BASTARD: A Stepbrother Romance (These Wicked Games Book 1) (8 page)

“Cyn—” I begin, but she grabs my bra, and rips it off.

“Stop!” I cry.

She doesn’t. She pushes me against the counter, grabs the waistband of my sweatpants, and pulls them down.

I try to fight her off, but she slaps my face.

I stand there as she pulls them down to my ankles, then grabs my panties, pulling them up into my crotch until they rip. She keeps pulling, and they come free.

I stand there, arms over my breasts.

She slaps me again. “Drop your arms!”

I do.

She grabs one of my nipples and twists hard.

I cry out, and she grabs the other one. But she just holds it lightly between her fingers. She stares into my eyes. “You have two choices, Adult,” she says calmly, “get out of these rags and change into your uniform, and take my charity; or get out of these rags and go to your room.” She releases me, and opens the fridge. She comes out with a banana, with spots of black covering it. “Hurry up, I’m leaving soon.”

I bend down to pull my sweatpants up.

“Uh-uh,” she says.

I blink to clear my vision, and step out of them. Using her free hand, she picks them up from the floor and sets them on the table.

I strip out of my ripped bra and shirt.

“Throw those in the trash.” She tosses my panties to me. “And these.”

I nod, and walk, shivering, on legs that don’t seem like they’ll hold me, to the trash can. I dump my torn clothes in on top of used coffee grounds, and stare at them.

“Chop chop,” Cynthia says, startling me. “Being big is no excuse for being slow.”

I walk out of the kitchen, feeling like I might vomit.

“Wait.”

I stop, but don’t turn around.

“Take off your socks.”

I swallow. I can’t do it without bending over. I turn to face her, and bend down.

“I didn’t say turn around.” She makes a spinning gesture with her finger, and I turn, then bend over, removing my socks. I go back to the trash can.

“What are you doing?”

I look at her, my eyes burning. “I…”

“God.” She shakes her head. “Just go get dressed before someone sees you.”

I look down at the socks in my hand.

“Go on.”

I walk naked down the hall toward my room, socks clenched in my fist, thankful my dad isn’t home.

When I get there, I shut and lock the door, throw the socks against the wall, and collapse to my bed. She can’t do this to me.

She can’t.

I get up and search around for my phone. Cade was right. I’ll text him back. He’ll save me. Even if he does leave me again, at least I’ll be in another city, far away from her.

My search becomes frantic as it seems more and more likely that it’s not in my room.

I check under my bed, under the covers. Nothing.

When did I use it last?

Then I remember slamming it down on the kitchen counter.

But no, I picked it up again when he texted me. I was staring into—
 

Fuck, did I leave it in the freezer?

Fuck, fuck! She can’t find it. She’ll see Cade’s been texting me. See I
just
talked to him.

Why didn’t I enable the lock screen? Stupid idiot!

She won’t find it, I tell myself. This is good. It’s okay. This way she won’t hear it if he texts me again.

I quickly go to my closet, find my Hooters shirt and shorts, quickly pull them on, and run back to the kitchen.

Cynthia is sitting on the couch, reading and eating her banana. “I’m not ready yet.”

“Okay,” I call. I open the freezer. It’s not there. Fuck, where—

Then I remember her putting the box of Lean Pockets back.

I hear footsteps, and turn.

“You left this in there,” she says, holding out my phone. “You need to be more careful. Your father can’t afford to buy you another one.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking it from her. “Sorry.” I don’t bother pointing out that she has one three generations newer than mine, or that it cost ten times as much.

When I look up, I see she’s looking at my body.

She raises an eyebrow, and for an instant I see Cade in her features. Maybe that’s why I can never hate her us much as I might. Maybe that’s why I could never bring the knife down.

Or maybe I’m just not a killer.

“New man?”

“Manager?”

She flicks my right boob.

I look down, and see I’m not wearing a bra.

I shake my head. “I forgot. I’ll be right back.”

She grabs my arm as I’m taking off, yanking me to a halt. “You’re wasting enough of my time making me go out of my way to take you to work.”

“But—”

“Now come on, it’s not like anyone’s going to be paying attention anyway, not where you work. Not with all those bubbly bimbos and their perky melon-tits.

At the door, Cynthia still holding my arm, I say, “Wait, my socks.”

She looks down at my sneakers next to the door.

“You should have kept them with you.”

“But I’ll get in trouble! It’s part of the uniform.”

“You’re an adult. You should be more responsible. Now put your shoes on and stop whining.”

When I sit down in the passenger seat of Dad’s Mustang, my shorts ride up into my crotch, making me aware I forgot to put on underwear as well. It makes me feel dirty, exposed.

And it hurts. I shift my thighs, and feel a sting of pain. I wonder if I’m bleeding from when she ripped my panties off, and hope if I am I don’t bleed through the fabric.

I refuse to cry. Refuse to let her know she’s getting to me. I’ve gone commando before. I’ve even gone sockless. I can deal.

I clench my jaw and look straight ahead as she starts the car.

Cynthia turns the radio to some talk show and turns it up.

Fine with me.

We sit there for a minute.

Finally I can’t bear it and turn to look at her. “Are we…”

She shakes her head. “I forgot my banana.”

“I can—” I begin, but then she shifts the car into gear and pulls out.

I stare out the window as we drive, imagining what it would be like to fly alongside the cars instead of being trapped inside one. To be free like that.

When we get to my work, she turns the radio off and asks flatly, “When do you get off?”

“The usual.”

“When is that?”

I can hear a trace of annoyance. I’m tempted to push her, since it’s so rare an occurrence, but after earlier, I’m afraid to. “Twelve-thirty.”

“I’ll be waiting outside at twelve.”

“You don’t have—”

“Go on.”

“I have my—”

“Get out.”

I glare at her. She has to know my car is here. I look away, feeling rage build inside. She’s so skinny, I could just pin her down. Or punch her.

But she’s tall, with a long reach. And devious.

I open the door and get out.

“Maggie!” Nina cries, hugging me tight. “I was so worried.” She releases me and touches her head. “Oh, you’re going to give this old lady an aneurysm.”

I smile. “Sorry, Nina.”

She waves this away. “You can repay me by getting tips, eh?” She rubs her finger tips together.

I laugh. “Sure, whatever you say.”

“Why your face red?”

“I slapped myself.”

“Why would you do that!”

“Trying to wake up.”

“Girl, you drink coffee when tired from now on. Okay?”

I smile. “Sure Nina.”

She shakes her head. “Crazy kids. You don’t do that eye alcohol,
nyet
?”

“The what?”

She gestures putting something to her eye and jerking her head back. “Eye shot.”

I snort. “No! Who would do that?”

“You’d be surprised.” She leans in and tilts her head toward the rear of the restaurant. “See those men? Very drunk. Very rich. Get your sexy little self over there and clean them out.” She hands me a money pouch and I tie it around my waist.

“Hey sweet thing,” one of the men slurs.

I smile.

“What’cha got for us tonight?”

“What would you like?” I ask in a high-pitched voice.

He leans over, and I know I’ve made a mistake in my choice of words. “How about that round ass, raw and natural.”

I try to keep smiling. “What would you like to
eat
.”

“How about what you’ve got between those juicy thighs? Ever had a man give you a proper tonging?” He demonstrates his technique for me. If I cared more about tips, I’d pretend to be impressed, play along. But this is
much
further than any customer I’ve ever had has gone—except for that one teenage girl who I think was just trying to gross me out.

Since I don’t care more about tips than my own self-respect, I slap him across the face.

In doing so, I stun both myself and him. And everyone else at the table.

Then his friends burst into laughter, and I hear a few people clapping at neighboring tables.

I, however, just stand there, my face on fire, and sweat forming pretty much everywhere I’m aware it can form on my body.

“Serves you right,” Nina says, coming from behind me and setting another mug of beer down in front of him. “On the house.” She makes a spitting gesture, causing his friends to renew their laughter.

The drunk are easily amused.

Nina grabs my arm. “Come on.”

I let her pull me into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

I shake my head.

“Come.” She guides me through the kitchen to the breakroom, then positions me in front of a chair.

I sit down numbly.

“Why don’t you take a break, yes? I’ll handle them myself.”

I nod, looking at the table. “Thanks.”

She sighs. “Darling, what is wrong?” She puts her hand over mine and sits down across the table from me.

My phone buzzes in my pouch. I stare at her hand on mine. It feels so good, so comforting.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

I just shake my head.

“Have something to do with this?”

I look up at her and see her put her fingers against the corners of her mouth and pull down into a frown.

I feel my own reversing. “Maybe.”

She puts out her hand.

I stare at it.

She wiggles the fingers.

I stare some more.

“Give it here. Let me see.”

“I don’t know, I—”

“I do.” She nods. “Give phone.”

I sigh and dig it out of my pouch, my shorts shifting and making me wince at the pain. I really need to see how bad it is at some point.

“That bad, eh?” she asks.

I put the phone in her hand, and she examines it.

“I don’t know how to work this.”

I laugh, and turn it on for her, scroll up some in Cade’s earlier messages so she has some context, then hand it back. She doesn’t need to know I hung up on him.

She swipes at the screen, alternately nodding and shaking her head while tsking.

After a few minutes of this, she looks up at me. “Okay, here’s what you do. It’s simple.”

I await her wisdom.

“This man, you like him, yes?”

I quickly shake my head. “It’s not that easy. He’s my stepbrother.”

She waves this away. “Bah. So your parents got married. Who cares?” She shrugs. “When I was a girl, our parents would marry cousin to cousin. This is nothing. So,” she says, setting the phone down with one hand, and slapping the table with the other, “here’s what you do.” She looks around, then leans over and grabs a pen and pad from my pouch. She holds them out to me. “Take.”

I do, looking at them like I don’t know what to do with them. Because I don’t. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

She makes a shooing gesture. “Just start writing.”

“But—”

“Go, go.”

I sigh, and put pen to pad.

“I, Maggie Claire—”

“Saint Claire,” I sigh, exasperated. Is it really so hard?

“It’s your name, you don’t need me to tell you how to write it. I, Maggie whatever, formally quit my job as a Hooters Hostess, for I was traumatized and sexually harassed by an intoxicated customer, and cannot continue my duties.”

I slow my writing, as my brain catches up with what I’m putting to paper. “I can’t quit,” I say, pausing and looking up at her.

“Silly girl. Finish, you have plane to catch.”

“What was the last part?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just leave blank spot and sign and date. I’ll fill in rest.”

I do, then hand it to her. “That doesn’t seem very professional.”

“They’ll be too concerned with getting sued to care. You’ll probably get paid for the next month anyway. Not like you’ll need it now.” She picks up my phone and hands it to me. “You have ID?”

“I think.” I look around. I left my purse here last time. “Yeah.” I point. “Right there.”

“That’s yours?” She shakes her head. “Been here days. I tell you girls, don’t leave those back here. Not with Ivan.”

“There’s no money.”

“Not money you need to worry about him taking. Just don’t blame me if you’re missing lipstick.”

I frown. Lipstick?

Nina takes out her own phone.

“Hey. I thought you didn’t know how to work one?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “It pays to make people think you’re dumber than you are. What, you think after thirty-two years in America I can’t speak proper English? Pah.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. Because that’s exactly what I thought.

She squints at me. “You did. Well, now you know. You have car?”
 

I nod.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

I open the door to my messy car, and am assaulted.

Nina waves her hand at the air like she’s trying to swat away killer bees. “Oh, keep windows down when you drive.”

“I must have left food inside,” I say, crawling in and digging through the mess on the floor. “Yep.” I come up with a styrofoam container. I wrinkle my nose. “I wonder what it is.”

“No!” Nina grabs it from me before I can open it. “Curiosity killed cat. This will kill us both.” She turns heads toward the dumpster, stops, and hurls it in. It lands inside with a wet noise.

She looks at her hands as she walks back, then wipes them on her pants.

I smile at her.

“You think it’s funny?”

I shake my head, and a wave of emotion washes over me. “I’m really doing this.” It all happened so fast, so unexpectedly. “I’m leaving.”