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

tongue.
    Dad parks the car. He looks at his wife. “I know he’s your son,” he turns to me, “but I don’t want you seeing that boy anymore.”
    Hardly a boy, I think to myself.
    Cynthia nods. “I agree. It breaks my heart to have to say this of my own son, but he’s trouble.”
    Remembering what Officer Johnson told me, I ask, “What’s that mean?”
    “He’s a bad influence,” Dad says. “You remember what happened with Elliot.”
    “Elliot? What happened with Elliot?” Elliot is the guy my brother started his companies with. They were inseparable as teenagers, and as far as I know, still are.
    My dad and Cynthia exchange a glance.
    Cynthia says, “Just don’t let him influence you.” She touches my knee again. “Don’t worry dear, we’ll keep you safe.”
    “Now, how about Chinese?” Dad asks.
    My stomach rumbles. I was full. Cursing my baser desires, I put on a smile and say, “Sure Dad, sounds good.”
    He slaps the steering wheel. “Great. You two go on in. Put on a movie. I’ll pick it up.”
    “What about delivery?” I ask, not at all wanting to be alone with Cynthia, despite the mask of kindness she’s currently employing.
    “This will be quicker.” He tweaks my nose. Jesus, he hasn’t done that in… well, since Mom. My real mom. “Besides,” he says with a grin, “I heard that stomach growling.”

Chapter 19
    “Set the table,” Cynthia tells me once we’re inside. “I need a bath.”
    Back to her old self. What a surprise.
    She glances over her shoulder at me. “What about you?”
    “What?” I look up.
    She’s looking over her shoulder at me, the strap of her shirt pulled down. “A bath wouldn’t hurt. I could smell you.”
    I glare at her.
    “Oh, you don’t smell bad, just sweaty.” She frowns. “And faintly like vinegar.”
    “I prefer showers.”
    She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
    “Bitch,” I mutter under my breath when she’s gone upstairs. I realize I’m just standing in front of the drawer with the utensils. I open it, and grab them, and begin laying them out.
    When I get to the third setting, I want to slap myself.
    Chinese. Chopsticks.
    At most, we’ll need some plates.
    I gather up the silverware I just set, shaking my head.
    Walking back to the drawer, several pieces fall from my hands.
    “Fuck!” I curse.
    I bend down and pick them up, but my hands are shaking so badly that I just keep dropping them. “Fuck, fuck,” I repeat over and over. They just keep dropping from my grasp.
    And then I drop, clutching my knees to me, ignoring the fork that’s poking at my fat ass, put my head down, and let the tears pour out.

Chapter 20
    Cynthia comes downstairs twenty minutes later—or maybe an hour, time stretches when you’re miserable—wearing a crop top and a short tennis skirt, showing off her flawless body.
    It’s not even fair, she’s almost forty, and she still looks like that. It was hell growing up and having boys—mainly Cade’s friends—be more interested in my stepmom than in me. And that was when I was skinny and cute.
    “This looks nice,” she says, tapping the table once as she passes, and continuing on to the den. “But your dad wants to watch a movie.” She stops in the entrance to the den, puts her hand against the wall, and looks back at me. “Set us up in there. We can sit together on the couch.” She smiles, and I think it’s a real one. “You know how much your dad likes his chair.” She turns and walks into the den.
    I glare at the spot where she was. As usual, she doesn’t wait for my response. Just knows I’ll do what she says.
    But why should I? I should make her do it.
    But that would be childish. I’m already here, sitting at the table. And it’s only three plates.
    I grab them, as well as some the roll of paper towels, and head into the den.
    She already has the TV on. The sounds coming from it are soft, but distinct. I feel viscerally the increase in blood pressure as my heart goes from normal to