car around without hitting anything, I head away from the creepy warehouse. “Just hang in there,” I tell both Wyatt and myself. “Everything will be just fine.”