Page 55 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

“Five minutes,” he calls, sticking his hands in his pockets. He wanders away, toward the street. His car is parked in front of a neighbor’s house.

I grimace. This isn’t the first time I’ve snuck out of a house—but it would be the first time I did it to meet a boy.

To do it or not.

Going back to bed—that would be the smart choice. Lock the window and the doors, hunker down. Avoid Caleb.

That would be letting him win, though. Past Margo would’ve let him come to her, just to prove that she didn’t feel the magnetic fucking allure of Caleb Asher.

No. No more intimidation. No more being forced into doing things in fear of fucked up consequences. I’m making the choice to see what he wants.

I’m pulling my boots on, silently cursing my resolve. I try to tell myself that going down to meet Caleb isn’t giving in. His true victory would be if I didn’t.

Him stealing into my room, pressing me into the mattress…

Stop thinking about it, I order myself, grabbing my jacket. I creep down the hall and to the back door. It squeaks the faintest amount, but then I’m through, and it closes silently. Through the mudroom. Outside.

I freeze when the sensor light clicks on, illuminating the backyard. The light catches snow falling.

They could think it’s anything, I reason. A racoon, an owl.

Not their foster daughter.

I edge along the house, keeping to the shadows, until I spot Caleb.

He smirks at me, lifting himself off the hood of his car.

“What do you want?” I demand.

His smirk widens. “Couldn’t resist, huh?”

“I’d prefer you not be in my room,” I answer.

He doesn’t look any the worse for wear, unfortunately. Full lips and eyes that pierce through me. No one ever said the devil was handsome, but he is. Devastatingly so.

“For what I have planned, your room wouldn’t have sufficed.”

I swallow. It sounds ominous, and I realize how stupid I am to have come out here.

He pulls his hand out of his pocket and tosses something to me. I catch it on reflex, then glance down at the keys in my hand.

“What is this?”

“Car keys,” he says, like it’s obvious.

I mean, it is obvious that they’re his car keys. But why he would give them to me is anyone’s guess. I’m tempted to chuck them into the bushes behind us. That’d serve him right.

“Why?” I ask.

“Just get in the car, Margo.” He turns and sits in... the passenger seat.

I shake my head. He can’t be serious. A heavy feeling comes over my limbs, making it hard to open the driver’s door and lower myself into the car.

“Adjust the seat.”

When I don’t move, he leans over me and does it for me; a little button on the side slides the seat forward and up.

“Keys in the ignition.” He’s still close, his head tilted so he can meet my eyes.

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