Page 82 of Wicked Games (Fallen Royals 2)

Leave my son alone.

My son alone.

Alone.

Alone.

My fingers sting. I lift them, examine them in the dim light. My nails are torn, and blood drips down my hands. A drop lands on my cheek, and I unfreeze.

I fall through the floor, into an office.

Angela sits across from me, behind a desk. “You can’t see him,” she says. “He was arrested.”

“B-but why?” I sob.

“He did something bad and now he’s paying for it.”

I don’t ask what he did. I don’t care. I just want my dad.

“Margo?”

I glance up at Angela.

“A new family is going to take you. We’re going there now.”

We dissolve into smoke.

A distant beeping sound drags me up. Up, up, out of the dream world and back into reality.

My eyes open, and I lie there for a second. I try to catch my breath. My heart is racing—so much that I can feel my pulse thundering through my body. Whether it was a dream or broken memories, it’s given me an idea. My dad holds the key. He’s the only one who might talk to me, give me answers.

What he did and what I did… they must be related.

I grab my phone, texting Riley to come early, and then shuffle into the shower. The dream slips away, as they usually do, but I can’t forget the sound of my own sobbing because Angela refused to let me see him.

I’m still getting dressed when Riley knocks on my door and steps inside.

“What’s the nine-one-one?”

I make sure the door is shut, then blurt out, “I had a weird dream.”

She rolls her eyes. “Really?”

“No—I think it was more than that. I was a kid sitting in my social worker’s office, and she wouldn’t let me see my dad. She wouldn’t even tell me what he did.”

She cocks her head. “I thought you said it was something drug related.”

I nod. “Yeah. I thought Angela told me, but I also remember seeing Lydia at a later point, and she mentioned it, too.”

“And Lydia is—”

“Caleb’s mom.”

“Ohhh,” she says, exhaling. “I smell something fishy going on.” She sits on my bed, pulling out her phone. After a few minutes of frantic typing and scrolling, she exhales. “He’s been in prison since you were ten?”

“Yeah.” I gnaw on my lower lip. It has me unsettled this morning.

“That’s seven years,” she mutters. “Was it a felony charge?”

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