ESCAPE: A Stepbrother Romance (These Wicked Games Book 2) by Ava Dark

Chapter 1
    I stand there, my nose bleeding, without my purse, my thin clothes soaked with blood, staring at the plane as it leaves my world forever.
    A hand grips my shoulder. I turn, my heart rising.
    It’s the police officer. “Let’s get you home.” She holds out my phone to me.
    Numbly, I take it.
    Numbly, I stare at it.
    Numbly, I realize the little LED is flashing.
    I don’t consciously processes this, but some automatic action takes over and I turn the screen on, and stare at it through tear-blurred eyes.
    Don’t leave. I’m late.
    And then, sent two minutes later—just a few minutes ago, perhaps as I was crashing to the floor:
    If you already have, don’t worry. I’ll call ahead and have someone pick you up. Otherwise, I’m pulling up now.
    I look up at the officer. B. Burton, according to her nametag. She seems to be looking anywhere but at me. She also seems to be waiting patiently. And still holding my purse.
    She must notice me looking, because she glances at me, and very intentionally keeps her gaze on my face, which I find strange. Maybe she doesn’t like the sight of blood? But my face must be bloody as hell. “Your mother should be here soon. I’d take you, but I’m not supposed to be this far off my beat.”
    I frown. “Why are you?” I ask, wiping a hand across my nose, and coming away with blood.
    “Let me get you something for that. I’ll be right back.” She looks around. “Here.” She holds out my purse. I take it. She then quickly walks toward the bathroom.
    Well, that was easy. I thought I’d have to run.
    I give a shrug, then, when she’s through the bathroom entrance, I do run anyway. At least I try to. But after a few slaps of my feet, blood starts pumping from my nose again, and it starts to hurt.
    Well, continues to hurt, and starts to throb, which makes the pain more noticeable.
    I stop running, and start texting.
    I text and walk at the same time, hoping I don’t slam into anyone, sniffing blood back into my nose and feeling and tasting it run down my throat. I missed the plane. I’m coming. Please don’t leave.
    I look up and have gotten only a single step when my phone buzzes: I’m here. I’ll wait as long as it takes.

Chapter 2
    “Maggie?”
    I look around, and see the cop. Fuck.
    I run.
    My nose starts bleeding.
    I keep running.
    I almost slip on my own blood, and change my path to a carpeted area, darting between chairs.
    “Hey!”
    I don’t look back this time.
    I run as fast as my legs will carry me, trying not to crash into anyone or anything.
    My purse catches on a chair, and trip and start to go down.
    I pinwheel my arms as I stumble forward, keeping a death grip on my phone, and manage to stay standing.
    Then I run out of carpet, and have to run on the floor again.
    Bloody noses are really inconvenient when being chased. Slipperiness aside, I have to breathe through my mouth. Which somehow makes me feel like I’m drowning, or like I’m sticking my head out a fast-moving vehicle and trying to breathe as the air tries to force its way in—which is like expecting a water fountain and being given a fire hose, for anyone smart enough to never have had the urge to imitate a dog.
    “Stop!”
    I can hear heavy footsteps.
    Not good, she must be close.
    My body finds some previously unknown reserve of energy, and I run faster.
    I ignore the strange, and sometimes frightened, looks people give me as I try not to crash into them.
    Mainly because if I did, I’d fall, and then get caught.
    My boobs flop around wildly, and I curse Cynthia for not letting me put on a bra.
    Up ahead is the terminal exit. I make a beeline for it.
    I glance down at my phone and see the LED blinking.
    I bring it up to look at it, and feel myself slowing.
    Fuck. I’ll have to get away from Officer Burton first.
    “Stop!”
    And this time I almost do, because the voice isn’t Burton’s.
    From out of nowhere someone tackles me from my side, and we both go crashing to the floor.
    Then