BASTARD: A Stepbrother Romance (These Wicked Games Book 1) (9 page)

Nina nods. Then she sniffs, and scratches at her eye. “Go on, girl.”

I grab her, embracing her in a hug. Her arms wrap around me tight. She kisses my cheek several times rapidly. “Okay, you’re going to miss your plane.” She pushes me away, and wipes at her eyes. “Silly girl.” She shakes her head.

“Thank you. I don’t know how to thank you.” I hug her again.

“Oh, here we go,” she says.

I laugh and release her. “I’ll see you again.”

“You better not!”

“You can visit.”

She nods. “Yes, sure. I’ll visit. But first, you have to get there.” She shoos me away, wiping at her eyes with the other hand.

I reluctantly turn and get in my car, the sadness being slowly eroded away by a storm of excitement. I can’t believe I’m doing something like this. Just leaving. Up and leaving. Without telling anyone.

I’ll be out from under Cynthia’s control, her implicit threats. Her subtle—and not so subtle—insults.

For the first time in my life that I can remember, I feel like an adult, like I’m making my own destiny.

Like I’m free.

My car chokes and sputters up the hill out of the parking lot. On the street, I try not to crash while opening the GPS app on my phone and entering LAX as the destination.

“Turn left at the next intersection,” it instructs immediately after I hit enter.

“Crap.” I swerve to the left and hear screeching tires followed by a horn.

I glance in my mirror. “Sorry.” Then I turn left, my own tires squealing and my phone almost wrenching itself from my hand.

I continue following my computer overlord’s directions for several minutes.

As I’m approaching an intersection, the light turns yellow and I automatically floor it.

And slam my face into the steering wheel.

“Fuck!” I cry, rubbing my neck. I quickly look behind me. Luckily everyone else is less of an asshole than I am and hadn’t been speeding to make it through the yellow, and so are now stopped patiently behind me. They must think I’m some kind of idiot of speeding up and then stopping so quickly. Except I’m not the idiot, my car is.

I punch the steering wheel of my now dead car, wishing it could feel it.

I put it into park, and crank the key. It tries to turn over. It really does.

But it fails.

I punch the wheel again. I sniff, and rub my nose to see if it’s bleeding, then look in the mirror. No blood. Which is good. Once I start bleeding, I take a long time to stop.

“Proceed straight for the next five hundred yards,” my overlord commands.

“Fuck you,” I say, and close the app. I stare at the screen. Who can I call?

I go to my texts, read Cade’s last one to me.

I put the phone to my ear as it begins ringing, trying to think of what I’ll say. Hey, Cade, yeah, my car died. Can you pick me up?

Actually, that doesn’t sound that crazy.

A horn honks, startling me. I glance back, then ahead. The light’s green.

Cars start pulling around me, and I realize that this could have really sucked if I’d made it into the intersection.

Of course, it would—

“The Google Voice subscriber you have called is not—”

“Dammit.” I hang up. Where the hell is he?

I start to compose a text to the growing symphony of honking horns.

Then my phone rings, and I quickly put it to my ear. “Cade! You—”

“Maggie?”

“Who’s this?” I look at my phone. An 805 number I don’t recognize. I put it back to my ear. “Hello?”

“Maggie, what are you doing? Why you answer phone while driving?”

“Nina?” I look behind me as yet another person refuses to go around. “About that…”

By the time Nina gets here, possibly the last chivalrous men in LA have helped me push my car to the side of the road.

Which is to say I sat in the passenger seat while one of the guys fought with my steering wheel over which direction the car should go in as his friends pushed.

Now, I stand mostly safely by the side of the road, next to the trunk of my car. I wave at Nina, who squints at me. “Who’s that?” I ask when she gets closer, pointing at the car she got out of.

“Your ride.”

“My ride?”

“Uber. Like taxi, but faster.”

“What about you?”

She holds out her hand. “Give me keys.”

I frown, but hand them over.

“I wait with car for tow truck.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Stop being silly. Don’t worry, I take good care of this beauty.” She slaps the trunk.”

I laugh. “What will you do with it?”

“You let me worry about that. You need to hurry. What time does your flight leave?”

I look at my phone. “Oh shit. I’m not gonna make it.”

“Go now and you will!” She tsks. “Hurry. Go go.”

I laugh and put up my hands. “Okay, I’m going. Can I at least get my purse?”

She grunts. “If you must.”

After grabbing it, I stare at her. “God, Nina, thank you so much.” I hug her.

“Oh, here we go again.”

I pull away laughing. “I’m going. Thank you.”

“Yes yes, hurry.”

I run and jump into the front seat of the car.

There’s a guy in his twenties in the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a suit. Was I supposed to sit in the back?

Oh well.

“Hi. Your car smells nice.”

“Thanks. It’s—”

“Let’s go!”

“Whoa turbo. Whatever you say.”

I’m slammed back into my seat as we peel out.

“Faster than it looks,” I get out through gritted teeth as I fumble to get my seatbelt on.

“I know.”

We get to the airport much quicker than I would have expected, and much quicker than Ryan’s—the driver, which he told me in between high-speed maneuvering on the freeway—overlord predicted.

I jump out of the car when we pull up at the loading zone that’s beginning to look very familiar, then stop and lean in. “Wait, am I supposed to tip? Because I—”

He holds up his hand. “No tip required.”

“Okay, thanks.” I feel the sudden urge to grab his cheeks and kiss him on the lips, but I resist this. He must already think I’m crazy enough, and now is not the time to get carried off to a psych ward.

I’ve got a plane to catch.

I slam the door and run for the terminal.

“Hey. Hooters!”

I stop in my tracks, slowly turn. What now.

He’s leaning over in his seat, looking out at me through the rolled-down passenger window. “Sorry, I don’t know your name. You forgot this.” He holds up my purse.

“Shit. Thanks.”

I run back, grab it, say thanks again, then run into the terminal.

I want to see what time it is, but don’t dare look at my phone.

Which is moot as soon as I’m inside, because there are clocks everywhere.

But for once, they’re all delivering good news: I still have time.

I look at the counters, and try to remember which airline the ticket—

Virgin, there.

How could I forget a name like that?

I rush to the line, which has two other people.

One is a man, who appears to be arguing loudly with the woman at the ticket counter, but as I get closer I find he’s just talking really loud, and in an annoyed tone. His words are things like, “Yes,” and “Thank you.” Which is weird, but I don’t care, because he gets his pass and is on his way.

I glance up at one of the arrival/departure screens. Seventeen minutes till it leaves.

Next up is a woman with something like ten bags all strapped to one another.

She sighs heavily as she reaches the counter with her burden. “Hi. Can you weigh my bag?”

The attendant—I’m close enough now to see the name Emily pinned above her left breast—smiles. “Sure.” She stretches her neck to peer over the counter at the bags. “Just give me the one you want to bring aboard.”

The bag lady looks down at her luggage, then back at Emily. “It’s just one bag.”

After a dispute—which for much of its duration seemed destined to come to blows—it’s my turn, a surprisingly long fifteen minutes later, and I try to smile and be nice. I may have to deal with crap as a waitress, but compared to Emily here, I have it easy. I’ll either make it or I won’t. Being mean to her won’t help things.

“Hi Emily,” I say.

She smiles at me, and it seems
slightly
less forced than the examples I’ve seen previously from her. “How can I help you?”

“I have a ticket waiting?” I hand her my ID, which I helpfully already have out.

Still smiling, she takes it.

“Oh, Ms Saint Claire, of course. I have it right here for you.” She opens a drawer on her left, and pulls something from it. She hands me the ticket. “Here you go. You’re all set.”

“I’m not too late?” I ask with relief.

She chuckles. “You’re just in time. It’s a bit late. Lucky number seven.”

I must look confused.

“Flight seven-seven.”

“Oh.” I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“But you do need to hurry, it’s boarding now.”

“Thank you!” I say.

“Is that all the luggage you have?” She points at my purse.

“Yeah. I don’t need it weighed.”

She laughs. “You shouldn’t have any problem getting it on board.”

I dash off, then stop, looking at my ticket. I call back, “Which way?”

She points and gives me brief directions, and I
run
.

Security is super easy to get through, even though the woman gives me a strange look that lasts the entire time I’m going through the business of being proven innocent of carrying a bomb. “This it?” she asks, holding up my purse.

I nod. “All my stuff’s checked.” Then I wonder why I lied. Then I worry about my lie.

“Mm hmm,” she says. She continues staring at me.

Sweat pricks my forehead.

She stares some more. Then shakes her head. “All right, go on.” She hands me my purse and phone. “You’re gonna miss the flight. It just had last call.”

“What? Oh no.”

“Don’t worry shorty, just run, you’ll make it.” She cackles; I run.

“Last call for flight number seven-seven,” I hear over the loudspeaker, a split second after I see a man say it into a phone at the desk in the terminal ahead of me. Lying bitch, I think.

Still, my heart soars. I made it. I fucking made it. Fuck you world, I—

I trip.

My nose slams into the floor, and I hear an unpleasant sound.

Luckily I’m too unconscious to feel any pain.

“Miss? Miss?”

Someone is sitting me up.

Then they’re trying to kill me, or kidnap me. A chloroformed rag goes to my nose.

I flail.

“Calm down, you’re making it worse.”

I open my eyes and focus on the man who’s trying to kidnap me.

I frown when I see it’s a woman. I frown deeper when I see a badge. Maybe he’s—she’s—arresting me. But for what?

I wasn’t trying to smuggle anything. Maybe my lack of lug—

“Shit!” I cry, pushing him—her—away. “My flight!”

“Miss, you need to come with me. Your mo—your parents are distraught.”

I look around wildly, getting to my feet. I spot a pool of blood on the floor, but my brain disregards it, since it couldn’t possibly be relevant. Or mine.

There. The attendant is still there. Thank God. I wasn’t out long.

I run. I hear badge-woman calling after me, but I ignore her. I realize my arms are empty, but don’t give a single shit.

I reach the man before he can go anywhere. “You have to let me on that plane!”

He already was watching me approach, and now his eyes rise up to meet mine. Then he flinches. “What happened to you?”

I point at the door. “Plane. Now.”

“I’m sorry, I—”

“No!” I interrupt. “I’m getting on that plane. If you don’t open that door, I will.”

“I hope you can run fast then.”

“What?”

He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “That’s it there.”

I look out the huge pane windows, and see a plane taxiing to the runway.

“No, that can’t be it.”

He points to the screen above and behind him.

I look. Number 77 stares at me. Taunting me.

Seven, more like 13. Or zero.

I stare at it, and wonder if Cade is looking out his window even now. He’s leaving me again, but this time, it’s my fault. “I have to get on it,” I say quietly, deflating.

“I’m sorry. They’ll be another one in the morning.” He glances at his computer. “It’s only about six hours. You can catch that.”

I look over my shoulder, and see the cop approaching, not bothering to run, holding my purse in one hand. She must have known all along. Known I couldn’t make it, known there was no reason to rush. Known that she had me. That I was caught.

That I was trapped.

“I don’t think I can.”

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Sneak Peek of
Her Two Stepbrothers

“I don’t want to,” I say, looking at the barely-there outfit.

“Come on, Sis, do it for us,” Caleb says, wearing an identical expression as Lucas. Literally identical, seeing as how they’re twins.

“It’s just for a few hours,” Lucas puts in.

I look at my stepbrothers, then down to the dress. “Are you fucking kidding?”

“You shouldn’t swear,” Caleb says with a grin.

I grunt. “No way, it’s too small! So embarrassing.” I pick it up from the table and hold it in front of me.
 
“Oh my God! It’s see through?”

“No, it just lets light pass. Once you put it on, it will be opaque.”

“Opaque?” Caleb asks.

Lucas looks at his brother. “How do you keep forgetting this? That’s the one that doesn’t—”

“Right.” Caleb nods.

I watch as a grin spreads across his face. Fuck, he’s handsome. I return my attention to the dress. “I don’t know.” I rub the material between my fingers. “Why’s it so thin? You’ll be able to see my bra.”

My stepbrothers exchange a glance.