Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

Past

“Ready to go, kid?”

I raised my arms in the air, and Dad obliged me. He scooped me up, up, up, placing me on his shoulders. Mom said I was getting too big and I was going to break Dad’s back one of these days. He told me to ignore her.

I was still his little girl. Always would be.

We approached the door, and I ducked, curling myself around his head. He tickled my foot, and I giggled into his hair. He carried me out of the school, past all the other kids waiting for the bus.

I loved the days Dad picked me up. It meant Mom was out, either with friends or on a supply run for Caleb’s house. We got to do fun stuff. He played music in the car and sang along like a private concert.

He put me down beside his car and ruffled my hair. I fought the impulse to hug him before he opened my door and held out a hand to help me climb in.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked when he sat behind the wheel. “Pizza?”

“Duh,” I answered.

“Are you okay with Caleb joining us for dinner? His parents are having a party.”

“Is that where Mommy is?”

He met my gaze in the mirror. “Yeah, she’s catering it. It’s gonna be a late night.”

“Caleb likes pizza,” I said quietly.

We grabbed the food on the way home, and I ran into my room to change out of the uniform. The front door opened and shut. Dad’s and Caleb’s voices drifted down the hall toward me.

It wasn’t often that I was tempted to eavesdrop—barring that one time last week with Mrs. Asher and the mystery man—but any conversation between Dad and Caleb was worth its weight in gold.

Caleb idolized my dad. I didn’t know why, and deep down, it irked me. He was my dad. Caleb had his own. But he was always asking him questions, hanging around when Mom wasn’t here. He didn’t like to be in our apartment if my mom was home, but my dad was another situation entirely.

“Where’s Margo?” Caleb asked.

“Getting changed,” Dad said. “How was school?”

“Fine. I caught Amelie and Ian kissing in the hallway. They both paid me five bucks to keep my mouth shut.”

Dad chuckled. “You’re going to be quite the businessman.”

“They should pay for me to keep secrets,” Caleb muttered. “Amelie says she’s Margo’s friend.”

“Is she?”

“Well, she’s not a very good one.”

I stormed out into the living room with only one sock on. “She’s a fine friend! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Language, Margo,” Dad commented.

“He insults my friend, but I have to watch my language?” I was so mad it hurt.

“I’m your friend,” Caleb answered, balling his fists. “And she’s not. Just watch, she’s gonna turn into a mean girl, and when she does, I’ll say I told you so.”

He stuck his tongue out at me.

Tears sprang into my eyes. “Stop it.”

Dad stepped between us, pulling me into his side. “Enough, Caleb.” He knelt in front of me. “Margo, kids can be mean at this age. Caleb, Amelie, the bullies… Take everything with a grain of salt.”

Grain of salt. He explained that one to me last week. Be cautious about everything, he said. Don’t just blindly believe everything you hear.

“How about you go put your other sock on and we’ll eat this pizza.”

He patted my head, and I rushed away. I batted at the tears, the anger diminishing the farther away I got.

Dad always knew how to make things better—even Caleb’s harsh words or Mom’s weird moods. He was my favorite. He carried me on his shoulders and made up bedtime stories, checked in my closet for the boogeyman. Never raised his voice. Not at me.

But he did yell at Mom…

Grain of salt. Maybe she deserved it.

Maybe she deserved everything that happened.

Present

I can’t go into my room.

It’s been over a week since Caleb found the camera, but this fear seemed to have crept up after we got back from NYU. Maybe it was that all three of us were out of the house on Saturday? It left it vulnerable. Last night, when we got back from the city, I forced myself to go in.

Today, not so much.

Robert and Lenora are out doing some errands, and I’ve been working up the courage to talk to Dad. I figured I could write him a letter or something. That’s about as minimal contact as I can get.

I’m angry at him, but I didn’t realize it until now.

Or rather, I had shoved it down until now. He went to prison on a drug charge. He put drugs ahead of his own child.

Who does that?

The great man I knew as a kid is nothing more than a drug dealer.

And now Unknown has made it virtually impossible to go into my room without being held captive by terror.

I hold my breath, creeping into the room. Sunday morning light streams in, but everything else is untouched. My window is locked. The closet door is shut. My bookshelf seems the same. I compare it to a photo I took before I left, but I’m not convinced.

I flick the light on, inhaling sharply. “If you can hear me, I’m going to find you.”

And then I get to work. I use that wand thing on everything, and when that doesn’t soothe my fears, I tear my room apart.

And yet, I find nothing. Absolutely. Nothing. I guess I should be grateful that the only thing spying on me was a mermaid figure. But how long will it take for Unknown to get back in here and plant something else?

I sink to the floor, leaning against my bed.

My phone rings. A blocked number.

“Hello?”

There’s a click, then, “You found my gift.”

It sounds off. Not quite human. Kind of like the GPS navigation voice.

“I wouldn’t really call it a gift, since you were using it to spy on me,” I answer.

When they remain silent, I say, “You’ve never called before. What prompted the change?”

“Texting is so… impersonal,” Unknown says. “Wouldn’t you agree, Margo Wolfe?”

“I can’t say I particularly agree with any of this.”

“You’ve always had bad luck picking friends. How do you know this time is any different?”

There’s a click, and the line goes dead.

I bring my phone away from my ear, and it vibrates a second later with a text.

Caleb

Are you home?

My stomach flips. It’s just coincidental timing—that’s all. I don’t answer him and crawl into bed instead. It’s still early, but I don’t care. There is a pile of things in the center of my room that I will reorganize tomorrow. And I can’t deal with Caleb’s judgement right now.

I should’ve known that pretending to sleep wouldn’t keep Caleb away. I don’t know how long I doze, but soon enough, he pulls back the covers and slides in behind me.

“Are you avoiding me?” he whispers.

“I’m avoiding life,” I mumble. I roll into him and bury my face in the crook of his neck.

He always smells so good. It’s unfair. He could be sweaty from a run and he’d still smell like sandalwood and pine.

“And apparently the mess in the middle of your room.”

“I was searching for other…”

He hugs me tighter. “Did you find anything?”

“No. But I’m questioning everything. I was just thinking about the time you said Amelie was a bad friend.”

He stiffens.

Then I stiffen.

Because it coincides so much with what Unknown just said…

“Do you remember that?” I peek up at him. “One night eating pizza with my dad⁠—”

“I try not to think about memories with your dad, baby,” he says. “But Amelie was a bad friend, even when we were kids. You refused to believe me.”

“I like to think the best of people.” I exhale.

“A weakness I’ll help you overcome.”

I tip my head back, squinting at him. “Really.”

He smirks. “You thought I wasn’t a monster… Hell, you even convinced me to marry you.” His finger traces the bracelet on my wrist.

Half the time, I forget I’m wearing it.

“Stuck with me now, Wolfe.”

I try to hide my frown. My fears. I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling, my chest tight.

Life is fragile. Hadn’t I learned that from my parents?

But that day is blocked. What I did to make Caleb hate me is still gone, scrubbed free from my mind. There’s a wall I keep mentally running into, even in my dreams.

And I’m afraid I might misremember something.

“Do you trust your memories?” It’s easier to ask when we’re not looking at each other.

“Sometimes I don’t,” he admits. “But most of the time, yes. I’ve got to trust myself, or no one else would.”

I shake my head. “I don’t. The little pieces I do remember—like the pizza night, or eavesdropping on your mom⁠—”

“You eavesdropped on my mother?”

I glance at him. “You found me in your room hiding behind your door.”

He turns his head and stares me down. “Is this a new memory?”

My cheeks get hot. I wonder if he can tell, even in the dark. “I don’t know.”

“The football team is going to the state championships,” he says suddenly. “They’re playing against Lion’s Head, and they haven’t made it so far in a while.”

“So?”

He chuckles. “So, we’re going. It’s at Lion’s Head. They won last year.”

“You can’t just order me to go to a football game.”

“It’ll be fun,” he says, rolling toward me. “It’s only a few weeks before my birthday. Think of it as an early present.”

His fingers walk down my stomach, dipping into my panties. He swipes across my clit, and my back arches off the bed. It’s a lazy assault, and he watches me squirm under him.

We’re alone in the house. My heart jumps into action at the thought, but he doesn’t change the urgency. This kind of attention—the slow, meticulous kind, where he sees everything—only makes me wetter.

Maybe it’s because no one else has looked at me like he does. His expression tells me I’m the source of every ounce of pain… and his redemption.

He presses his lips to my cheek, just below my eye. His tongue flicks out and tastes my skin. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m broken.” My axis is tilted, spinning me off course.

My mind has been filled with friendship and love and thoughts of a future. And Caleb, promising forever. But that’s not all. There’s also darkness and deceit and horrible skeletons swinging in my closet.

“You’re not broken.” Every word is another brush against my cheek. “Even if you think you are. Even if I’ve tried to break you. You’re stronger than you think, little wolf.”

He makes me come, but he doesn’t try to press his advantage. Does he know I’m scared to be in this room alone?

I don’t feel strong.

I feel empty.