Page 70 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

“Silent treatment?” I continue. “Really?”

A nervous thrill races through me.

He steps forward, and I step back. I silently curse myself for it.

“Run and I’ll chase you, love.” A promise. A threat.

Yet, this is my find. I found Matt. Snuck into his room and got him to talk. Not Caleb.

I don’t need him fighting my battles for me or getting in more trouble with the detective—who very well could’ve followed him here.

So, yeah. I turn and run, knowing that I just have to make it under the gate and to Riley’s car.

I barely make it halfway there.

He grabs me from behind, and I have a flash of déjà vu. It abruptly ends when he twists. We land on his side, barely anything more than a graceful tumble, and he rolls me onto my back.

An animalistic urge surges through me. I kick at him, my knee coming very close to his groin. He lets out a huff and captures one of my wrists, bringing it above my head.

The panic is blind now. Too similar to having my wrists contained—something I shouldn’t remember—and my fight doubles. He’s flush against me in the grass, but I manage to slip the knife out. Flip it open.

He only stills when I press it to his throat.

Great and terrible things.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “You going to kill me, Margo?”

I can’t even fucking speak. I open my mouth, but no words come out. I’m being strangled by panic, my heart racing too fast. I keep tugging on my wrist, over and over. That and the knife. The sharpness of it indenting his skin but not cutting. He has more self-control than Matt. He hasn’t moved or flinched.

Little broken boy isn’t afraid of pain.

That thought comes out of nowhere. Someone said that to me, once. Or… around me.

I gasp, the sob breaking past my barriers. “Let—go—”

He does.

I pull my arm back to my chest, cradling it between us. I still can’t breathe. I thought it might help, but he’s still here, the knife is still in my hand, and a thousand pounds sit on my chest.

“Panic attack,” I manage.

His fingers curl around the knife, moving it away from his throat. Slowly, his weight lifts off me, and then I’m in the air, curling into a ball in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he says in my ear. “Safe.”

I laugh. “No such thing.”

He carries me to a door next to the gate.

“How did you get in?”

“I jumped the fence,” he says. “But it’s easier to leave when the lock is on our side.” He’s quiet for a moment. Riley’s car is gone—he must’ve sent her away—and his car is in its place. “You’re trembling.”

“It’s cold,” I lie.

I’m freaked out. Not just because of Caleb, but the figurine in my pocket, Matt’s supposed alibi, and whatever’s at the diner.

If I ask, he might tell me. Or… he might lie, too.

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