BASTARD: A Stepbrother Romance (These Wicked Games Book 1) (5 page)

“Sorry sir, I thought you’d want to be warned.”

“Warned?”

“The police are here. They’re waiting for you in the lobby. They wanted to go up into your room, but I said that wouldn’t be possible.”

Cade nods. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Martin leaves us, and Cade pulls the rest of the way in and turns off the SUV.

“Do you think your mom called?” I look out the windshield, at the concrete wall in front of us. “But I’m an adult. She can’t do that.”

I see Cade shake his head from the corner of my eye.

“No.”

“My dad wouldn’t…” Or would he?

“That’s too fast. It took us maybe twenty minutes. Besides, they wouldn’t know where I’m staying. Paparazzi follow me sometimes, but I’d know if there was anything about this trip on the internet.”

“Then why don’t you seem more surprised?”

Cade pulls the keycard from his pocket. “Here. I want you to go up to the room. There’s a service elevator.” He points out the back window and to the left. “Over there. The card will open it.”

“You want me to hide in the walls? Are you fucking kidding?”

He frowns at me. “The walls?” He shakes his head. “Our room. You can get to it. Just take the service elevator all the way up.” He motions for me to take the card.

Reluctantly, I do. “Fine. Why can’t I just take the normal elevator?”

“There’s a camera. And it’s not likely, but they might see it coming up from the parking garage and stop it. I don’t want to take chances.” He touches my knee. “This won’t take long. Leave your bag here.” Then he takes out his phone and begins poking at it.

“Are you texting?”

“Yes.”

“At a time like this?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“My lawyers.” He looks up at me. “Go in the bedroom upstairs. Keep the door shut. Don’t come out unless I tell you to.”

“Okay,” I say uncertainly.

“Go on.”

I look at the card in my hand, twist to look out the window at the service elevator, then look at Cade. He’s too engrossed in his conversation with his “lawyers”. Plural.

I sigh and get out. Why can’t anything be easy?

I feel like I’m in a horror movie, or a thriller, as I go to the old elevator and pull open the iron gates—one sliding up, the other to the side—after swiping Cade’s key.

For some reason, it reminds me of
The NeverEnding Story
, when the kid is in the library, and finds the key behind the broken light switch.

The buttons are clear enough, so I press the top one. Nothing happens. I swipe the key, and try again.

The button lights up now, but still, nothing happens.

I look at the gate. The inner one’s closed. I look up.

I sigh.

I pull open the inner gate, then jump up in the air, trying to grab the other one. Damn being short.

I have to resort to climbing on the inner gate, then leaping.

I miss and fall.

Amazingly, nothing breaks. Though plenty jiggles. It’s about the only time in my life I’m glad my tits aren’t bigger.

I try again, going slower, and manage to get my hand wrapped around the handle. Why the heck isn’t there a rope? That’s got to be a violation of
some
accessibility law.

The door starts moving down, but then my bodyweight catches up with my grip, and I lose it, falling again.

My poor ass and wrists. Good thing I don’t keep my phone in my back pocket.

I sit there on the surprisingly clean floor as the elevator ascends.

It moves
really
slowly.

Finally, it stops, and I grudgingly stand and pull open the gate—the outer one, since the inner one’s not even shut; because that’s safe. There’s no way I’m shutting it again. Hopefully no one else has to use it anytime soon.

I’m in a darkish hallway, with lots of metal doors.

Crap, did he tell me how to get there?

I pull out my phone to text him, and realize I don’t have his number.

I briefly open Google Maps, like that will help me here, then sigh and put my phone back in my pocket.

I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.

I walk up and down the hallway, trying doors. On my third sweep, I notice some of them have slots for keycards.

So I make another sweep, this time trying the card Cade gave me.

It opens the door closest to the elevator.

I try not to sigh, but am unsuccessful. I push it open, and step inside.

The door shuts, and I find myself in a closet. I fumble around in the near-dark until I get to another door. I open it, and find myself in a bedroom in what I assume must be Cade’s penthouse suite.

What a weird place to put a door.

Though, maybe not. Lots of famous people probably stay here, and it
is
LA, so they need ways to sneak in and out.

I feel like that Russian president from
House of Cards.
Then I wonder if they have Netflix here.

Leaving the bedroom I discover I’m on the second floor of the penthouse.

I stare out over the indoor balcony for a moment, the bedroom at my back, admiring the view through the huge windows. The very same that gave me a case of vertigo earlier.

After a minute, I go downstairs and make myself comfortable.

Turns out they
do
have Netflix, and lots of other stuff like PlayStations and Xboxes.

My stomach rumbles and urges me to go check what’s in the kitchen. Ooh! Or I could order room service.

My god, is this how rich people live? No wonder they’re crazy. People aren’t made to be this freaking giddy.

I find mostly drinks in the fridge, and cereal and spices in the cabinets. There
is
a plate of a variety of cheeses and meats—and some things I can’t identify—on the counter.

I grab a few bits of cheese, then see the menu I was looking at earlier.

I take it and the cheese back to the couch, and browse the menu while on the TV Frank Underwood schemes to push through America Works.

There’s a knock at the door a few minutes later. That was quick, I think, and my stomach growls again in a way that says it wasn’t nearly quick enough. I pause the show and get up to answer.

When I open the door, I find a woman who looks like she works here. She’s very pretty. She also doesn’t seem to have any food with her, which makes my opinion of her drop.

“Hi,” I say.

She looks back at the elevator, then at me and leans in. “Your brother sent me. To make sure you were upstairs. Stay in the bedroom.”

The police, I think. Shit. I totally forgot about locking myself in the bedroom like Cade told me to. I nod. “Okay.”

She nods too, looking a bit disappointed. Was she expecting a fight?

“Right,” she says, and turns away.

I begin shutting the door.

“Oh!”

I jump and stop shutting the door. I open it, and look expectantly at her.

“Your phone.”

“What about it?”

“He wants it.”

“My phone?”

She shakes her head. “No! The number. He says he won’t call on the room phone.” She shrugs. “I think he’s paranoid.”

I give it to her. “Will you remember that?”

She just rolls her eyes at me. She steps into the elevator, reaches out and presses a button.

“Oh, hey,” I call. “What about my room service?”

The doors begin to close. “Not my department.” They shut on her—what seems to me at least—smug face.

I stand there for a moment. Dammit, I’m starving. This isn’t fair.

I shut the door and chain it, then reconsider and leave it unlocked.

I grab the last of my cheese, shove it in my mouth, and head upstairs.

I collapse on the bed, and try not to cry. Why can’t things just go well for me?

I wallow in pity for another minute or so, then grunt and sit up. I spot the TV mounted on the wall, and look around for a remote.

Yay, what do you know, Netflix up here too.

I get a sinking feeling as I select House of Cards. Did I leave the TV on downstairs? Would that be suspicious?

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. It’s a hotel, people don’t have to pay the electricity. They probably leave things on all the time. Besides, he’s—if Forbes is to be believed—a billionaire; they don’t worry about those kinds of things.

Except Cade’s invested majorly into alternative energy.

Whatever, they won’t know that.

The show magically picks up from where I paused it downstairs, and I watch, trying not to think about all the bad things that could be happening, that are already in motion at this very moment.

The episode ends, and I have no idea what happened.

Screw this. I’ll just run down and turn it off. It will be fine.

I pause the show on the credits, and get up from the bed.

I freeze. With the show no longer playing, I can hear voices from downstairs. I creep to the door and listen.

I hear Cade’s voice. He says something about an attorney. Then I hear another man’s voice, and then a woman’s. I wonder if it’s the one who came up to tell me to hole myself up in here.

I hear the voices get closer. And closer.

I jump back away from the door and frantically look around the room. The bed is high off the ground. I rush to it and get on my knees, lifting the skirt. I could totally fit.

I drop the skirt. No. I’m not hiding under a freaking bed. The bathroom. That—

There’s a knock at the door.

“Mags? It’s me. You there?”

I could make it to the bathroom. Maybe he doesn’t want me to answer.

The door opens.

Cade raises an eyebrow at me, and I quickly stand.

“Hi,” I say.

A female police officer steps out from behind Cade. “Hi, I’m Officer Johnson.”

“Hi,” I say, more suspiciously this time.

She looks at Cade. “Can you give us a minute?” she asks, taking out a notepad and pen.

“Yes. I will give you a minute. But this is a courtesy. I’ve spoken with—”

She holds up the hand with the pen in it. “Your attorney. I know, Mr Dorn. I just want to make sure she’s all right. It won’t take long. It will save us all a lot of unnecessary hassle.”

Cade nods, and leaves us.

I watch him go, and hear him descend down the steps.

“You seem to care about him.”

My head snaps to her. “What? Yeah. Of course.”

“Because he’s your brother.”

I nod.

“Your stepbrother.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

I feel my face turn red. “Just, you know, we’re family, even if not by blood.” I sit down on the bed.

She presses her lips together into a smile. “Right. And you? How are you?”

I shrug. How am I? “Fine.”

“So you’re here by your choice.”

“Of course.” Although that’s not entirely true. Events just sort of conspired to put me here.

“And you’re eighteen?”

“Nineteen. Twenty in a little over a month.”

She nods. She must have already known this. She writes something on her pad, then glances back at the open door. She sits down on the bed with me. “Honey, are you sure you’re okay? You can tell me. We’ll protect you if—”

“No,” I interrupt. “I’m fine. I swear. Really.”

She just stares at me.

I chuckle inadvertently. “I’m fine,” I repeat.

She nods. “Would you like us to take you home? That won’t be a problem.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine where I am.”

She sighs. “Well, I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but you should know your parents are worried. They don’t want to see you hurt. Or in trouble.”

“
Am
I in trouble?”

“Are you?”

Now she has me uncertain about my own innocence. Damn cops. I should watch more cop shows so I could learn their tricks and know how to deal with them. “No. I mean, not that I know of.”

“With your brother’s history, it’s—”

“What history?”

Her eyes go soft. “Oh, honey, you don’t know? He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

She purses her lips. “I really shouldn’t say anything. He
is
a public figure.”

“Tell me.”

She gets up, peaks out the door, then closes it carefully and twists the lock.

She sits back down on the bed, facing me. “Your brother ran into some trouble. He got involved with… with some bad elements.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Before she can answer, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I jump and let out a little squeak.

I’m not usually this jumpy. I’m not usually being interrogated by cops. Or confided in about some dark family secret.

I take out my phone and look at it.

It’s a text from Cade.
Are you okay?

Another one comes before I can respond.
You don’t have to answer any of her questions.

I see Officer Johnson leaning over, and I pull the phone closer to my chest. I quickly tap out a reply. Then I look up at her.

“You were about to tell me about my brother’s crimes.”

She smiles.

I follow the officer down the steps. Cade is standing in the kitchen, typing furiously on his phone.

He gives me a withering glare when he sees me. I make a face at him.

“So?” the male officer asks.

Johnson shakes her head. “Ms Saint Claire is here of her own volition. Looks like our job is done.”

“Sarge won’t be—” The officer begins, but then he stops himself. He has a distinct look of guilt on his face. “Thank you Mr Dorn,” he says to Cade. “We should be going.”

Cade looks up. “Yes, you should. I’ll show you out.”

The male officer—Rosenthal, I read from his nametag—tilts his head to look at Cade’s phone. “Is that a ticket?” He gets closer to look at it.

Cade turns the phone’s screen off.

“Leaving town?”

“Is that a problem?”

Rosenthal shakes his head. “No, no problem.”

“I’ll show you out.”

“We can find our way,” Johnson says.

Cade ignores this and heads to the door, not stopping to see if they’re following him.

They stand there for a second, then shake their heads and move toward the door. So do I.

“Thanks for your time,” Johnson says while Rosenthal gets in the elevator.