Page 111 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

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Caleb

My uncle’s hot palm lands on the back of my neck as we walk into the house. He’s shorter than me by a fraction, and thinner, too. I could easily throw him off me if I wanted. But that would just cause a more violent retaliation on his part.

So I let it happen.

My back has mostly healed, but the mental scars are deep.

“You’ve been visiting your mother?” Uncle David asks.

He gives me a light shove into the study, and I stumble forward. It reminds me that I did the same thing to Margo on one of her first days at Emery-Rose. I experience a shred of guilt, and then my uncle is back in my face.

He wants to pick a fight—or just get his anger out on his human punching bag.

He grabs the front of my shirt and twists the fabric, my collar biting into my neck.

“Answer me,” he grunts.

“I didn’t realize there was a rule against seeing my own damn mother.”

One of these days, I’m going to punch his face in. Once he isn’t dangling my inheritance over my head, we’re done.

I grind my teeth.

Only four months to go.

He’s been in a bad mood for the past three… ever since Margo’s reappearance at school. I’m not fool enough to think they’re unrelated. He’s been the driving force behind my fury all these years. Stoking it. Murmuring about revenge on the Wolfe family.

“Ah, Caleb,” Aunt Iris says. She pauses at the state we’re in. Bites her lip. “David, is everything okay?”

“Peachy,” he grumbles.

“I’ve done what you asked.” I glare at him.

One day. One day, he’ll get what’s coming to him.

“Oh? And what’s that, exactly?” He has worse demons than me.

Then again, he was never supposed to bear the brunt of my father’s company. Never supposed to support his nephew, to guard his inheritance. It broke something inside him.

All because, as Mother likes to say, “It’s happening the way your father wants.”

Bullshit.

Uncle David and I both know it, but neither of us have voiced it. We’re not angry at each other—we’re angry at him. My father.

“College,” I grit out. “Lacrosse. Grades.”

“How about the part where you don’t fucking fall in love with a Wolfe?” He shoves me backward.

I stare at him. I don’t love her.

Do I?

“Don’t be daft,” he snaps. “You’re going to break off all relations with her. You’re not going to see her. Touch her. Communicate with her.”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

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