ESCAPE: A Stepbrother Romance (These Wicked Games Book 2) (3 page)

We pull up to an apartment building on Wilshire Boulevard.

“Would you like us to wait, sir?” the driver asks.

“No.”

“Very well.”

“I’ll keep your assistant updated,” the attorney tells Cade.

Cade nods, and we get out and head into the building.

“Nice digs,” I say, looking around the lobby as we walk through it.

“Digs?”

I shrug one shoulder.

“This way,” he says.

I follow. “You know, getting chased wasn’t fun. You owe me for this.”

We reach the elevators, and Cade presses the button. “I’m already buying you a first class ticket.”

The doors open, and we enter. I lean back against the rail, and he faces me after selecting a floor.

“To SF,” I say, looking up at him. He’s so close. I can feel his heat. I wonder if the elevator will jolt. Hope it does so he falls into me. “It’s like, thirty minutes.”

He smiles. “I didn’t realize my li—” His smile falls.

I punch him lightly. “It’s okay. Little sister? I’m your stepsister. It’s not that weird.” I see the look on his face, and wonder if I made a mistake. “I mean, I’m not saying you like me, or anything. But, I mean—”

He grabs me by the waist and kisses me, pinning me back to the wall, his crotch pressing hard into my stomach.

I’m too stunned to kiss back.

He lets go. “Fuck.” He puts a hand to his head. “I’m so fucked up. I couldn’t help myself. You looked so—” He shakes his head. “Fuck!” He turns and punches the elevator door, leaving a huge dent.

I want to reach out, touch him. Want to hold him, to be held. But that would just make things worse.

“Look, Mags, I just—”

The elevator door opens, and we both look. There’s no one there.

We watch as the door slowly shuts.

We begin ascending again.

“That’s odd.”

The tone of his voice makes me study his face. “You seem, um, concerned.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“What is it?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s nothing.”

The elevator doors open again, this time on our floor. Or rather, Amélie’s.

I follow him to her door—a location he must know well by now. He used to come here often enough before he left.

“Are you going to knock?” I look at his hand to see if maybe he hurt it, but it looks fine.

He looks me up and down. “God, it’s a good thing she thinks of you as my sister.”

He knocks on the door.

I want to ask what he means by that. Would she get jealous of me? No way, not someone who looks like her, not unless she thought—

The door opens. “Cade!” A tall girl in a silver, sequined dress and high heels squeals and practically jumps Cade, wrapping her long, thin arms around his neck.

One of her feet even lifts, like in movies.

I stand there like a dumb oompa loompa extra.

Cade pushes her back, looking at me. “This is—”

She squeals again. “Maggie!” She hugs me, forcing my face into her cleavage.

I have to admit, her boobs are very soft.

I reach around and pat her back.

“So good to meet you!” She finally releases me. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Really?” I notice she has a French accent still. She moved here at fourteen, so I guess that’s not too big a surprise.

“Yes!” She pinches my cheek. “Even cuter all grown up!”

I frown. “I don’t get it.” I don’t think I ever met her in person, just listened to Cade talk about her. Often imaging he was talking about me.

“Sorry,” Cade says. “She hacked our baby photos.”

I look at him in horror. “You have my baby photos?!”

Inside, Amélie shows me to the bathroom to get cleaned up and changed.

I’m reluctant to leave the two of them alone together, but it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it.

And I’ll be glad to get out of these bloody clothes.

Not that I have anything particularly fabulous to change into: all Amélie’s clothes are too big in one direction, and too small in the other.

So she gave me a robe, which I hang on a hook on the back of the door now, as my toes nestle into the really nice, soft rug under my feet, as I breathe in the scent of lilacs, or lavender, or something flowery and nice.

I set my purse on the counter and look at myself in the mirror.

The lights in here are much softer, yellowish, and make my skin glow. I could almost convince myself I look pretty.

Well, if I ignore my ratty hair and smeared makeup. Or if I pretend I’m punk.

My phone buzzes inside my purse. I take it out, and curse when I see the shattered screen. I didn’t forget about that, but I sort of did think of it, despite Cade buying me a new phone.

I turn it on anyway. It seems to work.

The crack blocks me from seeing the message preview, so I unlock the screen.

It’s Cynthia.
Where are you? Are you alright?

“Yeah right, bitch,” I say, and turn the screen off. I want to slam it down, but that will probably just make it all-the-way broken.

I violently strip off my shirt instead and instantly regret it. “Fuck!” I cry, bending over and cupping my hands to my nose as blood fills my palms, unsure what to do, and unable to think it through with the pain radiating from my nose ringing like a klaxon in my brain.

There’s several heavy thuds, and I wonder if my heart is about to explode. Then the door flies open, slamming into my back and sending me into the counter.

“Fuck!” I cry as my ribs slam into the counter and I hear a crunch.

Then my legs slip out from under me on the nice fucking rug and I slide to the floor, cracking my head on the counter on my way down.

“Ow!” I cry, and before I can orient my hands or legs in any useful way, I feel my head hit the tile floor, and my blurry vision lets in just enough light to see Cade over me, and I wonder what he thinks of my tits.

I rock side to side, and wonder where we’re going.

Then I wake up more, and notice there are bright lights aimed at me.

I try to sit up, but can’t.

“She’s awake.”

An even brighter, more focused light appears inches from my eyeball. Someone’s hand is on my forehead, keeping the eyelid open.

“Where am I?”

“Can you tell me your name?” a man in blue asks. His hair is very black.

“Maggie.”

“The whole thing, Ma’am.”

Ma’am? Have I died and been awoken in another time. Or maybe I’ve been in a coma for years and now I’m an old woman.

“Maggie Saint Claire.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“No. I—” But then I do. “Yeah. I fell.” Crap. I direct my mind’s attention to my body. I wiggle my chest around.

“Are you uncomfortable? I can loosen the straps if they’re too tight.”

“No. Well, yes. I’m not uncomfortable. Please loosen the straps.”

Fuck. I’m still topless. I have terrible luck. At least I have a sheet over me.

“Is that normal?”

Cade. Cade’s voice. He’s here. The voice spikes my heart rate. This I know by the beeping monitor to my left. Or is that my right?

No, my left.

I wiggle the fingers on my left hand to make sure.

Yep, I was right.

I try to sit up. Black Hair pushes me down. “Please don’t try to move.”

“I’m fine.” I realize I have an oxygen mask on, and pull it off.

And want to put it back on. “Wow, there’s not a lot of oxygen in here.”

“You’ve had several concussions tonight, Ms Saint Claire. You need to let us treat you.”

I let the mask snap back on my face, and giggle.

“You need to be careful,” Black Hair tells me, “your nose might be broken.”

“Is that what that feeling is?”

A hand brushes my face. I see Cade sitting next to me. It’s his hand. “She’s bleeding again.”

“She did it to herself. Give her another hundred.”

And then my eyes close without my permission.

By the time I wake up, I’m in a hospital bed, and have a gown on. Which I’m very much grateful for.

I tentatively touch my nose. It doesn’t hurt. Am I on painkillers?

I sniff, and everything seems in place.

“Hey,” a voice says.

I look to my left and see Cade getting up from a chair.

“How do you feel?”

“Good?”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound it.”

“Good? Or sure?”

He brushes hair from my forehead. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For knocking you over.”

My mind flashes back to the incident, and I remember. “Yeah, asshole.”

“The doctors said you should be fine.” He runs the back of his hand over my cheek. “You’re young and resilient.”

I laugh.

“Well, that’s what the hundred-year-old doctor said, anyway.”

“Is he really a hundred?”

Cade shakes his head. “They want to keep you for a bit. Make sure you don’t die.”

“I can handle not dying.”

“Still want to come with me?”

“With you?”

“Home. SF.”

I nod. “More than ever.”

He leans over, kisses me. Not on the forehead, but on the lips. It’s gentle, soft, but instantly brings a heat to my face.

He stands, runs his thumb over my lip. “I’m glad. Get some rest.” He frowns. “Well, don’t fall asleep, I guess.” His frown deepens. “Or maybe you can.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” I ask quietly, oddly calm.

He runs his hand along my bare arm, and I shiver. “I have some things to set up. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

“You can’t spend the night?”

Only when he bites his lip do I realize how this must sound.

“In the chair, I mean. You know…”

“I can’t. I’ll see you soon, Mags.”

And then he’s gone.

I wake up again, not realizing I’d fallen asleep, and I’m in a wheelchair. I look around, and find Cade sitting next to me.

“Yes, it’s fine. Put it on the card.”

I look to the person he’s speaking to. A woman. A receptionist? There’s a name plate on the desk that proclaims her name to be Arlene Johnson. I look behind me, and we look to be in a hospital waiting room. Did I dream all that? Dream Cade kissed me? Have I not gotten treatment yet?

I look down at myself, see I’m wearing a sweatshirt. Wonder who put it on me. Let myself imagine it was Cade.

He sees me looking around. “You’re up,” he says, interrupting whatever the receptionist was saying.

I look at him and nod, smile weakly. “Where are we?”

“Dealing with payment.” He glances at the woman. “Trying to.”

Wasn’t a dream, then. Maybe Cade
did
put the sweatshirt on me. I feel a smile form on my lips.

“I have to be thorough,” Arlene says.

“Of course.”

“And the ambulance—”

“Charge it,” Cade groans.

Arlene’s eyes widen. “Are you sure you don’t have insurance?”

“Look,” Cade says quietly, speaking slowly. “I don’t care about the costs. Just put it all on the card I gave you.” He gestures at the card sitting on the desk between them.

“Well, there’s another charge for nine hundred fifty-two dollars and thirty-two cents.”

Cade groans. “Just charge all of it on the card.”

“But
sir
, that’s almost a thousand dollars!”

“I make that in a minute,” he mutters under his breath.

“Take all the minutes you need.”

“What?” He closes his eyes and lifts his head toward the ceiling. “No. Look, Jesus, charge the card now, or we’re leaving without paying.”

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t let you do that.” She presses her lips together and gives her head a quick shake, her eyes half-closing.

“Then charge me! For fuck’s sake what is wrong with you?”

“My,” she says, looking at me with a wry smile, “who’s the one who had her nose broken?”

“Indeed,” I agree, even though I have no clue what she’s talking about. I think I’m still high. Or maybe just sleepy.

Cade looks at me like I’ve betrayed him.

“This
is
your fault,” I tell him with a shrug.

Arlene’s face makes an O expression. “Do you need someone, dear?”

“Hm?”

“I can call someone. If you need time alone, away from your… boyfriend?”

“No. He’s my brother.”

“Oh.” She looks at Cade. “How is this your fault, then?”

“I don’t know.” Cade looks at me.

So does the woman.

Why is everyone looking at me? “The door. I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t opened the door.”

“I wouldn’t have opened the door if you hadn’t screamed.”

“And I wouldn’t have screamed if my nose wasn’t broken.”

“So you’re saying, it’s your fault.”

Arlene, arbiter of justice, licks her teeth and nods. “Mm hmm, I’mma have to agree with him. Your records say you fell at the airport.”

“To catch a plane he was on!”

She shakes her head. “Doesn’t add up. This was at LAX. If he was on a plane, how is he still here?”

I squint at her. “How do you know so much about what happened?”

She raises her eyebrows and gestures at the monitor in front of her. “It’s all here in the system sweetie, can’t no one hide from Dave.”

“Who the shit’s Dave, and why does he know about me?” I cry.

“The computer. Don’t you watch movies? Or are you one of those ditzy types?”

“It’s Hal, you idiot!” This exclamation makes my nose vibrate, and hurt.

And subsequently, bleed.

“Fuck,” I say.

Cade glances at me. “Fuck,” he says.

“Fuck,” the receptionist agrees.

“Just charge the card,” Cade says, pressing on my forehead and tilting my head back.

“Mm hmm, I’m gonna charge the card. I’ll charge it so fast you won’t if know what hit you. You’ll be like, was I in a hospital? I can’t remember, the service was so fast.”

“I doubt I’ll think that.”

“Just you wait.”

I hear keys being pressed.

We wait in the waiting room by the water fountains and bathroom. Me sitting on the stretcher, and Cade standing.

“Other people are waiting to have their bills gone over,” Arlene told us, before pointing to a stretcher and telling us to wait there.