Page 159 of Wicked Games

“Len should be home by now,” Robert says. “Maybe we take it easy and have a movie night?”

It sounds like the perfect distraction.

“Great idea.”

He hands me a tissue, then pulls out onto the street. “You can talk about it if you want. Either to me or Len, Angela, your new therapist… There are a lot of options.”

“I know.” My gaze returns to my fingernails. I shredded them at some point while in the prison, either listening to Dad talk or waiting for him to come out, but I didn’t notice the full extent of the damage. There’s blood caked around the nail of my index finger.

“I just wanted to say, without anyone else around—you know how Len gets, hovering—that I’m proud of you. You were so against seeing your father when we first met you. It’s only been a few months, but this willingness to open up?—”

I bite my lip, desperate not to cry again. “I want to stay with you. And thank you for taking the time to drive?—”

The SUV comes out of nowhere.

It smashes into the front corner of our vehicle, sending us flying. Robert reaches over, his arm across my chest as we catapult off the road. He tries to regain control, but in slow motion, we go off the road. The nose of the car goes down into a ditch, and momentum takes it from there.

I close my eyes, bringing my hands up to protect my face.

The car flips.

Glass shatters.

My head bangs against something, and the world flickers.

Screeching fills my ears, then the sound of wind.

And then, silence.

Darkness.

My breath in my ears.

Pain comes a heartbeat later, lacerating through me. I gasp, revived, and stare at Robert. We hang upside down, suspended by our seat belts. His eyes are closed. There’s blood on his head.

Black spots form in front of my eyes.

It’s hard to breathe.

“Robert?” I try to reach over, but my arm isn’t working right.

I unbuckle myself, stretching up with my working arm to lower myself to the floor—the ceiling of the car. Hot liquid pours down my face, and I give in to the wave of dizziness.

Just one second, I order. Then get out.

The longer I stay still, the harder it is to keep my eyes open.

Rough hands grab at me, and I fight them for an instant.

“Stop, I’m here to help,” a voice says. “It’s okay, Margo.”

How do you know my name?

I hesitate long enough for them to slide me out of the car. Their arm is wrapped around my chest, just below my breasts, and they manage to get me out through the broken window.

“How did you find me?” I slur. “Robert?—”

“He’s okay. The ambulance will take him. Come on, up to your feet.” My savior hoists me up, but my legs won’t hold me.After a moment, they adjust their grip and half drag me, moving backward. “You hit your head pretty good, huh?”

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