Page 149 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

He said he didn’t actually kill Caleb’s dad. But nevertheless, Mr. Asher is dead. Someone must’ve killed him, whether it was Dad and he’s trying to preserve himself, or…

Or he was framed.

But there would still have to be motive and opportunity for the District Attorney to even get Dad arrested in the first place, right? They would’ve had to have evidence pointing them toward my father.

I storm outside, emotions all over the place. I don’t know whether to cry or go on a rampage. He killed Caleb’s dad. The why is unclear.

He pled out, got a lighter sentence than murder.

Voluntary manslaughter.

It sounds so…

“Margo, are you okay?” Robert meets me halfway across the parking lot.

I fall into his arms and a sob erupts out of my chest before I can stop it.

He hugs me tightly, one hand pressing against the back of my head. “Shh, honey, it’s okay.” His other hand rubs small circles on my back.

I hugged Dad and it felt like home. I can’t help but think that moment will forever be tainted by bars on the windows and confessions whispered in my ear.

Caleb knew I was going to come out of there as a different person. Did he know what my dad did? Why didn’t he tell me? And it begs another question: what else hasn’t he said?

I realize I’m gripping the back of Robert’s shirt in my fists. Tears stream out. I can’t breathe over the lump in my throat. My whole face is on fire with embarrassment, shock. I slowly loosen my hold, but I don’t release Robert. I tuck my face against his chest and try to get a hold of myself.

I need to talk to Caleb.

He knows something—I know he does. This ties into the lawyer, his family, my family. He sure as hell knew his dad was dead—and that mine is doing time for his death—but he didn’t say anything.

My mind can’t grip reality. I’m furious and sad and overwhelmed.

“Breathe,” Robert reminds me. “It’s okay. What happened?”

I take a shaky breath. When I lean away, I’m ashamed of the tearstains on his jacket. “I just…” I can’t tell the truth. “It was a lot.”

He guides me to his car, tucking me into the passenger seat then circling around. I watch him pass the front of the hood, bundled against the cold. He climbs in and turns on the car, and we sit there for a moment until the air gets warm.

It must’ve started snowing while I was inside. It falls thick and heavy now.

“Let’s go home,” I suggest. “I could use a cup of hot chocolate.”

“Len should be home by now,” Robert says. “Maybe a movie night?”

I force myself to smile. “Sounds good.”

He hands me a tissue, then pulls out onto the street. “You can talk about it if you want. Either to me or Len, Angela, your new therapist… There are a lot of options.”

“I know,” I mumble. My gaze goes to my fingernails. I shredded them at some point, but I didn’t notice the full extent of the damage. There’s blood caked around the nail of my index finger.

“I just wanted to say, without anyone else around—you know how Len gets, hovering—that I’m proud of you. You were so against seeing your father when we first met you. It’s only been a few months, but this willingness to open up—”

I bite my lip, desperate not to cry again. “I want to stay with you. And thank you for taking the time to drive—”

The SUV comes out of nowhere.

It smashes into the front corner of our vehicle, sending us flying. Robert reaches over, his arm across my chest as we catapult off the road. In slow motion, we hit a ditch, and the nose of the car goes down. Momentum takes it from there.

I close my eyes, bringing my hands up to protect my face.

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