Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)
: Chapter 1

It’s done.

I expect a weight to lift off my shoulders, the same as every other time I did this.

Over the years, I’ve systematically destroyed Margo’s world. It’s become something of a secret sport—me versus her. The game continued when she moved here, when she was suddenly in my path once again.

But the first time, we were twelve. It took me two years to stew, thinking she had just gotten away without retribution, to realize that if anyone was going to make her pay for her sins, it would be me.

Of course, at twelve I didn’t think like that. I just wanted her to hurt.

I took a taxi. I’d overheard my uncle talking about her, where she was. He, too, kept tabs. But he didn’t show up at her door like I was planning. I approached her foster mother with a rather twisted view of the truth. The woman just stared at me, her eyes round, as a kid laid out Margo’s crimes.

I left their front porch but hung around for the fireworks.

I paid the taxi driver to park at the curb. His meter ticked onward, but I didn’t give a shit. I was a kid. Money was a far-off concept, sure, but I also knew we had enough of it to cover this adventure. Her social worker arrived at the house, talked to the parents. She carried out a trash bag and set it in her trunk.

Margo came home from school only to meet the social worker. Hell, the foster mom had been so disgusted, she didn’t even want to be there.

I leaned forward, wanting to soak up her every reaction. Her dark hair was in two braids that swung across her back. There were little pink bows in them. She seemed fine. So opposite of me. She was smiling, but it faded when she realized who was on the porch.

The social worker broke the news.

Margo didn’t cry.

That was disappointing.

She didn’t cry the next time either, when I found her again.

Each time she carted out her garbage bag, which I learned was full of her clothes, she kept her shoulders back. Her chin up. At fifteen, I sat in my uncle’s car a house down from the fosters’ and tried to suck an ounce of gratification out of it.

The game turned into: How far can I push until she breaks?

Ruin her in one way, and she might recover. Ruin her every way, and she’ll crumble. Mind, body, and soul.

I began hanging around longer to see if she would lose control. Not close enough for her to see me—I’m not an idiot. In all the times I fucked with her, whether it be through the school she attended or the foster home, she only slipped once.

When she was torn away from siblings.

Once in seven fucking years.

It felt good to see her cry, but odd. Something cracked inside my chest. Her breaking was breaking me, too. I had let her stay at that home for a while. Two whole years of idyllic bliss while I tried to forget about Margo Wolfe.

I drowned myself in hockey. I even fucked her ex-best friends. But I couldn’t shake her. She resided in the back of my head, popping up at the worst times.

Senior year was approaching, and it was time for Margo to return home.

The Bryans were perfect. It wasn’t their fault I had that card up my sleeve. As I told the Bryans: they were a common subject of my aunt and her social circle right after the accident that stole their daughter’s life. My aunt went to church and prayed for their family, but then she’d come back with her friends, gossiping like schoolgirls about where the drugs could’ve come from.

Was it true? Did Amber Wolfe, Margo’s mother, kill their daughter?

Maybe.

Hell if I know.

This isn’t about them—this is about Margo and her resilience. It’s about ruining another good thing for her, while being up close and personal to watch the fallout.

I didn’t expect Lenora Bryan to cry.

Or maybe I did. I tried to morph my face into a semblance of sympathy, but… it’s sympathy I don’t quite feel. Not for them anyway.

Will they kick Margo out? Or will their perception of her shift just enough that it becomes unbearable?

I guess we’ll replace out. I leave their house, trotting down the steps and to my car. Once in, I tip my head back and breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s done. Whatever happens next is on them.

I scan my phone before I take off, clearing away messages from classmates and my mother. I pause on my best friend’s latest text. It came in less than a half hour ago.

Eli

You schmoozing the Bryans? Freaked your girl out that you were there.

I pause.

Two things. My girl? She is mine—but to hear him acknowledge it is an entirely different beast. The second⁠—

Margo saw my car?

I’d figured Eli would take his sweet time getting out of there. He was supposed to offer to take them to breakfast or some shit. Give me time to cause my mayhem and leave.

I type back.

Me

Dickhead.

But really, this is a bigger issue.

Eli

She got out of the car at the top of the street.

Did you see her?

No, no I didn’t.

“Shit.” I slam my hand against the steering wheel. I’ve never had her catch me before. I’ve never been this careless, though… Just hours ago, I was inside her. Making her scream and squirm under my touch, bringing her pleasure. And now, the opposite.

But what did she see? Or hear?

I dial her number and drum my fingers on the steering wheel. I need to drive away from the Bryans’ house, but not until Margo answers me.

It goes to voicemail.

I dial again, just in case.

It must be off, because it barely rings once before it switches over to her breathy voice on the recording.

This plan… It was set in stone a while ago. Pulling her down piece by piece. But I’m not ready for her to fall—not yet. I’m not done with her.

This was supposed to be slow. A shift in their family dynamic. An unsettling.

Seven years ago, she broke me. Now I’m just showing her what she created.

A beast in my chest demands to be free—a beast that only wants Margo’s blood.

I pound my hands on the steering wheel again, in rapid succession.

Slowly, I drop the walls around the demons I keep locked away. It’s nice to let the darkness take over. Fury washes through me, but it’s calm, liquid ice.

Margo Wolfe may have run away, but I’m going to replace her and bring her back, even if it kills me.

We’re not done.

Eventually, she’ll shatter for me, and the game will finally be over.