Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

“What am I going to do with you?” Coach asks.

I make a face. “I wasn’t lying. We’re dating. She just doesn’t want to see reason.”

Every fiber of my being screams, She’s mine! It isn’t my fault she doesn’t see it. That she doesn’t agree. She eventually will. And I can’t even be mad that she’s finally showing a spine.

Not such a little lamb after all.

No, Margo’s becoming a wolf, and damn, that turns me on. Even if it’s at my expense.

I’m a sick fucker, thinking about Margo while Coach is glaring at me. I think he realizes that, because his face contorts.

“Do I strip you of the captaincy altogether?”

I focus.

“Maybe call your mother?”

He’s fishing for a punishment that will hurt the most.

“Your uncle would probably have something to say,” Coach says.

He’s only saying that because he doesn’t know that of all of us, the true monster is Uncle David. Not my mother. Not holding their aspirations of which fucking college I should go to over my head.

I sigh. “Coach…”

“You’re going to make me the list of colleges that you’re applying to, and I’ll have a chat with your uncle about your behavior. You’re coming off the rails, son.”

My body already hurts at the thought of that.

I stand. “That it?”

He stands, too. “The list by the end of next week, or you’re off the team.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m sure the guys will be able to pick up the slack.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “You got it.”

“I don’t want to see your face until next week.”

That means no scrimmage.

I stare at him, waiting for the punch line, but his face remains stoic. He’s dead serious. He points to the door, and his dismissal is clear.

My whole body gets hot. I storm out without looking back, doing my best to control my fury. Everything is slipping out of my control.

I’m stacking up offenses against my uncle. Missing dinner, talking back, failing to rein in Margo’s mom, and now this. He already keeps track of my hockey. He encouraged me to play a sport, to go full throttle. Threatened it, in fact.

He said I had to be the best, or I may as well not play at all.

The bell rings. That whole thing, and I missed sixth period entirely. If I was a normal student, I’d let my anger show. Maybe kick a locker, punch someone. I’d love to punch Ian in the throat just for existing. But since I’m me, I have eyes on me at all times. And if I were to break… well, that would be worse than anything I just endured.

Students automatically move out of my path, which makes me feel only slightly better. They still respect me, even if I’ve been missing games. I thought my suspension was coming to an end… and now this.

Let’s not forget Margo dropping the bomb of someone harassing her. A blocked number threatening her.

I head toward Mr. Bryan’s class. Margo will probably avoid me, right? Just because she has a spine doesn’t mean she’s had any practice using it yet. And that interaction with Coach probably seeped all her courage from her skin.

I stop dead.

If I go into that class and she doesn’t so much as fucking look at me, I’m going to lose it.

“Caleb?”

I spin around. Margo is the last person I expect to see standing in the middle of the now empty hallway.

“Are you okay?”

Is she fucking for real? “Just dandy.”

She moves around me, and I follow. Again. I can’t help it; she may as well have me leashed and collared.

“You didn’t tell me you were being harassed,” I say.

She glances back. “Because I thought it might be you.”

“What convinced you it wasn’t?”

“Nothing,” she says. “It could still be you.”

I grunt. “It isn’t.”

She stops suddenly and shoves me against a wall. My breath catches in my throat, my hand automatically wrapping around her wrist and keeping her palm pressed to my chest.

Damn, that was sexy.

“Savannah texted you the photo of Ian and me,” she says. “True or false?”

I narrow my eyes. “True.”

“Unknown sent me the same picture.” She bites her lip. “Does this Unknown person think we wouldn’t talk about it? Or brush it off as coincidence?”

“I can’t help you.”

Amelie had said Sav texted it to her to get a rise out of her about Ian. Which clearly didn’t work… because at the lack of response, Sav texted it to me.

But where she got it, I don’t know.

Margo leans into me, rising on her toes to meet my gaze. “Why not?”

I lift my hand, wrapping it around a lock of her hair. “You’re beautiful when you’re mad.”

She frowns. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

Her hair slips through my fingers. I touch her neck, and a slight shiver runs down her body. I doubt she even notices. But she’s letting me brush my fingers down her shoulder and back up.

I cup the nape of her neck, and she exhales.

My chest aches.

I lean down, stopping just before my lips brush hers.

“You wrote the note,” I whisper.

She tries to jerk away, but I hold her fast. I might be up against the wall, but we’ve traded control. It didn’t occur to me until right this second. The hidden smugness—she wanted me to get reamed out, to get in trouble.

The pieces fall into place.

“You wrote it hoping to get back at me, didn’t you? You wanted to pin it on the person texting you because it’s the most believable lie.” I lick my lips, and my tongue touches hers, too.

Her whole body hitches.

“I did,” she says. “I wanted you to feel⁠—”

“The pain you felt?” My grip on her neck tightens. “Newsflash, little wolf. I’ve been carrying this feeling around since I was ten. And you just⁠—”

“I know. I forgot. You blame me for that, but I can’t help it.” She’s fierce, even now, as tears roll down her cheeks. From furious to heartbroken in an instant. “I don’t want to be blind anymore. I want answers.”

“I know.” I reach up with my other hand, catching tears on my thumb. I doubt she knew they were falling.

When she tries to pull away, I let her go. She takes a few quick steps back. Her eyes are wide, like she can’t believe we actually had a conversation. I gave her answers. She gave them back.

Maybe not in the way either of us was expecting, but…

The bell rings, shattering my thoughts. The late bell for our final class of the day.

Poor Margo flinches again, then reaches for my hand. “We’re going to be late.”

She tows me down the hall and up the endless stairs to Robert’s class. We duck inside, and Robert stops talking mid-sentence.

“Margo. Caleb,” he says in a low voice. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” she says, releasing my hand. “Won’t happen again.”

He shakes his head but motions for us to take our seats. There are only two spots left, and they’re not close to each other. If we’d gotten here on time, I might’ve been able to switch. As it is, her foster dad is glaring at me like I just ate his pet.

We make it through class unscathed, and I catch Margo in the hallway.

“Don’t go to the scrimmage,” I tell her.

“Didn’t you invite me?” she asks. “Or do you not…”

“Coach told me not to go. So.”

She sighs. “Good, because the thought of it sounded miserable.”

I tilt my head. “We’ll do something else instead.”

“I need to go home first.” She hurries away from me without looking back.

Home, huh?

I frown.

Me

Coach banned me from practice. Got fucked over.

Theo

??

Liam

What’d you do?

Nothing. Just some bullshit. I’ll be back to practice on Monday.

Eli

Me, too. I’ll be back tomorrow.

I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s been a little weird having Eli’s entire house to myself. He went to Chicago with his parents. I contemplated throwing a party just to cure my nightly boredom, but I didn’t want to deal with the clean-up and aftermath.

Once we get to their house, I kick off my shoes and head to the basement.

I make it halfway across the room when something hits me from behind.

My legs buckle, and I go down, barely avoiding slamming my head into the floor. A heavy weight presses on my spine, and a hand grips the back of my head.

“You little shit,” my uncle breathes. “Can you do anything right lately?”

I exhale. “Uncle⁠—”

“Shut. Up.”

His knee digs between my shoulder blades, and I freeze.

“Here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to pack a bag and stay at my house for the weekend. We’re going to work on your fucking respect.”

I stay silent.

He gets off me. “Up.”

I do as he says, moving slowly. I climb to my feet and pivot.

He looks at me like I’m worse than a cockroach. His nose wrinkles. His eyebrows pull down, and his lips twist. “You have five minutes.”

And then he walks out.

Consequences.

I knew they were coming. I didn’t expect them to all happen at once.

I grab a duffle bag I use for away games and shove clothes into it. My running shoes. A jacket and hat. It doesn’t take me long, so I linger for a moment with one of my shirts in my hand. Margo wore it once, and it still smells faintly of her.

I thumb out a message to her.

Me: Something came up. I’ll see you Monday.

I shut my phone off and leave it on the table, then jog up the stairs and out the door. I lock it behind me, wondering only briefly at how my uncle was able to get in. I imagine the housekeeper let him in, or the Blacks gave him a key when I first came to live here.

Either way, I wish he couldn’t find me so easily.

The car idles in the driveway. He never drives—just part of his fucking persona—and his chauffeur opens the back door for me. I hand him my bag and slide in, and he gently shuts the door behind me.

Uncle David scowls in my direction. “Were you raised in a barn, Caleb? Your disrespect has reached new heights.”

“I—”

His backhand comes out of nowhere. My head whips to the side, the pain spreading from my cheek down my jaw. My face heats, but I don’t move except to once again look forward. I watch him out of my peripherals.

He’s breathing hard. He hasn’t hit me in the face… which means he, too, is losing control. Either that, or he knows I won’t be showing my face in public until the bruises heal.

I press my lips together, keeping my hands in my lap.

Only a few more months until I’m free of him. My birthday is in December, and then… no more chains holding me down. No more dealing with my family’s bullshit. It’s right around the corner.

“I was hoping Coach Marzden would be a good influence on you. Guide you the way we couldn’t, since your mother was against our methods.” His jaw tics. “It’s only by your mother’s grace that we didn’t transfer you to Lion’s Head after the incident.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, if only to ward off his anger for a little while.

Uncle grunts, pulling out his phone. It’s clear enough. For now, the conversation is over.

But I’m in for one hell of a weekend.