Page 74 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

It’s my decision.

“Touch me,” I demand.

He doesn’t react. If anything, his eyes get darker. I suppress a shiver. His finger edges under the waistband of my uniform skirt, untucking my shirt. He slowly unbuttons it, tugging it wide open. And then he just… looks at me.

“Caleb.”

He shakes his head. “You want to know what’s fucked up?”

I raise my eyebrow.

“I don’t want you to get hurt anymore—caught up in my mess.”

I touch the bandages. “What happened?”

They’re held in place by two metal clips. I release them and unwind it. He lets me, holding perfectly still.

I pass the roll behind his back and under his arms. There’s gauze stuck to his back, and I pull it loose carefully. He releases a hiss of breath, but he doesn’t stop me.

His back…

My heart shatters.

It’s worse than my stomach. Black and blue bruises. Welts and a few round burns. The gauze pad has splotches of pink-tinted liquid on it.

“Who did this?” I ask, keeping my voice level. I’ve never quite experienced the rage that I sometimes see on Caleb’s face, but it’s coming at me now, faster than a hurricane. My hands shake.

He takes the bandages from me and sets them aside. He lifts my hands, kissing my fingers. “You caring means a lot,” he says.

“Was it your dad?” I can’t stop thinking about the dream—the argument between my mom and his dad. The glass she threw. They had a temper, I’ve figured that much. Both of our parents.

“Margo…”

“Just tell me.” I gnash my teeth. “I’m so sick of the bullsh—”

“My uncle,” he says. “Okay? Happy? He wasn’t thrilled at my behavior recently and decided he needed to teach me a lesson. Something that wouldn’t affect my game.” He laughs, but it grates against my ears. “I’m pretty sure he cracked a fucking rib, but that shouldn’t stop me.”

My eyes fill with tears.

“Do not cry for me,” he warns.

“I won’t.” I sniff. I turn away from him. Ugh. His uncle did that to him—his uncle beat him. Facing the wall, I ask, “Is that where you were this weekend? At his house—”

His hands slide up my arms, and I press my lips together. His chest is hot against my back. I close my eyes, because this is what I wanted. This is what I asked for.

Touch me.

When his lips ghost along my neck, I shudder.

“You’re crying,” he whispers.

I lean into his chest, letting my head fall back. He meets my gaze. His small frown grows bigger by the second.

“Sorry that I care.” I rub at my eyes, willing my composure to return. “You left me alone all weekend…”

“Ah, and your mind jumped to abandonment.”

“Or death,” I murmur.

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