Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

I couldn’t go anywhere I knew he would find me.

Because he would find me.

I have no doubt that, as easily as he hurt the Bryans, he would come for me. Something broke him. Something fucked up in our past. For some reason, I can’t fathom what it is. Whether I’ve been lied to, am misremembering things, or blocked it out of my memory…

The truth will set me free.

It tugs at my memory, but it’s just out of reach.

I ring the doorbell and take a quick step back. A minute passes, then a voice shouts for me to hold on. The door swings open.

Ian Fletcher scowls down at me.

Honestly? This is the last place I want to go. My stomach still aches from the force of his kicks, and the bite mark has barely scabbed over. The idea that Ian has marked me permanently—because it will probably scar—turns my stomach.

And yet…

“You said you hated Caleb more than me.” I’m not going for subtlety here. I’m desperate, and I’m so out of options it isn’t funny. It was never funny in the first place. “Well, now’s your chance.”

He raises his eyebrows. “My chance for what?”

“I hate him, too.”

“And?”

“And…” I grimace. “I’m what he wants. What he’s fixated on. So here’s my one-time offer. Use me against him.”

We watch each other for a moment while he thinks through what I just said. What I’m giving him on a silver fucking platter.

He could easily slam the door in my face, and I’d be screwed. I have no doubt Caleb would find me at Riley’s house, and I don’t know where else I could go. He’d find me anywhere else.

Ian pulls the door open wider.

I exhale, relief building, and I slip past him. I’ve been here before, but it looks different when it’s not packed with students. The house is actually set up nicely, although it’s pristine in the way showrooms are.

Does anyone actually live here?

He brushes past me, and I trail after him.

Is this madness? Probably. But what option do I have against Caleb?

In the end, Caleb hurt me, too. Ian’s wounds have mostly healed, but I doubt Caleb’s betrayal ever will. It burns under my skin like a living thing.

The house is nearly silent. Just our footsteps and my quiet breath.

He slides open a door and enters a home office. I pause in the doorway while he throws himself into the chair behind the huge oak desk.

“Why should I take you at your word?”

I’m numb to it at this point—happily so. “Caleb thinks I’m to blame for the video of me and him.”

Ian snorts. “Impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because I know who recorded it.”

My mouth drops open.

He continues, “Did he blame you publicly? Honestly, I doubt anyone would believe it. You make some rather hot noises in it, but I didn’t peg you to be an exhibitionist.”

My face gets hot.

He tuts, leaning back and putting his feet up on the desk. “Why did you come here?”

“I had to go somewhere he wouldn’t find me.” I try to keep my voice from trembling. This was the harebrained part of my plan. It hinges on Ian being rational, and I’m pretty sure he’s got a screw loose. “And I figured… here was good.”

“After what I did to you.”

I wince. “Especially after that.”

He watches me for a long moment. “You don’t have a stupid fucking crush on me, do you?”

“Not on your life.”

He doesn’t seem to believe me.

“I’ll just go, then.” I stand. “And that offer is off the table.”

“No. Sit.”

I grind my teeth and glare at him. “I’m really sick of people ordering me around.”

I put my bag over my shoulder and find my way back to the front door, ignoring the way his attention stings.

When I was a kid, I fell into a bush of stinging nettle. It’s a bit like that.

“Wait.”

I glance back. He’s in the hall, only a few feet away.

“I have a guest room,” he says. “My parents go to Los Angeles for the winter, and they’re already there. They’ll never know.”

“What’s the catch?”

He rolls his eyes. “The catch is that you keep your promise.”

Great.

“I’ll let you stay… for a kiss.” He circles me. “That’s your offer, right? To get back at Caleb. Kiss me.”

“Why did you kick me in the stomach?”

His eyes light up. “Ah. Do you still have bruises? Can I see?”

“This was a mistake.” I can’t get away from him fast enough. Really—what on earth was I thinking?

I try to step around him, but he blocks me. I step around him again, and he follows me down a hallway, into the kitchen. It’s big and cold. There’s a sliding door that leads out onto the porch. I got drunk in this house. It was here that Unknown got that damn video of me.

“Kiss me and you can stay, rent-free, for a month. If you aren’t discovered before that.”

He’s standing right behind me, while I’m frozen with my hand on the glass.

“And I’ll tell you who took that video,” he adds.

“Tempting,” I say.

“He kissed Savannah in front of you.”

“How kind of you to bring that back up.”

“Multiple times, if sources are correct.” He sneers. “I’m not kind, Margo. I hope you didn’t come here expecting that, of all things.”

My gaze wanders over his backyard. If there was somewhere else I could go, I wouldn’t be here. But I am. I haven’t even begun to process what I overheard Caleb say. I shove those thoughts away as soon as they rise.

“I don’t understand why you’d want to kiss me,” I finally say.

I turn around, and he’s right there.

He’s not Caleb. He’s intimidating, sure, and the fear that spikes through me is real. But he doesn’t give me butterflies along with the fear. He crowds me, and all my body remembers is the pain.

He’s close enough to touch me, but he doesn’t. He stares into my eyes, a slight frown on his lips.

He leans into me. I put my hands on his chest and shove.

He catches my wrists, keeping my palms flat against him. His body heat seeps into my fingers.

“Let. Go.”

He switches his grasp on my wrists, taking both in one of his hands. With his other, he yanks my shirt up. Not far—just to the lower edge of my bra.

My stomach is still a kaleidoscope of bruises. It was a vicious move on his part.

“Got what you wanted?” I yank again, but he holds fast.

He runs a finger over my abdomen.

I shut my eyes. “Stop.”

“He calls you a lamb,” he says. “But I think you’re proving to be far from that.”

I open my eyes.

His attention is fixated on the bruises. He has an odd expression—a split second of remorse maybe, and his damn finger on my skin.

“Stop touching me, Ian.” My voice doesn’t tremble like I thought it might.

He releases me like coming out of a trance.

“Payment accepted.” He clears his throat. “Take the room, Wolfe. Upstairs, first one on the left. Don’t ask me for anything else. I’ll hide you until I figure out how to make Caleb burst with jealousy.”

I don’t push it, and I don’t ask what that means. I said he could use me—but I didn’t mean… I don’t know what I meant.

How far would I go?

I slip past him and dart up the stairs, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. I lean against it for good measure. My bag hits the floor next to me.

The room is huge. I mean, big surprise—the whole house is a freaking mansion. But it’s pink. A girl’s room, clearly, by the white-and-pink bedspread and the light-pink walls. The curtains on the two windows are white. A rug covers half of the hardwood floor, a low dresser in the corner… a vase of flowers on one nightstand and a lamp on the other.

Weird.

I’d imagine they must have a housekeeper, someone who keeps everything clean and fresh. The water in the vase is high and clear. So even though the room must not be occupied, someone changes out the flowers and water.

There’s no lock on the door, but I can’t be bothered to worry much about it. I inch toward the bed, and exhaustion crashes over me. It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning. Was it only five hours ago that Caleb was inside me? He wasn’t professing love—I’m not that daft—but our sex…

It felt real.

And I’m delusional. Clearly.

After a night of limited sleep, I could stay in bed for a week. Even a frilly, girly, foreign bed like this one, in an unsafe house, with a potential psychopath downstairs.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

I lie down and stare at the tiled ceiling. My eyes won’t close, even though they feel like sandpaper. I can’t cry either. I spent most of the walk to Ian’s house swinging between stoicism and sobbing. No in between.

How could he do this?

There are questions that need answering.

I hop up and pull a notebook out of my bag. The way to get organized is to make a list.

Who is Unknown?

Why is Caleb set on ruining my life?

Tobias—Dad’s attorney?

When I try to remember my past, nothing happens. It’s like there’s a wall in my mind. It isn’t active unless I try to access the few months before I entered into foster care. I remember being with my dad in the park, but that’s because Caleb practically forced the memory out of me.

Maybe…

No.

I look down at my list again.

There’s more.

Where are Caleb’s parents?

Why is his house seemingly abandoned?

What happened in our past? Why can’t I remember?

Who sent the video?

My head pounds. Ian told me he knew that. I’ll have to ask him again.

I lie back down and force my eyes shut.

Today’s been a clusterfuck. Being here… well, I can’t say that makes it any better. My phone is off, at the bottom of my bag. I can only imagine the texts and calls piling up. Or maybe worst of all: no calls at all. The Bryans might call to inform me that Angela will be picking me up. I might come back and find my stuff on the curb.

That happened once.

Angela was waiting for me. A bag with my belongings—a few shirts, underwear, pants, and a toothbrush—was already in the car. The foster family hadn’t even given me toothpaste. Not that it mattered.

I prided myself on not losing my shit. I’d learned the hard way that tears solved nothing. They changed nothing.

Twelve-year-old Margo learned that bad things would continually happen. It was her new reality. I went into the system when I was ten, but for that first year, I was optimistic. I thought I’d go back to my mom and dad, that life with the Ashers would return to normal.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.