Page 145 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

We drove the short distance to the prison, and he parked right out front.

“I’ll be here when you’re done,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I nodded and took a deep breath, willing myself courage.

And now I’m here—I’m doing it. But apparently only if I get… approved.

Finally, she returns. “Okay. I need your ID. You can put all your belongings in one of the lockers. No phone, food or gum, drinks. No purses or bags, nothing in your pockets…”

She’s reading from a mental list, and I do my best to keep up. I slide my student ID through the hole. She takes a cursory glance at it then files it away.

“Take locker six. Code is seven-nine-zero-four. Then have a seat until we’re ready.”

“Okay.” I’m so out of my league here. I collect a few sympathetic glances as I scan the lockers and finally find number six. I type in the code, and it beeps twice, then swings open.

Slowly, like I’m moving through molasses, I empty my pockets and shut the locker. I don’t have time to take a seat. Something buzzes, and a door opens.

A guard calls, “Visitors, this way, please.”

I follow the group of people down the hall. I’m trembling in my bones. But whether it’s from the cold or fear, I can’t tell. This is my father’s temporary home. I wonder if he sees it that way. If, after a certain point, he just gave up calling it anything other than his.

It’s how I was with my foster homes, after all. The foster parents were always Mr. and Mrs. This-or-That, the home was always their house, never mine. Because it wasn’t. It was temporary, just like prison.

I’m serving a sentence the same as my father, for things we both apparently did.

Our escort guard stops and presses a button. There’s another deep buzz, and the guard pulls the door open. “You can hug on initial greeting,” he says to us. “And goodbye. But no touching otherwise.”

I force myself to nod and stuff my hands in my pockets.

There are round tables scattered in the center of the room with attached stools, the kind you’d see in an elementary school cafeteria. It keeps people from getting too close, I guess. By the windows are two-person tables, and I automatically drift in that direction.

Visiting families are already claiming tables. Some are eager, others bored. It makes me wonder who’s here on a regular occurrence.

He knows I’m here.

That thought alone has me weak in the knees.

I almost fall into the chair and put my arms on the table. I can’t stop the bouncing in my leg.

It’s been seven years. Am I going to recognize him?

A woman shoots me a look. “You okay, honey? You’re not going to pass out?”

I take a deep breath. “I’ve never done this.”

“They’re the same guys we know,” she says, shrugging. “At least they start off that way. You visiting a boyfriend?”

“My dad,” I whisper.

She exhales. “Yeah, I’ve got a fucked-up dad, too. He finally stopped letting me come visit. Now I just see my brother once a month.”

“That’s…”

“Depressing as shit? Yeah.” She forces a laugh. “But he passes on news of my dad, and I’ll take it. We do what we have to.”

I nod. “Right.”

I jump when another buzz rings through the room.

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