Page 69 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

“He wanted t-to know who I was working with.”

“And?”

His eyes are wide. “Margo—”

“And?”

“I didn’t tell them anything. They’re going to fucking kill me—”

A laugh bubbles out of me. “Why are you talking to me, then, Matt? Do you have a death sentence hanging over your head anyway? Did something bad to your boss?” I narrow my eyes. “Because apparently you’re not close to the project, and you don’t know what the fuck is going on besides abducting me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I grimace. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?” I tilt my head. “Caleb and his friends threatened you, but you didn’t talk. Why are you talking to me?”

His gaze drops to my hand, then back to my eyes. “Caleb wouldn’t kill me. But you…”

In order to get answers? I might push too far.

I reveal the mermaid. “Why did you keep this?”

He laughs. The movement drives the knife into his skin, and blood bubbles out. “Why? For a keepsake. To always remember you by.”

“Did you…?”

“Bring it with me? You fucking bet.” He laughs again, like he got away with something. Pulled one over on… whoever.

I yank the knife away from him before I do real damage.

His laugh dies, and he exhales, his hand going to his throat.

I switch the blade to my left hand and lean back. My fist snaps out, aiming for the tape across his nose. Pain explodes across my knuckles, but it’s worth it to see his eyes roll back.

His body relaxes under me.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, repeating the same words he told me. It’s a lie, of course.

Disgust crawls through me—but I got what I came here for. A few answers from an unreliable source. And I have my next move.

I climb off of him and shake his computer awake. It’s relatively easy to find the files downloaded from the mermaid, but they’re encrypted by a password.

Swearing, I yank out the cord that will connect to the mermaid and stuff it in my pocket. Hopefully they’re still on there. Unencrypted.

I’m not computer savvy. I can count on one hand the number of computers I’ve been allowed access to over the years. My phone is my key to the internet and… well, everything. Computer? No such luck.

I email the encrypted files to myself just for the hell of it, deleting as much of the evidence as I can—and then deleting the files themselves, too.

Feeling rather proud of myself, I turn off the light and jog out of the house.

And I run face-first into a body.

I take a few steps back, ready to run, and instead scowl.

Caleb glares at me, arms folded over his chest.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

A muscle in his jaw jumps.

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