Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals, #1)(51)

We all stand, and I retreat to my room. They could’ve slapped me with chores… cut the Wi-Fi… a lot of things. I set my coffee down and glance around, marveling—again—at the luxury of this house.

My phone vibrates.

I reach for it, half hoping it’s Riley or Caleb.

My heart sinks.

Unknown: Made a big enough fool of yourself?





Unknown: [video attachment]





I click on the video and hold my breath. It’s me…

Oh god.

Someone was watching Caleb and me as we left the party last night. There’s a clear view of me falling backward against his car. His hand going into my pants. And…

I drop the phone, covering my mouth with both hands. It lands on the bed facedown, but the video keeps playing. Over the music from the house, and people talking, there’s breathing.

That noise will haunt me for a while.

My phone rings, cutting off the video. I jump a foot and slowly flip it over. If it’s Unknown, suddenly calling, I may lose it.

It’s a number I’m not familiar with, so I ignore the call and go back to Unknown’s conversation. They’ve sent me another text.

Unknown: Now… what to do with that? So many options.





Me: What do you want?





Unknown: That would be too easy.





Unknown: Keep your phone on you. I’ll be in touch.





My stomach heaves. I rush to the bathroom, falling to my knees in front of the toilet. When I’m done, I stand on shaky legs. My mouth and throat burn from the acid.

Lenora is in the doorway, frowning at me.

“Just another reason to not overdo the alcohol,” she murmurs.

I cup my hands under the faucet and rinse out my mouth, ignoring her for a moment. I spit and clear my throat, then straighten. “I’m sorry.”

She hands me a towel. “We can only discipline you so much. There are consequences you’ll learn on your own. Are you feeling hungover?”

I shake my head. “I was okay up until now.”

A little white lie never hurt anyone.

She pats my shoulder. “Well, you’ve only got homework to do today. Guess you get off easy.”

I shrug, and we move into the hallway. I force myself back into the room, and she heads for the stairs. Fear constricts my lungs. I close myself back in. I should delete the video and any evidence of Unknown.

They could ruin everything.

My life at school. Staying with the Jenkinses.

What if they saw it? It’d be icing on the cake. One mistake is just that: a mistake.

Someone has a video of Caleb putting his hand down my pants.

The funny thing is—it wouldn’t even blow back on him. He’d be lauded as the guy who got some action from the drunk outcast. And me… I’m the drunk outcast in that scenario.

I contemplate begging Unknown to delete it. But the more I think about it, the more I know it’s a bad idea. They’ve been out for blood before I even started going to Emery-Rose. And now they finally have a blade sharp enough to cut.

My phone rings, and I jump again.

It’s the same unfamiliar number as before. This time, I answer it.

“Margo?” The voice is familiar.

I sigh in relief. “Oh my god, Claire! I just asked Angela—”

“She dropped it off,” she interrupts. “Things have been crazy here. I wanted to reach out, but…”

“How’s Hanna?”

“As well as can be expected,” she says. “It’s been a hard transition. We loved—well, you know.”

I do.

It’s hard to get attached to a family. But once you do… something usually comes along to fuck it up. That’s why I want to keep the Jenkinses at arm’s length. I like them. But if I were to be ripped away, right this moment, I wouldn’t be that devastated.

Okay, maybe I would.

It’s the grief of losing families—over and over and over—that kills your spirit. I’ve seen it happen too many times to let it happen to me. I’ve got less than a year left, and I need to escape intact.

“Are you near Rose Hill?” I ask.

“We’re in the next town over. They put me in the fancy-as-hell high school. It’s been a trip.” She chuckles.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here, though.”

I sag on the bed. “Maybe since you’re close, we can meet up one day. I’d love to see Hanna, too.”

“We’d love that,” Claire answers, her voice noticeably lighter. “We’ve missed you, Wolfe.”

“Oh, shoot.” I smack my forehead. “I’m grounded, Claire.”

“What on earth did you do to get grounded?”

“Came home drunk,” I say in a low voice.

Her laughter gets louder. “Priceless. Got any videos of that? I’d love to see you drunk—”

“No.” It comes out a little harsher than I intended. “Sorry, Claire. Little touchy about it.”

“What’s going on with you, Margo? Are the new foster parents that bad?”