Page 4 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

He’s standing right behind me, while I’m frozen with my hand on the glass.

“And I’ll tell you who took that video,” he adds.

“Tempting,” I say.

“He kissed Savannah in front of you.”

I flinch.

“Multiple times, if sources are correct.”

My gaze wanders over his backyard. I could go somewhere else. Riley’s, maybe. She would hide me from Caleb.

“I don’t understand why you’d want to kiss me,” I say.

I turn around, and he’s right there.

He’s not Caleb. He’s intimidating, sure, but his presence doesn’t make me lose my shit. He crowds me, and all my body remembers is the pain.

He’s close enough to touch me, but he doesn’t. He stares into my eyes, a slight frown on his lips.

He leans into me. I put my hands on his chest and shove.

He laughs, going with the momentum. A second later, he traps my wrists in his hand and holds me against the sliding door. It rattles when I hit it, protesting the abuse.

“Let. Go.” I try to shake him off, but his grip just tightens.

He yanks my shirt up to my chest.

My stomach is still a kaleidoscope of bruises. It was a vicious move on his part, kicking me. It still hurts, but not as bad now. The first week? Forget about it. And after Caleb’s betrayal, it’s a drop in the bucket. Mentally, anyway.

“Got what you wanted?” I ask.

He runs a finger over my abdomen.

I shut my eyes. “Stop.”

“He calls you a sheep,” he says. “But I think you’re proving to be far from that.”

I open my eyes.

His attention is fixated on the bruises. There’s an odd expression on his face—a split second of remorse, maybe, and his damn finger on my skin.

“Stop touching me, Ian.” My voice doesn’t tremble like I thought it might.

He releases me like coming out of trance.

“Payment accepted,” he whispers. He clears his throat. “Take the room, Wolfe. Upstairs, first one on the left. Don’t ask me for anything else.”

I don’t push it. I slip past him and dart up the stairs, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. I lean against it for good measure. My bag hits the floor next to me.

The room is huge. I mean, big surprise—the whole house is a freaking mansion. But it’s pink. A girl’s room, clearly, by the white-and-pink bedspread and the light-pink walls. The curtains on the two windows are white. A rug covering half of the hardwood floors, a low dresser in the corner… a vase of flowers on one nightstand and a lamp on the other.

Weird.

I’d imagine they must have a housekeeper, someone who keeps everything clean and fresh. The water in the vase is high and clear.

There’s no lock on the door. I inch toward the bed, exhaustion crashing over me. It’s not even ten o’clock yet. Was it only five hours ago that Caleb was inside me? He wasn’t professing love—I’m not that daft—but our sex…

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