Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

Ian’s room is kind of what I would’ve expected. The walls are gray-blue; his bedding matches in darker tones. There’s a hockey stick lying across his desk, a roll of white tape beside it, and a helmet on top of a few textbooks. His bag—thankfully closed, because I’m pretty sure hockey boys’ pads smell awful—sits in a corner. The rest of his room is, for the most part, spotless. Closed black closet doors, plush carpet instead of hardwood.

I drop my bag and sit on the edge of his bed. Music kicks on downstairs, loud enough to vibrate the floorboards. People are already arriving, and I couldn’t decide whether to remain where I was or hide in Ian’s room, like he originally offered.

After only a few moments’ debate, in which he showed me the sign he hangs on his door, I followed him down the hall and allowed him to close me in.

I slide to the floor and dig through the bag, pulling out my phone. I’ve avoided it, but now I turn it on. I’m not expecting much. Maybe a courtesy text from the Bryans, or one from Ms. McCaw informing me of what I already know?

I’ve tried for years to avoid loneliness. To push away everyone and everything in an effort to fortify myself. I changed homes frequently. At ten, I made attachments wherever I went. By twelve…

Past

Ms. McCaw was waiting for me when I got back to the DiMario house. The bus dropped me off at the end of the street, and sometimes they waited for me in their car. If Mr. DiMario wasn’t drunk, that is, and if the weather was bad. Their excuse was that they didn’t want a rain-soaked child dripping water across their floors. If he was drunk, then I walked to their house and tried to slip in undetected. Rain or snow or otherwise.

Anger. So much anger in one man.

She stood on the porch, typing on her phone. She seemed sad. Her lips were pinched, and her eyebrows pulled down in the middle.

“Hi, Margo,” she greeted me. “Let’s go, honey. Your stuff is in the car.”

In a trash bag, no doubt.

“Where am I going?”

She just shook her head. “A respite home.”

Respite. Temporary. A night, a week.

I was getting tired of this. Already. It had been two years—Dad was no closer to being free, Mom was gone. She had already been declared unfit anyway. But the fact that she didn’t come back?

“What’d I do this time?”

“The family said you were stealing.” She showed me a watch that belonged to Mr. DiMario. “I found this in your room.”

My heart pounded. He wouldn’t have called Social Services—he would’ve beat me silly. I’d been with the DiMarios for three weeks, but it was enough to instill fear. He hadn’t touched me yet, but the threat was ever-present.

“I didn’t. I don’t even like stupid old watches.”

She rubbed her eyes. “What am I supposed to do here, Margo? It’s grounds for removal.”

It was better this way. Mrs. DiMario stroked my hair until I fell sleep, but I was better off without them. Stronger without them.

I straightened my shoulders. I went to the trunk and waited for her to pop it. As soon as she did, I rummaged through the black plastic bag. Everything was there and accounted for—except one thing.

“Where’s the bracelet?”

She shook her head. “What?”

I ran back inside, down the hall to my old room. It was no larger than a closet with a twin bed on a low frame and a dresser against the wall. Everything was stripped, even the sheets. I jerked around, falling to my knees.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“The bracelet,” I said. I was frantic. Blue and gold. Blue and gold.

It had to be here somewhere. I should’ve never taken the stupid thing off, but it frayed. I was scared it would snap if I wore it.

Someone at school might see it and yank, and then he’d be gone forever.

I was halfway under the bed when she grabbed me and hauled me out.

“Stop,” she said.

My attention was glued to the floor.

“There wasn’t a bracelet in here.”

Tears filled my eyes. “I put it⁠—”

“I’m sorry, Margo, but…” She glanced around, throwing up her hands. “I don’t know. We have to get you to the respite house.”

She dragged me out. I barely registered where we were going through the tears, but then I was in the car, hugging my belongings to my chest.

I couldn’t put into words what that bracelet meant to me. It was the only thing tethering me to what felt like a life drifting farther and farther away.

My time with the DiMarios? Easily erased.

How did they manage to do it so efficiently? It’s evil the way kids like me could be wiped off the map. Didn’t like her attitude? Boom, gone.

Like I never even existed in the first place.

Present

It’s impossible to do anything except count cracks in the ceiling. The music is full blast, and the sounds of a million people layer on top of it. I tried scrolling Instagram, checking emails, listening to my own music…

Nothing drowns out the noise.

I can’t do this. I can’t just hide upstairs, waiting for it to end. I can only imagine the students downstairs. Classmates. And I wouldn’t put it past Ian to tell them I was up here, if only so word gets back to Caleb.

Caleb.

I stand and check my reflection. I had taken off my makeup sometime last night, so my complexion is clear. It is a little weird, not having the armor that mascara and eyeliner affords me.

The walls are closing in on me. My restlessness is growing, until I can’t stay in here a moment longer.

The odds of Caleb being here are slim… right?

I pull on a hoodie from Ian’s closet—the least I deserve—and cover my head. There’s not much I can do about my face, except let my hair half conceal it. Once my boots are on, I slip my phone into the hoodie pocket and crack the door.

The music is even louder in the hallway.

Remembering Ian’s warning, I close his door behind me and try to act inconspicuous. There’s a line for the bathroom, and people lingering in the hall, but no one throws me a second glance.

Maybe I am incognito—I make it all the way downstairs and to the back door without notice. There’s no sign of anyone I’m friendly with anyway. No Riley, no Jacq. Eli or Liam would surely call me out, same with Amelie or Savannah.

And yet, I slip through unscathed. I open the door and step out onto the porch, inhaling a deep breath. The cold air is invigorating. Better than the warmth inside.

“Margo.” Caleb leans on the house. He’s in the shadows, but I’d recognize him anywhere.

Of course he’s here.

Not only that—of course he’s outside. Right where I’ve come for an ounce of relief.

I wonder if that’s how he feels when he looks at me, too, or if every tender moment has been a fabrication. Is loathing all that exists between us?

“I’m trying to convince myself not to carry you out of here.” His words are dark.

I go to the railing. I don’t care to look at him. His words to my foster parents, how he blamed me for their daughter’s death, echoes in my ears. So, no, I won’t look at him. I can barely stand to hear his voice.

“How’s that going?” I put my forearms on the painted wood, leaning my weight on it. It smells like snow. Still a bit early in the year, but it could happen.

Anything could happen.

“I’m not carting you over my shoulder, right?” His footsteps alert me to his approach. “Not yet anyway.”

I shiver. My heart shouldn’t be beating out of my chest like this. He’s just a boy. He’s just Caleb. But maybe that’s exactly why. No matter what he does to me, I’ll still feel something for him.

He leans on the railing beside me, so close his arm presses to mine.

For a split second, I imagine hurting him. Punching him in the face or kneeing him in the groin. Anything to make him mirror the agony I feel on the inside. There’s broken glass inside me, pushing its way out.

“Margo,” he repeats. He faces me. His hand comes up, sliding around my neck and into my hair.

It’s too gentle.

“You just—” I shove him away from me.

His face doesn’t show any reaction, like he’s numb to this. God, I hate him. I follow him, hitting his chest. I can’t stop, and he’s not doing anything to make me.

—fists against the door⁠—

I blink. What was that?

In one smooth motion, Caleb grabs my wrists and maneuvers us so my back is against the railing.

I’m not a violent person, but he just makes me so angry⁠—

“Come back,” he says in my ear.

I flinch. “Let go.”

“So you can hit me again? Unlikely.”

“Weren’t we happy?” I meet his gaze. I’m not talking about our childhood—I mean yesterday.

His fingers tighten on my wrists, which he keeps between us. He narrows his eyes.

“Happiness is an illusion, little lamb.”

I almost wish we were drawing attention, just to have an excuse to break free of him. As it is, my body is ignoring all the warning signs.

It’s been less than a day. I miss him and I hate him. The ache in me is bone-deep. This hurts worse than Ian kicking me and biting me, or Amelie’s snide words, or Savannah using the cheerleaders to make my life hell.

This is so much worse.

“It doesn’t matter,” he adds.

I gape at him. “How? In what world does happiness not matter?”

“You belong to me just as I belong to you.” He says it like it’s a fact. Simple, easy, absolute.

It’s not.

We’re live in all the shades of gray between.

“First to give in loses,” I whisper. “I guess this is my big punishment. I fall for you, you ruin my life.”

None of this belonging shit. He’s ruined everything.

I can’t go home. I don’t even have a home.

His finger strokes over my bracelet, drawing my attention back to it. He still wears his.

Another mind fuck? What does it mean? I know what it represented to a young Margo Wolfe. The innocent version of me, who loved without restriction. Who didn’t understand that bad things could happen to good people.

“Stop,” I whisper.

I yank at my wrists, but he holds tight. The little metal cage around the woven threads on the bracelet, meant to protect it, now seems more like a threat.

“You’re getting it now,” he replies. “You can run, but there’s nowhere you can go I won’t follow.”

Maybe I should go back to the Bryans and get it over with. Let my social worker take me out of this godforsaken town once and for all. Time has been ticking while I’ve been falling for Caleb Asher. I’ve got three months left until I turn eighteen, and then I truly will be unmoored.

“Even then, I’d find you. I’ll never let you go. You know that, don’t you?” He meets my gaze. “And you’ll never let go of me either.”

The metal around my wrist is warm, digging in under his finger. And beneath the metal, the threads that wove us together when we were kids. Dressed up like a bride and groom, tying on the bracelets, a kiss to seal the deal.

Look how far we’ve fallen.

“Stop.” I pull my arms down, trying to get away from him.

He releases me.

For a split second, I’m free, and then he’s back in my space, holding me captive by more than my wrists. His hips press into mine, and he leans his elbows on the railing on either side of my head. I have my hands, but he has my body. He leans in, bending me backward over it.

“No,” he says.

Simple. Effective. I’m pretty sure I hate the word—and him.

“You’re so hell-bent on destroying my life. Why not just drive the knife in deeper?”

He grins. He’s insane—I know it. He surely is aware.

“You ran to Ian Fletcher.” His gaze drops to my chest. “You’re wearing his sweatshirt. How am I supposed to react?”

“I hate you.”

His smile widens. “Right back atcha, baby.”

There’s a gleam in Caleb’s eyes that scares me. He’s out of his mind, and I’m only just now seeing it. Witnessing his demons take control. I shove at his arm and slip past him.

Caleb catches up to me in the living room. He grasps my arm, spinning me around, and puts me up against the wall. It doesn’t hurt, but it has my attention. His palm covers my throat.

The party falls silent. Even the music cuts out.

Caleb doesn’t tear his eyes away from me—and I can’t look away from him either.

“What are you doing?” My voice is breathless. I don’t mean it to be. I want to come off strong, even though my body is thrumming with electricity.

One day isn’t enough to turn off all the emotions I feel toward him. And while I hate him, I think…

Nope. Not going there.

I wrap my hands around his wrist. I can’t tell if I’m holding his hand to my throat or trying to get him to remove it.

“Party’s over. Leave,” he demands. He isn’t talking to me. He’s talking to… everyone else. He’s ending the party. Trying anyway.

No one moves.

“Now!” he roars. He so rarely has to raise his voice.

Several people flinch, and it breaks the spell. It’s a mass exodus, everyone just… stops what they’re doing and rushes away.

He really is royalty.

His thumb brushes along the underside of my jaw. Small movements that he might not even be aware of. His touch brings out goosebumps.

I close my eyes until everyone is gone, and we’re entombed in silence. He’s everywhere. In my past, my present. His scent in my nose. His voice in my ear. His hand at my throat, capturing every beat of my heart.

“You will break for me, little lamb,” he whispers in my ear. “This is just the beginning.”

I shudder. “Why?”

“You and I…”

I open my eyes. His gaze sears into me.

And his thumb still traces a pattern, back and forth on my jaw.

Games and more games. My head hurts. My lungs ache.

“You’re mine, Margo. Forever. And you’ll break for me—don’t think that you won’t.”

This is just the beginning.

“I won’t,” I swear.

He leans down to kiss me. I press my lips together and turn my head to the side, exhaling through my nose when his lips land on my cheek. But he doesn’t stop. His lips travel over my cheekbones, touching my eyelid, then my forehead.

And his hand tightens on my throat. White spots explode in front of my eyes.

A soft whimper escapes me.

“Kiss me.”

I keep my head turned away.

“You bastard,” I choke out. Fear winds through my chest. It’ll make me do anything—including give in to Caleb. And that’s just… not an option.

“What do I have to do to prove that you’re mine?” he asks.

He tugs my pants down in one swift motion. He spreads my legs with his knee, and then he thrusts his finger into me.

I cry out, but the sound is strangled. I’m strangled. I push him, but he doesn’t budge. It’d be easier to move a boulder.

“Wet.” The word is an admonishment. “Kiss me, Margo, and I’ll leave you alone. For the night anyway.”

Tears run down my face. I hate that I want him to keep touching me. That my hips move forward the slightest bit when his nail scrapes my clit. His fingers plunge back into me, stroking a spot deep inside me.

He kisses my cheek, his tongue darting out and catching my misery.

“You fucking love this,” he says. “Don’t pretend otherwise. Don’t pretend that you don’t wish it was my dick inside you. Maybe next time, I won’t send them away. They’ll get a live show⁠—”

I grab his face and pull him to me. Our lips are magnets.

Better make it a good one.

I taste my own tears as I part our lips, sliding my tongue along his. He takes over, slamming me back. My head thumps against the wall. His teeth tear at my lower lip.

He’s still toying with my clit, alternating between rubbing and pinching.

That, the kiss, his hand at my throat…

An orgasm comes out of nowhere.

I groan into his mouth, and he takes it all. The orgasm, my noises, the kiss. My anger. My frustration.

His hand loosens on my throat, slipping down. His palm stops on my chest, over my heart.

“Well?” I manage.

His blue eyes haunt me. “It’s a start.”

He backs away, his gaze lingering on my face. It seems like he’s disappointed. I’m so glad there’s a wall at my back, because my legs would’ve given out otherwise.

He leaves. It isn’t what I was expecting, although it is what he promised.

Hate him, Margo, I tell myself.

I pull up my pants slowly. My muscles ache. Hair in place, hoodie straightened. Piece by piece, I reassemble myself. Caleb’s a hurricane force, but I’m supposed to withstand him and everything he brings.

I’ve got to be stronger.

I walk into the kitchen and almost jump out of my skin.

“That was quite the performance,” Ian says, lifting his cup. He sways a bit. “I can see why he’s into you. The noises⁠—”

“You were listening? Did you see⁠—?”

He snorts and waves. “God, no. Asher would’ve probably murdered me. Although I’m sure he realized I was there… I dropped a bottle.” He points to a shattered beer bottle on the floor in front of the fridge.

“I didn’t⁠—”

“You were a little preoccupied.” He winks. “And wearing my hoodie, too. See?”

I roll my eyes. “See what?”

He raises the cup to his lips, then smirks at me. “You’re not the docile lamb everyone thinks you are. You’re devious.”

“Ugh.” I shake my head. “You said whatever I felt was a manipulation. You were right.”

“Was I?”

He’s drunk. He wobbles, then saunters toward me. “Best run off to your room before I do something I shouldn’t.”

My stomach flips. He would do something. Kick me, kiss me. I don’t want to know. I back into the counter, knocking over cups with my elbow. I feel my way to the door without turning my back to him. I glare while he laughs.

Once I’m out of the kitchen, I bolt.

He doesn’t chase me, but I run like he is. I yank open the door to his bedroom with shaky fingers and grab my bag, pivoting and heading back into the pink bedroom. I shove the dresser in front of the door and exhale sharply.

He shouldn’t be able to get in. No one should.

I survey my handiwork, then flop back on the bed.

I’ve had a night.

My emotions are all over the place.

Pushing everything down, I crawl farther up the bed and curl into a ball. Sleep will cure everything. I hope.