Page 37 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

His eyes are dark. They always seem to be dark when he does wicked things to me. His finger touches me through my jeans, and I clench my muscles at an unfamiliar ache.

“I can’t drive,” I blurt out. Anything to stop the movement. It’s torturous, just on the edge of not enough.

He pauses. “Really.”

“What, do you think a foster parent would’ve taught me?”

He withdraws his hand, and I relax into the leather seat. He pulls out of the driveway. He has a contemplative expression. Maybe he’s going to ask—sooner or later, everyone asks.

What’s it like?

Don’t people want you?

Why hasn’t someone adopted you?

He gets to the end of our street and turns in the opposite direction of the school. I look over at him, my eyebrows rising. “Where are we going?”

He shrugs. “Coach forbade me from going to the game.”

I scowl. “You tricked me.”

“No, I just…” He yanks off the beanie, tossing it into his backseat. “I couldn’t not show up. Especially since Riley wasn’t coming for you.” He laughs as, unbeknownst to him, my dreams of seducing his friend go down the drain. “Imagine what a terrible third wheel you would’ve been. I saved you from that, love.”

“What do I have to do to stop you from calling me that?” Defeat rings through me. I’d probably do whatever he wanted tonight, just to get the world to stop.

It’s too much. Lenora and Robert are great, but I miss my own parents. There was a time we were happy—Mom and Dad and me. We’d go to the park and have picnics on borrowed blankets, they helped me with my homework and tuck me in at night. Mom read magical stories to me, and Dad checked my closet for ghosts.

Or demons.

If only he was here to protect me from Caleb.

“Why does it bother you?” he asks. “It’s just a name. Better than Sheep, I’d imagine. Although, dear Margo, I must say, you’re still acting like a scared little sheep.”

I shake my head. “I’m not. I’m standing up to you.”

He chuckles. “I’ll let you know when you actually stand up. Until then…”

We pull into the entrance of a park. It’s the same one my parents used to take me for picnics. It’s also…

I close my eyes.

It’s where Dad was arrested.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He turns off the car. “To relive the past.”

“But not all of it,” I whisper. “Just the hard parts.”

“Yes.” He gets out and circles around, opening my door.

He’s smart: I would’ve just stayed here.

He grabs my hands and takes me out by force. “Show me. I wasn’t here, after all.”

I shudder.

“You weren’t,” I agree. “It was…”

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