BASTARD: A Stepbrother Romance (These Wicked Games Book 1) by Ava Dark

me?
    I feel someone grip my arm. Damn my short legs.
    I’m ready to spin on him, but suddenly people with cameras and microphones appear, seeming to materialize from within the crowd and rushing us like a swarm of ants.
    “Shit,” I hear him mutter. He lets go of me.
    I watch the people oozing toward us, and turn to him. “Who—” I stop when I find the space behind me empty. I look around, but don’t see him anywhere.
    “Ms Claire!” people call out.
    One woman, running—instead of the fast walking most of the others are doing—to be the first to get to me, shoves a mic into my face. “Ms Saint Claire, how does it feel to finally be free?”
    What the fuck? I think. How did they know that?
    Another one reaches me, he also was running. “Maggie, do you know about your brother’s history? Is it true that he took you against your will?”
    Before I can even think to answer, another person, just an anonymous member of the blob of reporters now, says, “How does it feel to be kidnapped by a billionaire?”
    “Is it true Elliot Hayes and your brother are in a war over the direction of Ada Corp?”
    “Shut up!” I scream, and push my way through them. They pursue, asking questions. Calling me. Calling my name. “Maggie! Maggie! Ms Saint Claire!” Some—those who apparently haven’t done their research—even shout, “Claire!”
    I just keep going, with no clue where I’m headed, just knowing I have to get away. I feel like they’ll crush me. I feel trapped.
    “Get away!” I scream, and still trying to push through them. My laptop bag catches on one of the huge video cameras, and I crash to the floor, bringing the camera and the man holding it down with me.
    It lands on my calf and deadens it. I crawl out from under the press and try to stand, my injured leg buckling.
    Some of the blob try to catch me, some even manage to succeed.
    I see a break in the crowd, and push through, limping along, my laptop banging into my lower back.
    I round a bend and look back. No one yet. Maybe they’ve given up.
    Up ahead is a bathroom. I dash into it and lock myself in a stall. I lean against the door. A wave a nausea hits me and I lurch forward, barely making it into the toilet. I throw up all the expensive food. Food that cost Cade two hundred dollars in tip alone, and feel like a wasteful glutton.
    I wipe my mouth and just breathe for a minute, my heart thudding, my ears ringing.
    I open the door and have a camera and mic shoved into my face. Two women and a camera man are there.
    The women are talking, the camera man has the camera pointed generally at me, but is looking at the bathroom entrance.
    “Fuck off!” I scream in answer to their questions. Maybe my language will be so vile they can’t broadcast it. Or they’ll just bleep it.
    I shove past the skinny bitches with their false-concern-laced questions and out the door.
    “Move, idiot!” I hear one of them shout, and hear the camera man say, “Ow.”
    The blob is congregated in one area, looking around. Probably for me.
    I try to get my bearings. Which way did I come in? Cade might be waiting for me at the car, or at least where the car was. I wonder if the woman drove off, or if Cade—
    Someone slams into my back, nearly knocking me down.
    “Sorry.” A hand grabs my shoulder, preventing me from falling.
    It’s the cameraman. The false faces are right behind him.
    “Thanks,” I say, and run.
    Someone must have spotted me, because I hear my name being called.
    But the exit— an exit, which at least feels familiar; like the one I came in through—is in sight, and I run toward it for all I’m worth.
    Several police officers enter through the doors I’m aiming for, appearing to be looking for someone. I run toward them. Hopefully they can spare a little time to save me.
    When they see me, they start shouting, “Back! Give her space,” and putting their arms up to stop the blob from consuming me.
    Well that was nice of them.
    I run behind them in