Page 56 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

I try not to inhale. The car smells like his cologne—the same scent in my bed. It’s familiar and distant at the same time. It carves a hollow space in my chest where my heart should be.

He sits back, watching me like this is just another fucking game.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because it’s cold out, and if we’re just going to sit here, I’d like to be warm.” He shrugs. “Your choice.”

That didn’t answer anything. I stick the key in and twist.

His hand snakes out, covering mine. “No need to hold it there. Gentle with this baby.”

I release the pressure on the key, and the engine catches, purring. Heat pours from the vents.

“A nighttime driving lesson,” I murmur. “Probably not the greatest place to start.”

He lifts his shoulder. “Even if we don’t go anywhere, I figured you’d be more comfortable in the driver’s seat.”

I keep my eyes on the dash. “Why?”

“Because you’re in control.” His voice is low.

A secret admission.

I tighten my grip. It’s confusing—one minute he’s brash, angry, spiteful. And the next he’s trying to get me to kiss him back and telling me I’m killing him, and giving me control…

Which version of Caleb is the truth?

“I can’t—” I grab the door handle. I need to get out of here and sort through my feelings on my own. Away from his influence.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he says. “But only tonight. Only if you stay.”

I twist toward him, shaking my head. “There’s always a catch.”

He smiles. “No catch. Not tonight.”

I drop my hand into my lap, and lean back, getting comfortable. I remind myself that this is my choice—even if it isn’t—and I can go back inside at any moment.

“Why did you mess with my previous foster homes?” I ask.

“I didn’t want you to be happy.”

I roll my head to the side, looking at him. It’s no surprise that he’s already watching me. I don’t think he’s taken his eyes off of me. “Why?”

“Because I haven’t been happy since you told.”

“What did I—”

“Careful, Margo,” he murmurs. “I’ll tell you if you want to know. But there are some things you probably aren’t ready to hear.”

I press my lips together. “Was there a field of tall grass that we used to go play in?”

“Not that I remember. Just the park. Why?”

“I had a dream,” I say. “You and my mom were arguing. No—it wasn’t you. It was your dad. Mom got so mad, she threw a glass.”

“You were hiding outside.”

I blink at him. “That was real?”

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