Page 18 of Vicious Desire (Fallen Royals 4)

She snorts. “Not at seven. And if you want private, keep your voice down.”

The door slams behind her, and Caleb grins.

“She’s cute when she’s mad,” he murmurs.

“Okay, great. Moving on…”

He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “What’s up?”

“I need you to keep an eye on my dad.”

He snorts, then seems to realize I’m serious. “Wait. Why?”

I lift one shoulder. Years of being a defense attorney’s son has instilled a sense of confidentiality in me. No speaking about clients—even alluding to them has been forbidden. When Caleb moved in, Dad’s business moved totally to the office. They didn’t want to give his uncle any reason to revoke their guardianship.

Before that, though, it was less clear. The line between personal time and work was blurry. And he made sure to know I couldn’t talk about those late-night visitors.

So now, as I’m trying to speak into existence the gravity of Riley’s betrayal, my mouth is dry. I can’t get it out.

“You’re worried,” he says.

I nod.

There are things Caleb won’t tell Margo—not because he doesn’t want to, but because they’re not his secrets to tell. I made sure of that. He motions for me to follow him out the door. We go to the stairwell at the end of the hall and up, all the way to the roof.

It brings flashbacks, but I push them away.

Now’s not the time to remember.

Later.

“Okay,” he says, leaning against the ledge. Manhattan in the distance is half-hidden by the fog, but the sun is already forcing its way through. “Speak.”

“I want to kill her.” I slap my cheeks. “She’s in my head like a fucking itch I can’t scratch, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“She’s why you came home.”

I grip the cement blocks. The sharp corner bites into my palms, bringing back a speck of reality. “I couldn’t…”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms. “Well, you’ve always been…”

I raise my eyebrow.

“Obsessive,” he finishes.

I shake my head. It’s true, but my parents liked to call it drive. Fixation with another, prettier name. Better packaging.

“What’s your plan, then? Since you’ve been stewing on this for a while.”

I open the video of Noah and show him. The audible crack when his fist hits my face—it’s a wonder nothing is broken.

“I guess that explains the bruise,” he comments. “So?”

“He needs that job.” I turn and face the middle of the roof. “And he’ll do a lot to avoid jail.”

“Okay…”

He’s not getting it.

---