Wicked Games (Fallen Royals Book 2)
: Chapter 3

Past

The detective took my dad away.

A lady sat next to me on the bench and smiled. Even though she looked nice, she wasn’t particularly warm and fuzzy. Not like Dad when he held my hand on the way here.

“Ready to go, Margo?”

Dad struggled. He yelled my name, and officers were yelling back. I stared at him, not quite comprehending why they were dragging him away. Why his arms were behind his back, or the panicked look in his eye.

“Margo,” the woman beside me said again.

I faced her. “Am I going with Dad?”

She frowned. “Your dad was just arrested. I’m with Social Services. We’re going to try and locate your mom, okay?”

I didn’t know what arrested meant. But at the mention of my mom, tears formed in my eyes, and my throat got all tight. My chin wobbled. “Mom? No, she…”

Blank.

“It’s going to be okay.” She introduced herself, shook my hand, and then wouldn’t let go. She pulled me up and away. Down the path. It split, and we went a different way than my dad.

Are more police officers coming to arrest me, too?

“Come on, honey.”

We were almost to her car.

Dad said never to get in the car with strangers.

I screamed.

Blank.

I screamed, didn’t I?

Blank.

If I didn’t scream, did I get in the car? Go with her willingly? Give up on my family?

Blank.

Blank.

Blank.

Present

I wake with a start. Pink walls. White curtains. Flowers a foot from my face. I’m not ten and scared—I’m seventeen, on the verge of eighteen, and in Ian’s house. Not really any less scared, but still. Not in danger.

A dream—maybe more real than not?

There are gaps in my memory. I think they’re bigger than I realized.

“Who is Unknown?”

I roll over with a gasp.

Ian sits on the edge of my bed, facing away from me. He has my notebook open on his lap. He’s reading from my list of questions.

“Well, I think the point of the name Unknown signifies your lack of knowing who they are. Unless they call themselves Unknown? Hmm.” Pen scratches the paper as he writes something. “‘Why is Caleb set on ruining my life?’”

“Why are you in my room?”

He glances back at me. “Technically it isn’t your room.”

“You’re prying.” I get off the bed and circle around it, stopping in front of him. “Give it back.”

“I’m most curious about this question. Why is Caleb set on ruining your life?” He taps his pen on his lip. “Dare I answer?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“You ruined his life first,” he reasons. “At least, that’s the way my parents explained it.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“What part of that was confusing?”

“The part where your parents were talking about it.”

He chuckles, setting the notebook down next to him. “Ah. Caleb’s aunt and mine are second cousins.”

“Holy shit. You’re related? I didn’t⁠—”

“Distantly,” he says in a tone that ends all of my other questions.

He stands, and I take a quick step backward.

That door really needs a lock.

“You think he won’t come here searching for you?” Ian walks to the door.

Does he realize that by standing in the doorway, he cages me in? Boys like him have all the power. I shouldn’t be taken aback by that.

He’s still watching me, and I realize he asked me a question.

“He might,” I admit. “He’ll probably look high and low for me. Especially since I shut my phone off.”

Ian scoffs. “Well, I guess that’ll put you in a predicament tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

“Party.”

Of course. It’s Saturday.

“We just had the ball last night,” I protest. “And you’re hosting a party? Here?”

He shrugs. “Yep. It’s an after-party of sorts.”

It must be a desperate bid to cure his loneliness. He’s all alone in this big house for the whole winter. I’d get lonely, too. And lonely people do dangerous things.

Wait. No, I shouldn’t be sympathizing with the enemy. Above all things, I cannot empathize with Ian Fletcher. I should’ve gone somewhere else. Even Amelie’s house might’ve been a better option… one I didn’t think of until right this moment.

“Is Caleb invited to your party?” I finally ask.

He smirks.

I groan, throwing my hands up. “You couldn’t have warned me before⁠—”

“Before what, Wolfe? Before you got settled?” He looks pointedly at my bag by the door. “You didn’t even take off your shoes.”

True. It’s a runaway kid habit. Be ready to go in an instant.

I shake my head. “There’s not even a lock on the door⁠—”

“You can hide out in my room. There’s not a lock on it, but just imagine if Caleb found you? How pissed he would be.” He’s positively gleeful.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re not going to tell him?”

“Probably not.”

I groan and leave the room. I don’t trust Ian. Not that I particularly trust anyone at the moment, but Ian and Caleb are at the top of the shit list. Which furthers the point that it makes no sense why I would come here.

Is it too late to leave?

I was hoping to go to bed early tonight, sleep in, and then figure out how the hell my mother was involved with the Bryans’ daughter. If she was involved. That would also include tracking her down. If I can replace her, then I can prove her innocence—and in turn, my innocence.

The Bryans will take me back.

Ian follows me downstairs, into the kitchen. I open the fridge and lean in. My mind is still buzzing, and I need a distraction so I don’t completely freak out about whose house I’m in.

A little nap made a world of difference in my thought process.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Ian intones. “There’s enough meal-prepped shit between the fridge and freezer to last a month.”

I straighten and face him. “What? Why?”

“Mother Dearest makes sure I’m taken care of over the winter.” He leans against the island, watching me. “A chef comes in and prepares meals once a month. It’s a big ordeal. Time consuming. The whole house stinks like a restaurant for at least three days after. Lucky for us, she was just here a few days ago.”

A chef?

He pauses. “Margo?”

I blink and take a quick step back. I froze, I think.

“My mom is a personal chef.”

I clear my throat. She was a personal chef. Is she still? Did she replace work with some other rich family? Finding her couldn’t be so easy… it would be laughable if she was employed by the Fletchers. That’s right under the Ashers’ noses. And mine, too.

“I’m familiar,” he replies.

“Because she works for your family?”

“No.”

“Then why say that part?”

He scowls. “I said it because it’s the truth. Why? Do you need things sugarcoated? Should we never talk about chefs, or murder⁠—”

“Stop.” I decide on an apple out of the bottom drawer and take a bite. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“That we have a chef? To be fair, what we have is completely different from your mom. I mean, you guys lived in the Asher guest house. I’ve heard the stories. How she catered to Mr. Asher’s every whim⁠—”

I chuck the apple at him.

It hits him in the chest, juice splattering on his shirt. He catches it before it falls, then shakes his head at me.

“Where’s your sense of self-preservation?” My face is getting hot.

“You just need a dose of reality, since Caleb refuses to acknowledge it.” He takes a bite of the apple, winking at me. “So anytime you want to face the truth, let me know.”

He tosses the apple back at me and strolls out of the kitchen.

“Wait,” I blurt out. “My mom…”

He stops in the doorway. “Yes?”

“How much do you know?”

“Definitely not as much as you wish I did. I’d love to lie and say I could tell you what’s lost in your memory. But even I don’t know exactly what happened in the Asher house.”

My lips part. “How…?”

“Did I know you can’t remember?”

The one thing I respect about Ian is that we can talk about this fucked-up situation without pity or sympathy. He doesn’t show any emotion except faint amusement. Amusement doesn’t bother me. It’s everything else that tends to get…

Suffocating.

“You wouldn’t let Caleb near you with a ten-foot pole if you knew the truth,” he says, not waiting for my answer. “And as much as I hate him, I’m not willing to spoil it. The longer it goes, the better the fireworks will be.”

He mimes explosions.

I don’t have a reply. My mouth is dry, and I feel… off-kilter? The ground seems to be shifting under my feet constantly, not allowing me to get a grip.

He leaves, and I stare down at the apple in my hands. My appetite has fled, along with my sanity.

I don’t know where the hell my mother is—but she has to have some answers.

Step one: replace her.

Step two: hope she’ll talk to me.

And there’s Tobias, too…

So many freaking questions.

Plus, the leaked video, and Caleb’s betrayal, and Ian decided to throw a party.

I set the bitten apple on the table and go back to the pink room. I flop on the bed and consider Ian’s words. Slowly, I toe off my shoes, letting them fall to the floor. A sign that I’m not running… not quite yet.

You wouldn’t let Caleb near you…

My head pounds. I drape my arm over my eyes, blocking out the light.

What’s the truth?

What’s a lie?

We may never know.