Page 68 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)

Wyatt

The terrible hangover assaulting me the moment I open my eyes only reinforces the theory that I’ve died and gone to hell.

“Fuck,” I groan as I realize I don’t have any painkillers at hand.

I consider beating the headache with more alcohol, but my stomach roils violently at the thought.

Damn. Since I rarely drink, I clearly have no tolerance. That will have to change.

Dragging my sorry ass out of bed, I spend a minute debating between going to the bathroom to vomit or braving the outside world to get some ibuprofen.

Eventually, the thought of getting rid of the monstrous headache wins, and I head to the nearby gas station.

After all, I can vomit outside just as well as in the bathroom.

Two birds, one stone, that kind of shit.

The gas station store is dreadfully stocked, but they have some basic pain meds.

Grabbing two boxes, I carry them to the counter and throw a fifty-dollar bill at the cashier before he can even ring the purchase.

Glowering, he holds the bill up to the light, then swipes it under a UV scanner.

Still not entirely convinced, he studies the markings on the bill for a long time.

Long enough to piss me off. “It’s not fake, dude.

Just give me the fucking pills and keep the change. ”

“Seriously?”

I’m probably grossly overpaying, but I don’t give a damn. It’s just money. I can always kill someone and make more. It’s not like I have anyone who would mind my profession anymore. “Yeah. Don’t suppose you have any booze?”

“Ginger root beer,” the clerk replies, smirking.

Yeah, I might throw up after all. “No thanks. Just the pills.”

“Alright.” Hesitating, he adds, “You do know the combination is bad for your liver and shit like that, right? Pills and booze? It’s going to kill you, man.”

I scoff. “If only.” No way I’d be that lucky.

Popping a few pills on my way back to the motel room, I dry swallow them, grimacing at the bitter taste. I should have bought some water to wash them down, but whatever. Vodka will work just as well. My liver can take a hike.

Despite my sorry, inebriated state, my instincts flare up as I return to the room. There’s a duffel bag on the floor I want to say isn’t mine, except it is, though I didn’t bring it here. Something’s hanging out from the inside. A rope?

Before I can make sense of it, something sharp pinches my shoulder and damn if I’m not having déjà vu, especially as my already not particularly sharp vision blurs further.

“What…?” I slur like an idiot, pissed at Slava.

Couldn’t she just come talk to me like a normal person? Did she have to drug me again?

Except when I turn around, more like stagger to the side, I’m not met with Slava’s pale skin and blond hair. Deep umber greets me instead and, dragging my eyes up a painfully familiar figure, I end up staring into the most beautiful brown eyes in existence.

It’s Amy .

Except, it’s also not Amy. Not the one I know, at least. This Amy has something sharp in her eyes, something I’m sure will shred me to pieces once she unleashes it.

“Hello, husband,” she greets me, sarcasm heavily lacing her words. “Miss me?”

“Terribly,” I try to say, but my tongue doesn’t cooperate so the word comes out like an undecipherable gurgle.

Smirking, Amy pushes against my chest, making me stagger backward. “Get on the bed for me, will you? You’re too heavy to haul around.”

I don’t fight her as she guides me to the bed, gratefully collapsing on it when it feels like my legs are about to give out.

As I drift into unconsciousness, I keep wondering whether she’s real.

She can’t really be here, can she? Is it possible that I’ve drunk myself into that stage where you start hallucinating?

Or perhaps that asshole at the gas station sold me the wrong kind of pills.

I should have killed him. Then again, if I get to see Amy one more time before I die, even if she’s just a hallucination, I should probably be thanking the man.

I must have articulated some of my hazy thoughts because Amy snorts. “I’m not a hallucination, Wyatt.” Her voice feels like coming from a great distance as she adds, “Though you might wish I were before I’m done with you.” Then the darkness claims me fully.

Slowly waking up, I realize two things. First, I’m naked. Second, I’m lying spread-eagle on the bed, my wrists and ankles bound to the bed corners. It would be a good start of a fun night, except I don’t remember agreeing to any of it. What do I remember, though? Getting drugged? Hallucinating Amy?

Fuck. What kind of trouble have I gotten myself into this time ?

“You’re awake. Good.” The voice sounds like Amy but it can’t be real.

She can’t be here. “I was getting worried I messed up the dosage.” Definitely Amy’s voice.

Turning my head confirms that either I’m still hallucinating or she’s really here.

While my head is still taking time to wrap itself around the current situation, my heart is already attempting to leap from my chest and embrace her.

“How?” My voice cracks, my throat dry as a desert, clicking as I swallow.

“It’s not your turn to ask questions, Wyatt,” Amy replies, her voice sharp. However, she helps me lift my head and holds a bottle of water to my mouth. Once I’ve gulped down half of it, she steps away again, scowling at me with her arms crossed over her chest.

The silence stretches uncomfortably. Tugging on the ropes, I confirm they’re well knotted.

There will be no moving for me unless Amy releases me.

While hot, the thought is also a little worrisome thanks to the anger flaring in her eyes.

Not just any anger. Murderous fury that sends chills up my bare arms and legs, reminding me just how vulnerable I am right now.

This is Amy, though, my sweet, innocent cupcake. She’d never hurt me.

“Amy…” I whisper her name like a prayer, still not entirely convinced she’s really here.

Her scowl deepens. “Oh, so you remember my name.”

“Why wouldn’t—”

“SHUT UP!” she yells. Straddling me, which has my cock waking up even as the wound on my belly twinges with pain, Amy leans to snarl in my face, her lips rolling back to reveal her teeth.

“You had a chance to talk. You had so many fucking chances to talk, Wyatt. You haven’t taken a single one of them, so now you will keep your fucking mouth shut unless I ask you a question. Understand?!”

Taken aback, I blink. Is this really my Amy? “I’m sorr—” The slap stings more than I’d expected. Sure, it’s not on par with getting punched, but it still shuts me up.

“You’re sorry? You’re SORRY?!” She slaps me again. On instinct, I yank on the ropes but they hold. I won’t be able to fight her off even if she decides to kill me. Which, as I’m only now realizing, she might just do. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt me, you lying piece of shit?!”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I say since she did actually ask me a question this time. “I was doing it for your own good. You deserve better, Amy.”

“Maybe.” Unscrewing a small bottle, she pours the contents on my chest. My eyes sting as the pungent stench of rubbing alcohol envelops us. Tossing the bottle away, Amy frowns at me. “I certainly don’t deserve to be lied to.”

Her furious mask slips, revealing the anguish underneath. Her pain calls to mine. “I never lied to you. Fuck, Amy, I lo—”

“Don’t you dare finish that word. If you fucking loved me, you never would have left me. And you lied to me since the day we met.”

My eyes widen as she pulls out a knife. The one I gave her, the one we’ve had so much fun with. Well, I doubt we’ll be having fun with it now. Or I won’t, at least.

“You told me I was yours. Forever. That you will never let me go. You forced me to marry you. You made me fall in love with you. Then you tossed me away like a filthy rag.”

“You…love me?” My mind reels, stuck on those words. How could she love me? “I kidnapped you.” My mind might be confused, but my body is not. My cock, now completely erect, jerks against Amy’s ass and I’m sure she can feel it even through her pants.

Resting the blade against my throat, right over my carotid artery, Amy shakes her head. “I was fine with the kidnapping. I accepted it. I accepted everything, Wyatt. Everything about you, about what you do, about our lives. But I won’t accept this.”

“Wh— Argh!” A scream tears from me as Amy buries the blade in the flesh below my right collarbone.

She cuts deep, leaving a gash at least three inches long.

Blood wells and I feel it trickle down my side, the alcohol she’d poured over me earlier stinging in the wound until the blood washes it away.

“Fuck,” I groan as she adds another cut near the first one .

“I brought a gag,” Amy notes absently, fully focused on slicing across the first two cuts. “And duct tape. If you can’t keep quiet, I will use one. Or both.”

Gritting my teeth, I hold back a cry. It fucking hurts, but I guess I deserve it. Fuck, who am I kidding? I definitely deserve this and worse. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” I say between pained grunts as Amy keeps carving into my chest. “I just wanted you to be safe and happy.”

“Happy?!” This time, I do cry out as she slashes deeper and the blade skirts across bone. “Happy?” Amy repeats. She still sounds furious but is more careful with the next cut. “I was happy with you, Wyatt, and you took that away from me. You left me. You fucking left me!”

Another deep slash. They’re definitely not random, but form shapes. Letters, maybe? It’s hard to tell without seeing the whole picture, but it feels like Amy is carving words into my chest. “You’re so damn hot,” I groan deliriously, my cock still very much on board despite the pain.

Amy slaps me again, her palm wet with blood. “Is that what this was about? You left because we didn’t have sex for a few weeks? You were recovering from a fucking surgery, you idiot!”

“What? No! It wasn’t about that at all!” Jesus, does she think I abandoned her because of that? “I’m just pointing out that you look incredibly sexy right now.” It’s probably not the smartest thing to say, but she doesn’t slap me this time, just goes back to cutting me.

“You’re not supposed to be enjoying this,” Amy grumbles. “I’m mad at you.”

I can tell she doesn’t really mean it, but the pain underlining the words hits me worse than her anger would.

Worse than the blade she keeps dragging over my chest. “Rightfully so. I never meant to hurt you, Amy, I swear. I just thought you’d be happier with someone…

normal. Someone who wouldn’t have to change just to fit into your world, to be worthy of you.

Someone who didn’t almost get you killed.

” The shot that nearly killed her rings in my ears once again, the surprised look on her face as it collided with her chest flashing in front of my eyes. “You almost died. ”

“It was not your fault, Wyatt, and I didn’t fucking die, so will you stop bringing it up?

And please, don’t tell me you actually want me to be with someone else?

You, who pretty much went on a rampage the second someone looked at me!

I don’t believe that for a second.” Her voice breaks, betraying the fact that she does believe it, and it lances through my heart.

“Amy…” I sigh, then gasp as she makes another cut. “Oh, fuck. Okay, yeah, I deserve that. Of course I don’t fucking want you to be with someone else. Why do you think I’ve been drinking myself unconscious? I just thought I’d do the right fucking thing for once and let you go.”

Scoffing, Amy cuts in a curved motion, almost like she’s forming the letter U.

“You’re a killer, Wyatt. Get off your fucking high horse.

It’s dead. When did I ever give you the impression that you had to change to be with me?

I don’t mind that you kill people for a living.

What I do mind is you making stupid decisions thinking you know what’s best for me.

” With a corner of a blanket, she soaks up some of the blood pooling on my chest, then picks up the knife again.

“You know, the problem with building up a girl’s self-confidence is that you get a self-confident woman.

Really, you only have yourself to blame for this. ”

“I love your confidence,” I groan. “Take off your shirt, Amy. Please.” My chest throbs and bleeds, but my cock doesn’t care, standing hard and proud and damn eager to sink into Amy’s pussy.

Not that it’s likely to happen. Actually, my beautifully terrifying cupcake seems more likely to cut my cock off than ride it.

Not even that thought is enough to kill my erection.

“Hmm.” Considering my request, Amy taps the bloodied knife against her lips and fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Fine. But I’m only saying yes because you’re tied up and don’t get to touch me.

You don’t deserve to touch me.” She takes off not only her shirt, but all of her clothes, straddling me naked, and I just know that my cock is never going down.

As it brushes against her ass, I moan, then choke on the sound as Amy digs the knife into my flesh once more. She’s nothing if not determined.

Looking down at her work, she purses her lips. “Almost done. ”

Fear lodges in my stomach like a block of ice.

What happens when she’s done? I’m not afraid she’d kill me.

I mean, as worked up as she is, she just might, but that wouldn’t really bother me.

What terrifies me is the thought of her leaving.

I don’t know what letters she’s carved into my flesh, but what if they spell “fuck you, Wyatt”?

What if she finishes and then simply leaves?

I wanted to stay away from her, but now that she’s here, I realize I can never live without her.

I won’t survive it if she leaves now and— Fuck, is that how she felt when I left her? God, I’m such an idiot!

“I’m sorry.” It’s not the pain making me whimper. “Please, don’t leave me.”