Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

Caleb and I climb into Theo’s car. Liam has already claimed the front seat before we arrived, and he’s still chuckling at our daring escape. Matt waves us off, Claire and Hanna close behind him.

Something spins in my gut, but Caleb trusts him. He told me they were friends. And after I hugged Claire and Hanna goodbye, Caleb said Matt would take them home.

As much as I kind of hate it, I’m letting it happen. Claire is old enough to make her own decisions. She’s sixteen, after all. That’s the age to be boy crazy and stupid.

“You seem tense,” Caleb whispers in my ear.

I sigh. “Yeah.”

“We could always just go home…”

He smirks. I’m pretty sure my face just lit up. There’s nothing more I’d like better than to just… go to bed with him.

Caleb’s presence has a way of shielding the nightmares.

“Hey, Theo, drop us at my place.”

Theo grunts. “No partying with us, man? We just won fucking state!”

“Yeah, then you almost ruined it by fucking up a Lion’s Head player.” Liam shakes his head. “What the hell is it with that chick?”

Theo turns to him, glowering. “Shut up.”

I whistle. “What could one girl do to deserve all your anger?”

“That, Wolfe, would be a long story,” he says.

I wince.

Caleb shakes his head without taking his eyes from the window. “He’s had a hard-on for that girl since sophomore year, but he hates to admit it.”

Theo slams on the brakes. “You’re damn lucky we’re here, asshole,” he says. “Get out of my car.”

“Testy,” Caleb says under his breath. He grins at me, flinging open the door and helping me out. As soon as the door is closed, Theo’s tires burn rubber. We’re left standing in the road, watching him go.

“Are the Blacks going to question why I’m here?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. The jacket and hat aren’t helping against the chill anymore. It smells like snow.

“They’re out of town this weekend.”

I bite my lip and follow him inside. “I’m going to see my dad tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Well, I felt the need to remind you.”

He flicks on lights in the living room, the hallway, the kitchen. Soon the whole downstairs is lit up. “You did, huh?”

I nod. “Just in case you were going to be upset about it.”

He strides toward me. Around me.

“Me? Upset?” He’s behind me, lingering. His fingers sift through my hair, lifting the hat off my head.

I huff. “You hate when I mention him.”

“That’s because I hate him,” he whispers. “And I just… if you knew, you’d hate him, too.”

I spin around. I have to crane my neck back to meet his gaze. “That’s just it—if I knew. I want a chance to know. And I need to talk to him about the Bryans.”

“About them adopting you?”

“Well, it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?” I run my hands up and down my arms, suddenly cold. “The idea of a happily ever after.”

He pauses. “Do you think you’re not going to get one?”

I haven’t thought that far ahead. For the last seven years, minus an odd dream or two, it was just one foot in front of the other. One day in front of the other. That’s how we survived in the homes that sucked, in the homes that were great with an expiration date, in the group homes cramped with too many kids.

Problem kids.

I never got that official label, but I almost did. And then there really would be no future for me to hunt down.

So, no. I never thought about a happily ever after.

“I can’t apply to NYU,” I say. “It’s outside my budget. Maybe a nice local community college⁠—”

“Bullshit,” he says.

“What?”

He motions for me to go into the kitchen. I don’t budge.

“Caleb, you can’t just dismiss the fact that I literally have no money⁠—”

“I think I can,” he says.

He bends down and scoops me up, an arm under my knees and the other at my back. I let out a little yip, throwing my arms around his shoulders.

“What—”

“Just let me,” he mutters. “Just once, okay?”

He carries me down the basement stairs.

He’s wrong. It isn’t just once. He’s had spontaneous moments of kindness since I returned to Emery-Rose. They were hard to recognize at first, but he really changed after finding me in the woods. Seeing me hurt by someone else’s hand…

Maybe that’s what this is. A premature apology for whatever damage my father’s going to cause.

I hold on to him and let him do what he has to do. It’ll make both of us feel better before tomorrow.

After I visit my dad, I’m either going to walk out in one piece or be broken by whatever my father has to say. Either way, I’m getting answers. I’ll be changed.

This is a goodbye to the Margo I was.

Am.

Will never be again.

“Shh,” he whispers. “You’re crying.”

“I’m not,” I murmur, blinking at the ceiling. “I just have something in my eye.”

“Both of them.”

“Right. A bit of mascara or an eyelash or a branch…”

He coughs a laugh. He hits the light in the bathroom with his elbow, then gently sets me on the counter. This, too, is familiar. Although I’ll confess—we haven’t done this with clothes on before.

“Are you wearing fake eyelashes?” he asks me.

I choke on my laugh. “Yeah, Caleb, I am.”

Thanks for noticing. I can’t even think that sentence in a straight voice.

Boys are so ridiculous. The only thing they tend to notice are boob jobs, new cars, and lingerie.

Sadly, I have none of those things.

He cocks his head. “How do you get them off?”

I pinch the outside edge between my finger and thumb and slowly peel it away. It’s a relief to get lashes off—not that I’m an expert or anything. Riley had to put them on for me in Ian’s bathroom.

He reaches out to my other eye, which flutters closed before he can touch me. Gently, he does the other one.

“Like an unmasking,” he says under his breath. “Stay here.”

He disappears, returning a few minutes later with my overnight bag. At this rate, I don’t even know how it got inside. Or even out of Riley’s car. He finds my packet of makeup remover wipes.

“Can I?” he asks.

I squint at him. “Can you take off my makeup?”

He doesn’t answer but swipes at my forehead.

I lean away, catching his wrist. “You can, but not like that. My face doesn’t need to be scrubbed raw.”

He smiles, but it’s unsure. “Right.”

I cover his hand with my own and guide him. His strokes become soft, and I close my eyes. Let him remove the layers of foundation and concealer, the eyeliner and eyeshadow. I take it away from him to get the mascara off, then hand it back to him.

“This shit was on your face,” he says, holding it up.

“Yep.”

“You’re pretty without it.”

I shrug. “Yeah, but it makes me feel good when I do wear it.”

He hums. His hands go to my jacket, unzipping it and pushing it down my arms. My shoes are next. Then my shirt.

I raise my arms diligently.

Camisole. Bra.

I stand, and he yanks my leggings off, his expression hungry.

“Kiss me,” I whisper.

He obliges. I’m not sure how he always ends up fully clothed while I’m naked, but I’m suddenly desperate to change it. Not breaking away, I unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants. Shove them down until he can kick them away. We pause to remove his hoodie, then shirt.

I run my nails down his chest, eliciting a shiver that rolls up his body.

“Bed,” I say.

His chin lifts, gesturing for me to go first.

I make it halfway across the room when he grabs me, raising me by my hips and carrying me the rest of the way. My back is pressed tightly to his chest, my feet only a few inches off the floor.

“Wasn’t I moving fast enough?” I joke.

I fall onto the bed and roll over, welcoming him when he climbs over me. We’ve had sex. We’ve fucked.

But tonight, I have a feeling it’s going to be something entirely new.

“Am I in control?” I ask.

He shakes his head slowly, gaze going to my throat when I swallow. “Are you ever?”

“More times than you know.”

A muscle in his jaw tics.

“Caleb.”

“Hmm?” He’s getting closer to my neck, inching down.

He’s not touching me, and I’m really starting to hate him for it.

Not really. Pretty sure I don’t hold an ounce of hate for him anymore.

Did I? Yes. Should I? Yes.

Do I?

I exhale when his lips finally touch my throat. His hand follows, resting there. Keeping me from moving.

“You’re going to lose your innocence,” he says in my ear. His breath is hot, moving my hair. “You’re going to walk into that prison as you are now, and you’re going to leave it as someone else.”

“Maybe.”

His hand tightens for a second, then relaxes.

“You’re going to hold more secrets than me, and then I’m going to…” His teeth graze my earlobe.

I shudder.

“I’m not going to lose you,” he says.

“How do you know?” I force him to meet my gaze. None of this running bullshit.

He’s scared of the truth. He’s scared of what my dad has to tell me.

And I swear, at my question, his eyes darken.

“Because if I do lose you, I’ll go down whatever fucking dark hole you bury yourself in, and I will find you. I will bring you back.”

He kisses me, silencing any other questions. His lips are rough. His tongue claims my mouth. I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him flush against me.

I don’t know what my father could possibly say to make me want to run from this, but I shove it out of my mind.

That’s the point.

Tonight is about us.

A hello.

A goodbye.

A promise.