Nicky the Driver (Underboss Insurrection, #2)

by Cate C. Wells

I slide out the cupcake, peel off the piece of cardboard underneath, and set it on the counter. I do it again. And again. I open all twelve, lining them up, shoving the trash into the box, crushing the box, shoving it into the trashcan, rummaging to hide it under the folded pizza box from last night. And then I eat each one, icing first. I break the cake in half, tongue out the filling, chew, swallow, and then I eat the next. Around the fourth, I stop to pour myself a glass of water, rinsing the clump of chocolate sponge down my throat, and I keep going, strung out with the fear of getting caught, flinching at every sound, the air kicking on, the ice maker dumping ice. I’m terrified, and I’m ashamed. That’s all I feel. I eat past fullness. I eat past being able to taste it. I eat, and I hate myself. I’m the guitar solo in “Freebird.” I keep going because I started, and now I can’t stop. I don’t have brakes.

Scarily real