Page 140 of Wicked Dreams

“There’s no fuckingbut!” I roar. “You’re endangering everything by being here.”

Way more than she fucking realizes.

I’m sick of this. Sick of being in the same room with a drug-addicted whore and family ruiner. I dig my toe into her ribs, flipping her flat on her back. She’s so weak, she flops right over.

Her gaze locks on mine. Her mouth opens and closes. She’s in shock—or succumbing to whatever she probably shot into her veins. Her tears spill out again, flooding down her temples and into her hair.

“I’m sorry, Caleb.”

I shove her sweater sleeve up, just to prove to myself that she’s still the drug addict I remember. The track marks are dark, angry red. Infected, probably from dirty needles.

My skin crawls, and I release her just as fast.

The kids at school call Margo a coke whore’s daughter. And they’re right: Amber Wolfe has taken another lover. And there’s nothing more alluring to her than her drug of choice.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” I thumb through the cash that I brought and make a show of dropping the bills onto her chest. “You’re going to go anywhere but here. Upstate. Down south. West, even. You could be a happy homeless slut in the eternal sunshine. Who the fuck cares? But if I hear that you step back in Rose Hill, you’re done. I’ll kill you myself.”

She shudders.

I promised Margo I would kill anyone who hurt her.

The biggest threat is her mother.

“Leave tonight, Amber.”

She grabs my boot as I walk past her. “Please. I got a call?—”

I shake her loose, my lip curling. I pause with my hand on the knob and drain my beer, then drop the empty bottle on the floor. It tastes like piss water.

Figures.

I slam the door behind me, hoping that Amber gets my message. I really don’t want to have to resort to murdering Margo’s mom.

Chapter 32

Margo

Intervention time.

Or… something like that. Maybe it isn’t an intervention, but the way Lenora and Robert are staring at me, it sure feels like something momentous—and catastrophic—is going to happen.

The only sound is the clock ticking on the wall behind Robert’s head.

We chose to sit at the dining room table, Robert at the head and Lenora and me on either side of him. And they’re just… waiting for something.

Finally, Robert clears his throat. “How are you doing, honey?”

“Doing? Like…”

“In general,” Lenora supplies. “Or specifically, if you want.”

“I’m good.” I shrug, forcing a smile at both of them. “I mean, I’m sorry for the other night. When I got drunk.”

The late-morning sun streams in through the window behind me, warming my back. Caleb successfully snuck out through the window, and I made an appearance for movie night. It was nice. No talking. Just sword fights and British accents.

When I woke up, I was filled with inexplicable trepidation. I could barely move.

My body hurt. I discovered a trail of hickies and bruises on my neck, down my chest. I pressed my thumb into one, and pain hit deep. But it wasn’t bad. It was the kind of pain that made me want to keep pushing on it.

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