Page 140 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

Matt shifts.

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to silently ask, What the fuck?

Matt coughs and steps away. “Yeah, we’ll join you.”

Margo, Claire, and Hanna march away from us. Claire leads the way, and Hanna slips her hand into Margo’s. My heart warms just a bit.

And then Matt is beside me, and I glare at him.

“I’m just being friendly.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Not my fault she’s so damn pretty.”

I chuckle. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Matt’s eyebrows hike up. We both turn on our flashlights. “Think about what?”

I sigh. “I’m gonna do this even though I might puke after. They’re Margo’s sisters. You can’t fuck with them.”

“Them? Buddy, my eye is just on Claire. And if she wants what I’m giving…”

“Don’t make me punch you.” I glance ahead, then pull him slower. “Any update on you-know-who?”

He groans. “No. It’s been maddeningly frustrating. No activity. I think they know their figurine was found and they’re lying low.”

“Keep an eye on it,” I tell him. And then I break away, jogging to catch up with Margo.

I’ve had enough people-ing for the day.

35

Margo

Caleb and I climb into Theo’s car. Liam has already claimed the front seat. Matt waves us off, Claire and Hanna close behind him.

Something spins in my gut, but Caleb trusts him. He told me they were friends. And after I hugged both of them goodbye, he said Matt would take them home.

As much as I kind of hate it, I’m letting it happen. Claire is old enough to make her own decisions.

“You seem tense,” Caleb whispers in my ear.

I sigh. “Yeah.”

“We could always just go home…”

He smirks. I’m pretty sure my face just lit up. There’s nothing more I’d like better than to just… go to bed. Caleb’s presence has a way of shielding the nightmares.

“Hey, Theo, drop us at my place.”

Theo grunts. “No partying with us, man? We just won fucking state!”

“Yeah, then you almost ruined it by fucking up a Lion’s Head player.” Liam shakes his head. “What the hell is it with that chick?”

Theo turns to him, glowering. “Shut up.”

I whistle. “What could one girl do to deserve all your anger?”

“Long story,” he grunts. “She’s a fucking bitch.”

I wince.

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