Page 19 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

“I don’t think she even noticed it was a costume party.” I get changed, then flop down next to Theo. I stare at the television, which is currently off. “Video games?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

I flick it on and hand him a remote. It isn’t the most intelligent thing for us to be doing. In fact, it kind of feels like a mind-suck after a while. I enjoy the empty feeling it gives me, so I let our playing time stretch from a few minutes into almost an hour.

I finally drop the controller and check the time. It’s past midnight.

“Do you ever sleep?” I ask Theo.

“Not really.”

I grunt. “Well, I do.”

He puts aside his controller and stands. “I can take a hint, Asher.”

He slaps my shoulder on his way out, and then…

Silence.

I lock myself in the bathroom, scowling at my reflection. I turn on the shower and wait for the steam to fog up the mirror. It only takes a minute, then I shed my clothes.

I hate looking at myself. My reflection. All I see is the scared little boy who Margo turned me into. Old rage works up my throat. I pound my fist on the counter.

I used to smash mirrors. My hands are covered in faint white scars, barely visible, from my time as an angry child. My mother once walked in on me punching the shit out of a mirror in the bathroom. She dragged me to the emergency room, where a doctor picked glass out of my knuckles for thirty minutes.

That was a hard lesson to learn.

Once I’m under the hot water, I relax. It’s almost hard to breathe with the amount of steam in the shower, and it reminds me of the way Margo’s pretty lips parted when I squeezed her throat. My dick gets hard at the thought of her.

I should’ve fucked her against the wall in Ian’s living room, even if the prick was eavesdropping around the corner. Especially because he was eavesdropping. I stroke myself, remembering the way she reacted to me tonight.

Afraid.

Turned on.

Fiery.

The way her pussy clenched around my fingers when she came.

Fuck.

I pump faster, desperate to relieve my growing tension. It’s the memory of her anger that does it. The way she fought. I groan and come, spilling on the tiles. Sparks zap through me.

This wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wasn’t supposed to let Margo get to me—again. But she has. I’ve let myself hate her for years, and it’s easy. What isn’t easy is admitting that every tear down her pretty face tightens my chest.

Bullshit.

I finish washing and get out, ignoring the mirror. Theo was a good distraction, but all I want to do is crawl into Margo’s bed. I’m torn between making her pay and protecting her from the shitstorm that’s brewing.

I could throw her out into the cold. It’s already in motion.

Dad used to relate Newton’s laws to human behavior. An object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. His favorite was: Every force in nature has an equal and opposite force.

He meant to balance us out. Every decision carried weight. It was harder to make a change once a course of action had been decided on. He would know best of all. Selling his company, the shit he pulled with Margo’s family…

My trajectory has been set toward Margo since we were children.

It’s too late to stop.

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