Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals, #1)(60)

She closes my door, and I sag against it. A second later, my body moves as Caleb forces it open.

“That was close,” he says. He’s fully dressed again, and he holds up my bra. “Figured you might want this back.”

I double take. “That’s the one you took on Monday.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got a replacement.”

“You also kept my torn panties,” I say. “You like to keep little trophies of your conquests?”

He chuckles. “No. But I do like help remembering your scent when I’m jacking off at night. And no offense, Wolfe, but bras don’t really do the trick in that department.”

I gape at him, my face getting hot. “You’re not—”

“Serious?” He smirks. “Deadly.”

Lenora taps on my door, and he ducks back into the closet. She doesn’t open it, though. Just asks, “Coming?”

“Be there in a minute!” My voice is an octave too high.

Caleb cracks the door, silently laughing at me. “I’ll just show myself out… via the window.” He winks.

He opens it and climbs out. And then he’s gone; the only trace of him is the scent of sex in the air.

Oh my god. I’ll just have to pray that Lenora didn’t notice.

I leave the window open and put on a sweatshirt, then go downstairs. I could use a distraction—and a movie sounds like the perfect one.





25





Caleb



I pull up outside the motel. The neon No Vacancy sign flickers sporadically. There are lights on in half the rooms at this time of night. Any one of them could hold her. It took only a few calls to figure out which motel she’d booked. Calls I made before I showed up at Margo’s house.

Margo almost erased the pressing need to come here… but then her foster parents got home early.

And the compulsion returned.

I force myself to relax, blowing air out through my mouth and sucking it in through my nose. I have time, but patience is another issue.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text. A second later, my passenger door opens, and Amelie slides into the car. I glance over long enough to take in her dress: red, leather, tight. Her breasts are pushed up to her throat. Her lips are coated in bright-red gloss.

I have a flash of Margo wearing the same color as a kid, threatening to kiss me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Amelie, unlocking my phone.

Eli: You need backup?





Me: No. I’ll handle it.





“Thought you could use some help.” Amelie shrugs. “Especially since the expression on your face means you probably don’t know which room she’s in.”

Amelie and I were a brief fling, yet she still seems to reap the rewards of our past. Like knowing I probably wouldn’t hurt her for getting in my way. I could change that.

It’s about damn time Amelie’s felt something toward me besides lust.

Fear would look much better on her face than this hungry, desperate wanting. My skin crawls at the way she’s staring at me.

I grit my teeth. “And you do?”

She smiles at me. “I wouldn’t be useful if I didn’t.”

“And what do you want in exchange?” I only ask because… well, I don’t want to make any more phone calls, and bribing the motel front desk would leave a trace.

I’m not going to like this. Amelie is slipperier than a snake in oil.

She puts her elbow on the center console, moving into my space. “Just give me a… secret.”

I sigh. “What kind of secret?”

“What happened to Margo’s dad? Where’s your mom? Why—”

“Enough,” I snap. I grab her by the throat, shoving her against the passenger window.

She makes a gurgling noise, fingers scrambling on my hand.

“You’re going to cut the fucking shit, Amelie, and then you’re going to leave.” I lean in, trying to curb the urge to squeeze until she turns purple. “And if you don’t, I’ll tell everyone your dirty little secret.”

Her eyes widen.

The fear I’ve been craving flashes across her face.

Honestly… it doesn’t do as much as I thought it would. Margo’s ruined me.

“Okay,” Amelie wheezes. “Room thirty-one.”

“That was easy.” I release her, then lean around her and open the door.

She falls out of my car, landing on her back with her feet in the air.

I snicker. “Run along, Page.”

She climbs to her feet and purses her lips. Without a word, she storms off.

Slowly, I get out of the car and find room thirty-one. It’s on the second floor. The lights are off.

I bang on the door anyway. It’s late. Maybe she’s sleeping.

“Caleb?”

I turn. Amberly Wolfe stands at the top of the stairs. Her hair is in a high bun, and there’s dirt smudged on her forehead. She wears an absurd amount of layers, so she looks like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

“Thought that was you.” She comes closer, shuffling her feet.

I step back and let her unlock the door.

Her fingers tremble on the painted wood. She’s frailer than I would’ve thought. Her eyes are sunken. Her cheeks are sucked in.