Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)

It’s nice to wake up alone. No one staring at me, or glaring. No pressure to go to school—one, because it’s Sunday, and two, because I’m definitely not going back with the video floating around.

I can’t stay at Ian’s house forever, but it sure is nice to stretch out and bask in the sunlight coming in through the window. I arch my back and do just that—stretch out. Until my hand hits something—someone.

I yelp, scooting to the edge of the bed and rolling over.

I expect Ian. Honestly, I do. Even with the dresser in front of the door, he seems like the type to figure out a way around it. But it takes me a few seconds of blinking like a madwoman for my brain to engage with what I’m seeing.

Because it’s definitely not Ian Fletcher.

Amelie leans against the headboard. “God, you sleep like the dead.”

“What are you doing?”

That’s it. I shove the blankets back and stumble to my feet. A surefire show of confidence in front of the school’s queen bee. I grab a sweatshirt and tug it on, my face heating.

I hate embarrassment. And her catching me sleeping seems like the worst offense possible.

“I came to see if you were okay.” She picks at her nails. “After your little show last night.”

Oh, jeez.

Wait. She’s still in a sparkly dress, leaving bits of glitter all over the comforter. And while her makeup and hair seem perfectly done, it doesn’t mean…

“Did you sleep here?”

Besides being in last night’s dress, she’s picture-perfect. It’s barely eight o’clock in the morning. I run my hand through my hair. My fingers get caught on invisible knots, and she watches me work to free the strands.

“You’ve got a bit of drool.” She touches a painted nail to the corner of her lip.

I swipe at it. I’m going to burst into flames at any second, I just know it.

And I guess I did sleep like the dead.

“Ian and I aren’t really a thing,” she adds. “So don’t get your panties in a twist over it. I wasn’t… Didn’t feel like going home. His bed is a nice place to land.”

That’s a mental picture I don’t need.

“Anyway, you should’ve put something heavier in front of the door.”

Her gaze goes to the dresser, which has been forcibly moved to the center of the room. How the hell did I miss that sound?

“The fact that the Fletchers put all their furniture on sliders to protect their precious floors doesn’t help.”

Ah.

Well, I did have an easy time shoving it in front of the door. I shouldn’t be shocked that someone else had an easy time removing it.

It’s a little nerve-racking to have Amelie in my space. I know it isn’t mine, but… Still.

“Are you going to tell the Bryans I’m here?”

“No, I’m pretty sure Caleb will take care of that.”

She stands, picking up her purse from next to the bed.

“Then why are you here?”

It’s like she’s been waiting for me to ask, because her shoulders drop.

She exhales. “Caleb wronged both of us.”

I squint.

“And you’re just going to let him control you like that?”

“No.” I cross my arms.

“Exactly.” She taps her fingernail on the dresser. “A united front, you know?”

“I thought you hated me.” And this could be a colossal trap. “Besides, I don’t trust you.”

Be a wolf, Margo.

“You don’t have to trust me,” she says. “What matters is that Caleb doesn’t win.”

I slowly nod. Even if I don’t like her, or trust her, she’s right. He’s been playing both of us to certain degrees. Why he chose to use her against me—and vice versa—I’ll never know. But right here, right now?

We could change the game.

“What are you proposing?”

Amelie goes to the window. “Your family is here.”

I flinch. “Foster family.”

“Right,” she whispers. “Whatever.”

Not whatever. There’s a massive difference.

I join her at the window, and we watch the familiar car pull into Ian’s driveway. Ms. McCaw’s car isn’t ahead or behind them. Most fosters wouldn’t come do the dirty work—they’d let the case worker clean up the mess. Even if the Bryans wanted to watch the show…

They get out of the car.

It’s just them.

“I doubt they’re going to rehome you.” She pats my shoulder.

“You’d be surprised.”

“You need to trust people more,” she says. “Seriously.”

Yeah, right. The more I trust, the more it bites me in the ass.

The sound of a doorbell echoes through the downstairs, traveling through the walls. I flinch again, stepping away from the window.

This is it.

Ian’s cheerful voice floats up toward us, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.

Amelie grabs my arm. “They’re going to make you go back to school.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll have to see Caleb every day. You’re in what, three classes together?”

I shrug. That’s exactly right, but I don’t want to tell her that. Or admit that I’ve counted. “Something like that.”

“Meet me in the courtyard before lunch.”

I shake her loose. “Isn’t that place kind of obvious?”

She flips her hair back. “Isn’t the library a little obvious of you? He knows you hide away there.”

Fair.

I follow her into the hallway. She goes toward Ian’s room, and I eye the stairs. Lenora’s and Robert’s voices are clearer now, but I can’t pick up the anger. Not yet. I force myself to go closer, perching on a step halfway down. The staircase is broken into two sections, with a landing in between, and I’m hidden in my position.

“She was scared.” Ian’s voice floats up.

My hackles rise. Of course his parents wouldn’t be the ones to answer the door—they’re not even here.

“We appreciate the explanation,” Robert says, “but we’d like to see her.”

Someone sighs.

“Margo!” Ian’s voice is shockingly loud. His head pops around the corner. He’s not surprised at my closeness, and he smirks. “Listening in?”

“Shut up,” I mumble.

I don’t have a choice, now. They know I’m here—Ian admitted as much. Wonder how they found out?

I hoist myself up and pass him. The descent is the worst, with their gaze right on me, but I can’t even look at them. I propel myself forward through sheer force of will and stop in front of my foster parents.

After a moment of silence, I glance up. They seem the worse for wear. But what plagues me is the guilt and shame.

“I’m sorry my mom killed your daughter.” My voice is barely audible, even to my own ears.

They stare at me for a second before Lenora moves. She drags me into a hug, crushing me to her chest, and bursts into tears.

My arms hang at my sides.

She holds me like I might evaporate.

“We were so worried,” she says in my ear. “Thank God you’re okay. And you’re here. And⁠—”

“Let her breathe, Len,” Robert interrupts.

She steps back but keeps her hands on my shoulders. She grips me with surety, not letting me retreat.

I didn’t get a chance to hug her back. My expression must be stupefied, because I was expecting them to tell me that I was leaving. Bags already packed.

Anger.

Hatred.

“Margo,” Robert says. “Your mother’s actions don’t define you. And they certainly don’t define us. We feel horrible that you overheard Caleb.”

I feel horrible, too. Like my gut has gone through a blender.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Lenora says. Her hands push and pull my shoulders, so light I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it.

—head snapping back⁠—

I cringe.

She releases me, eyes wide. “Honey⁠—”

Nope. I shake my head hard. It doesn’t change anything about what, though? As far as I’m concerned, Caleb’s story changes everything.

“What does that mean for me?”

“We’re taking you home,” Robert says firmly. “No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

My eyes burn.

“I’m glad you worked things out,” Ian says behind me. He sets my backpack down at my feet. “Can’t say I’m sorry to see you go, though.”

I take it, eyeing him. Did he call them? No one else would want me out of Ian’s house more than he does… except Caleb. Did Caleb call them?

I frown, first at him, and then at my foster parents. “What did Ms. McCaw say?”

Robert winces, bracing the door open with his back. Lenora slips out first, and I follow.

“Well, we didn’t tell her.”

My jaw drops.

“We hoped we could find you before it became necessary,” Lenora explains. “It’s a bit unorthodox. And it could’ve backfired on all of us.”

“But the consequences would’ve been worse,” Robert adds. “You’re already labeled as a runaway risk. I’m sorry, but it’s true. If she knew we lost you…”

I cringe. I am a risk—because of Caleb. It’s time I accepted that he’s been the source of my life’s upheaval for years. And, like Amelie suggested, I should do something about it.

But not right now.

Now, I buckle myself into the backseat and lean forward, still in disbelief that they didn’t follow procedure and report me.

“You didn’t tell her,” I repeat. “She doesn’t know.”

Relief. Confusion. It’s all white noise buzzing in my ears.

They saved me after everything.

“We didn’t,” Robert confirms.

“What now?” I shoot one last glance back toward Ian’s house.

He wasn’t that bad—better than I expected with nowhere left to go. Would I do it again? No. Was his behavior toxic, even if he wasn’t actively hurting me? Yeah, a bit. And then there’s Amelie…

“We’re going home, and we’re going to figure this out,” Robert says. “But you’re not going anywhere unless you want to. Do you?”

I blink. “Do I what?”

“Want to go to a different family?” He readjusts his grip on the steering wheel.

“No.” I bite my lip. It’s time to stop hiding behind fear and speak what I want into existence. “I want to stay.”

Lenora sniffles. “Good.”

We ride the rest of the way in silence. I’m exhausted from the past two days. There are too many emotions swirling around my head. The sudden switch from liking Caleb to hate—it’s left me cold. And confused.

I shudder.

Back at the Bryans’ house, I shoulder my bag and make my way to my room. It’s kind of strange, returning here. Everything is exactly the same as the way I left it.

I lie down, and Caleb’s scent surrounds me. Another tear slides down my cheek. I could sleep away the whole day. But after a few minutes of breathing deeply, I push myself up. I have to go to school with him tomorrow.

Where he’ll undoubtedly try to act like nothing has changed between us.

I switch into fresh clothes and scrape my hair up into a bun. There’s somewhere I need to go. There’s something I need to remember.

It’s clawing at the wall in my mind, desperately insistent to be acknowledged.

I find Robert in his office.

He looks up when I knock on the open door, a grin spreading. “Margo. I thought you might decide to rest today.”

I frown. “I was actually hoping… I need to go out.”

His eyebrow jumps, then settles. “Where?”

“Caleb’s house.”

He sighs. “Why?”

“There’s…” I spin the bracelet on my wrist. “There’s just something that’s been bugging me about my old home. And I was hoping to take one more peek…”

He stands. “Okay.”

He slips past me, down the hall.

“What are you doing?” I call.

“Driving you,” he answers.

My mouth drops open, and I chase after him. “You don’t have to. I can walk⁠—”

“It’s no trouble.” He holds up the keys, winking at me. “We can stop and get a pastry on the way back.”

I nod slowly. The car ride is quick, and then we’re there. In the same driveway, staring up at Caleb’s empty house.

“No one lives here,” I tell him.

“I know.” He glances at me. “We recognized your last name when Angela was searching for a home for you. Most of the foster families in the town were aware of what had happened between the Wolfes and the Ashers.”

“I don’t really remember it.”

His smile is sad. “Trauma affects children differently. Some lash out. Some get quiet. We took a class on dealing with loss⁠—”

“I didn’t lose anyone.” I cross my arms over my chest. “They’re both still out there.”

He twists toward me. “If you want to see your dad, Margo, we can arrange that⁠—”

“I don’t.”

Mom left. Dad was taken away.

They’re still alive. And if I hadn’t done whatever it is Caleb thinks I did⁠—

I open the car door. The answers I want are in that house.

“I’ll be back,” I tell him.

Down the side driveway, around the main garage, and suddenly the Ashers’ guest house is in front of me. I should stop thinking of it as home, even though it’s the only one I really knew. That apartment in the city before we came here is just flashes. We were here for most of my childhood—until I was taken away.

The door is locked, but we used to keep a spare key in the plant box under the window around the corner. I’m sure Caleb was the one to lock it. He’s the only one who would want to keep me out.

I find the key and brush off the crusted dirt. It’s dull, with rust spots, but it still works. The door opens under my hand. Absently, I pocket the key.

It’s like walking into the past—but not the past that I want to remember. Not the disrupted, angry place that I’ve forgotten. No, it’s like…

Sunshine.

Past

“Margo!”

I jerked upright. The sun had felt so good beating down on my face that I closed my eyes. It was just for a minute.

Mom stands in front of me. “What are you doing on the floor?”

I shrugged.

Sundays were a big day for her, which meant her white chef’s coat was pristine. She meal-prepped lunches for the Ashers to take to work for the next week, and then she came home and do the same for us. After, she’d return to their kitchen and make a big Sunday roast for them.

Now she smoothed the coat down. Nervous habit or calming gesture, I hadn’t quite figured it out. But it usually carried some amount of tension in her.

I stand carefully.

“Lydia wanted to know if you would like to go to the park with them.”

I perked up. I wasn’t allowed to call Mrs. Asher by her first name, but Mom was. I guessed it was an adult thing. Caleb called my mom Amber.

So maybe it was a me thing. They never bothered to explain that.

“When?”

“Now.” She laughed. She came over and held out her hands, lifting me to my feet. “If you want. I made sandwiches for a picnic.”

“Are you going?”

She shook her head. “No, I have some things to do around the house.”

I bit my lip.

“Your dad will be home later,” she said. “He just got caught up at the office.”

On a Sunday.

“Okay,” I said.

She brushed her hand over my clothes, straightening my shirt and smoothing my hair. I sometimes liked the way she made sure everything was in place, but other times it scratched at my skin. Like now, when she was only doing it because I’d be going with Mrs. Asher and Caleb.

“Perfect,” she finally said, releasing me.

I smiled.

Caleb and his mom were in the kitchen when we walked in. He sat at the breakfast bar, dutifully finishing breakfast. It looked like he got scrambled eggs, roasted potatoes, sausage. The smell of it fills my nose.

I ate hours ago, pouring myself a bowl of cereal after I woke and discovered the house empty. Now, my stomach growled.

Mom tapped the back of my head like it was my fault my stomach was being loud.

“Good morning, Margo,” Mrs. Asher greeted me.

I smiled at her. “Hi.”

Caleb twisted around. “I lost a tooth.”

I climbed up on the stool next to him. He gave me a wide smile, showing a gap in his teeth. While he was proud, my stomach turned. I didn’t hide my grimace. I hated plucking out loose teeth. The last one that wiggled, Caleb reached in my mouth and snatched it out before I could stop him.

He wouldn’t give it back for the tooth fairy either.

My mom kissed me on the head. “Have fun. I’ll see you later.”

We watched her go back the way she came.

“All right.” Mrs. Asher clapped. “Ready?”

Caleb pushed away his place, and we followed her into the garage.

She buckled us into our seats in the car. We were old enough to do it ourselves—that’s what Caleb told her anyway, but she just smiled.

“You’re growing up before my eyes.” She kissed him on the forehead.

Something in my chest tightened and loosened at the same time.

Mom liked me. But she didn’t like me that much.

And Dad…

“Are you okay, Margo?” Mrs. Asher asked.

Mom would kill me if I told the Ashers anything, so I nodded.

We got to the park, and Caleb’s mom laid out a blanket. It was warm and sunny, and Caleb took off toward some of his friends. I sprawled out next to Lydia and closed my eyes again. The sun heated my body.

In the distance, Caleb and his friends were laughing.

Laughing.

Screaming.

Blank.

No, I need to remember.

Caleb and his friends were playing.

I sat up, confused. Alone.

Blank.

I screamed.

Present

I open my eyes, looking around slowly. I’m in my old bedroom, curled into a ball on the floor. How I got here is a mystery. One minute I was walking into the house, the next… a memory.

But it isn’t as sharp as I need it to be.

It isn’t as clear.

I stand and go to the dresser, acting on a suspicion. It’s a shock more than anything to see a trail of disturbed dust.

Caleb and I were in here before, and then he shows up with the bracelet at the ball?

I had lost it. It was one of the times I was moved without warning… All that time, I thought a foster sibling had taken it, or the parents tossed it.

He stole it.

He brought it back here, set it on my dresser in a house that hasn’t been touched in seven years.

Who’s pretending now?