Page 113 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

She shrugs. “No lights on, and it’s dark out?”

“Right.” I ring the doorbell and hold my breath.

No one answers. We look at each other.

“So… you ever going to tell me what happened with your social worker?”

I grimace. “Yeah, she wants me to see a therapist. I start going next week. I’m going in.”

“Margo—”

I twist the doorknob, expecting sirens. Nothing. We creep into the foyer as quietly as we can. Riley follows close behind me, almost touching my back. When no one comes running, we both straighten.

“A therapist? You can’t just say that and then walk into someone else’s house,” she whispers.

“Caleb is in here,” I answer, matching her low tone. “I can feel it.”

“I’ll stand lookout, I guess. You search for him.” She shivers. “I’m picturing him tied up somewhere. Is that creepy?”

I elbow her. “Don’t even think that.”

Eli saunters in through the open door, and both of us jump.

“I told you to wait in the truck,” Riley whisper-yells.

“Since when do I listen to you?” He rolls his eyes. “I moved it around the corner just in case we need to make a run for it.”

Our eyes go wide, and he laughs.

“Kidding.”

Sure he is.

Eli and I venture farther into the house while Riley hangs back. We split up, me taking the first floor and Eli heading up the stairs. The house is giant, I’ll just say that. There are rooms upon rooms, each more extravagant than the last. But more than that, they’re old. Antique furniture and dark wood on the walls. Rugs that have probably never been stepped on, chairs and couches that’ve never had kids bounce on them.

It’s cold. Worse than Caleb’s house.

I get to a closed door and pause in front of it. Up until now, everything has been open. I hesitate for a fraction of a second.

A low moan comes from the other side.

I shove the door open, shocked at the darkness of the room. After a moment of feeling along the wall, my fingers hit the light switch.

Blinding lights flicker on in the ceiling.

My gaze flies around the room—a game room with a pinball machine, a pool table, and other various games—and lands on Caleb.

He’s on the floor, his back against the wall. Like he was sitting and then fell over. His eyes are closed.

There’s blood on the wall. Just a smear, but enough that my heart hammers.

I rush to him, falling to my knees. “Caleb, wake up.”

His eyes open. He blinks up at me, squinting, then pushes himself up. “What are you doing here?”

“Coming to rescue you.”

He shakes his head, then abruptly stops. He watches me while his hand goes to the back of his head, probing. “What day is it?”

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