by S. Massery
Wicked Games
Fallen Royals #2
S. Massery
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by S. Massery
All rights reserved.
Editing by Studio ENP
Proofreading by Paige Sayer Proofreading
Cover Design by S. Massery
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To those who don’t stop
searching for the truth.
Contents
Also by S. Massery
Introduction
Blurb
1. Caleb
2. Margo
3. Margo
4. Caleb
5. Margo
6. Caleb
7. Margo
8. Margo
9. Caleb
10. Margo
11. Caleb
12. Margo
13. Margo
14. Caleb
15. Margo
16. Margo
17. Caleb
18. Margo
19. Margo
20. Caleb
21. Margo
22. Caleb
23. Margo
24. Margo
25. Caleb
26. Margo
27. Caleb
28. Margo
29. Margo
30. Margo
31. Caleb
32. Margo
33. Margo
34. Caleb
35. Margo
36. Margo
Also by S. Massery
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by S. Massery
Fallen Royals Series (Dark High School Bully Romance)
#1 Wicked Dreams
#2 Wicked Games
#3 Wicked Promises
#4 Vicious Desire
#5 Wild Fury
#6 Cruel Abandon
Broken Mercenaries Series (Romantic Suspense)
Blood Sky
Angel of Death
Morning Star
Something Special Series (Contemporary Romance)
Something Special
Something Sacred
For more information, please visit my website,
http://www.smassery.com/books
Introduction
WARNING: this book has dubious consent and situations. Our anti-hero behaves questionably at times. Pretty much all the time, if we’re being completely honest. He’s no white knight, and he’s definitely not the good guy.
If that sort of thing bothers you, I’d suggest passing on this story. If I’ve intrigued you…
Carry on.
Wicked Games is book two of a trilogy and not a standalone.
The first three are a trilogy, the rest are standalone.
Wicked Dreams
Wicked Games
Wicked Promises
Vicious Desire
Wild Fury
Cruel Abandon
Don’t forget to sign up for S. Massery’s newsletter for news about future releases and an exclusive bonus scene.
Blurb
He tried to ruin my chance of happiness, but I’m not going down so easily.
There are questions I need answered. Secrets that need to be brought into the light. And a king who needs to be taken off his throne.
I’m still the object of his obsession, but I can work around that.
They say all’s fair in love and war. But if Caleb Asher taught me anything, it’s that this is definitely not love.
What do you think, Caleb? Are you ready for one last game?
1
Caleb
It’s done.
I expected a weight to lift off my shoulders, like it did every other time I did this. When I went in and systematically destroyed Margo’s world.
The first time, we were twelve, and I took a taxi. I approached her foster mother with a rather twisted view of the truth, then hung around for the fireworks.
I paid the guy to sit there. We waited for Margo to come home from school, only to meet the social worker. Hell, the foster mom had been so disgusted, she didn’t even want to be there.
Margo didn’t cry.
That was disappointing.
She didn’t cry the next time, either.
Each time she carted out her garbage bag full of clothes, she kept her shoulders back. Her chin up. I once sat in Eli’s truck a house down from the foster’s and tried to suck an ounce of gratification out of it.
It became a game. How far can I push until she breaks?
Ruin her in one way, and she might recover. Ruin her every way, and she’ll be dust. Mind, body, and soul.
I began hanging around longer to see if she would lose control. Not close enough for her to see me—I’m not a idiot. I only got to her once, when she was torn away from siblings. Once in seven fucking years.
It felt good to see her cry, but odd, like something cracked inside my chest. Her breaking was breaking me, too. I had let her stay at that home for a while. Two whole years of idyllic bliss while I tried to forget about Margo. Slept with her old friends, immersed myself in lacrosse. But I couldn’t shake her. Senior year was approaching, and it was time for Margo to return home.
The Jenkinses were perfect. It isn’t their fault I had that card up my sleeve. As I told the Jenkinses: they were a common subject of my aunt and her social circle right after the accident. They went to church and prayed for their family, but then they’d come back to my aunt’s house and gossip like schoolgirls about where the drugs could’ve come from.
Was it true? Did Amberly kill their daughter?
Maybe.
Hell if I know.
This isn’t about them—this is about Margo and her resilience.
Will she end up on the street? I doubt it. The Jenkinses are too kindhearted for that. They’d probably forgive her after a few awkward days. And my little lie about her being to blame for the video… I know Margo better than that.
I left, and Lenora was still crying. Robert rubbed her back to console her. I wish they’d waited until after I was gone to do that.
Eli: You schmoozing the Jenkinses? Freaked Sheep out that you were there.
I pause.
Margo saw my car? Did she hear? I’d figured Eli would take his sweet time getting out of there. He was supposed to offer to take them to breakfast or some shit. Give me time to cause some mayhem and leave.
Dickhead.
“Shit.” I slam my hand against the steering wheel.
I dial her number and wait.
It goes to voicemail.
I dial again, just in case.
It must be off, because it barely rings once before it switches over to her breathy voice.
This plan… It was set in stone a while ago. Pulling her down piece by piece. But I’m not ready for her to fall—not yet. I’m not done with her. She can’t break yet.
Seven years ago, she broke me. Now I’m just showing her what she created.
A beast in my chest demands to be free—a beast that only wants Margo’s blood.
I pound my hands on the steering wheel again, in rapid succession.
Slowly, I drop the walls around the demons I keep locked away. It’s nice to let the darkness take over. Fury washes through me, but it’s calm, liquid ice.
Margo Wolfe may have run away, but I�
�m going to find her and bring her back, even if it kills me.
We’re not done.
Eventually, she’ll shatter for me, and the game will finally be over.
2
Margo
I couldn’t go anywhere I knew he would find me.
Because he would find me.
I have no doubt that, as easily as he hurt the Jenkinses, he would come for me. Something broke him. Something fucked up in our past. For some reason, I can’t fathom what it is. Whether I’ve been lied to, am misremembering things, or blocked it out of my memory…
Finding the truth will set me free.
It tugs at my memory. Something just out of reach.
I ring the doorbell and take a quick step back. A minute passes, then a voice shouts for me to hold on. The door swings open.
Ian Fletcher scowls down at me.
“You said you hated Caleb more than me,” I blurt out. So much for being strategic here, Margo. “Well, now’s your chance.”
He raises his eyebrows. “My chance for what?”
“I hate him, too.”
“And?”
“And…” I look away. God, am I really about to say this? “I’m what he wants. What he’s fixated on. Use me against him.”
We watch each other for a moment.
He could easily slam the door in my face, and I’d be screwed. Nowhere to go.
Instead, he pulls the door open wider.
I slip past him, trying desperately not to think about the last time he and I were alone together. He hurt me—gleefully so. My stomach cramps at the thought.
Is this madness? Probably. But what option do I have against Caleb?
In the end, Caleb hurt me, too. Ian’s wounds have mostly healed, but I doubt Caleb’s betrayal ever will. It burns under my skin like a living thing. A monster slipping along my bones.
The house is nearly silent. We were here for a party once. Empty of people, it feels bigger.
Wasn’t I told that his parents travel? No, that was Eli.
“This way.” He leads me down a side hallway. He slides open a door to an office and enters, throwing himself into the chair behind the desk. “Why should I take you at your word, Sheep?”
I’m numb to it at this point—happily so. “Caleb thinks I’m to blame for the video.”
Ian snorts. “Impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because I know who took the video.”
My mouth drops open.
He continues, “Did he blame you publicly? Honestly, I doubt anyone would believe it. You make some rather hot noises in it, but I didn’t peg you to be an exhibitionist.”
My face gets hot.
He tuts, leaning back and putting his feet up on the desk. “Why did you come here?”
“I had to go somewhere he wouldn’t find me.” I shrug, trying to keep my voice from trembling. Fuck, he’s intimidating. “And I figured… here was good.”
“After what I did to you.”
I wince. “Especially after that.”
He watches me for a long moment.
“You don’t have a stupid fucking crush on me, do you?”
I snort. “God, that would make things complicated.” I stand. “I’ll go.”
“Sit,” he orders.
I grind my teeth and glare at him. I do not sit. “I’m really sick of people ordering me around.”
I put my bag over my shoulder and find my way back to the front door, ignoring the way his attention stings.
Finally, he calls, “Wait.”
I glance back.
“I have a guest room,” he concedes. “My parents go to Los Angeles for the winter, and they’re already there. They’ll never know.”
“What’s the catch?”
He snickers. “What makes you think there’s a catch?”
“Because your name is Ian Fletcher.” I cross my arms over my chest. “So?”
“I’ll let you stay… for a kiss.” He walks closer, circling around me.
“Why did you kick me in the stomach?”
His eyes light up. “Ah. Do you still have bruises? Can I see?”
“This was a mistake.” I can’t get away from him fast enough. Honestly—what on earth was I thinking?
I try to step around him, but he blocks me. I step around him again, and he follows me down a hallway, into the kitchen. It’s big and cold. There’s a sliding door that leads out onto the porch. I got drunk in this house. It was here that Unknown got that damn video of me.
“Kiss me and you can stay, rent free, for a month. If you aren’t discovered before that.”
He’s standing right behind me, while I’m frozen with my hand on the glass.
“And I’ll tell you who took that video,” he adds.
“Tempting,” I say.
“He kissed Savannah in front of you.”
I flinch.
“Multiple times, if sources are correct.”
My gaze wanders over his backyard. I could go somewhere else. Riley’s, maybe. She would hide me from Caleb.
“I don’t understand why you’d want to kiss me,” I say.
I turn around, and he’s right there.
He’s not Caleb. He’s intimidating, sure, but his presence doesn’t make me lose my shit. He crowds me, and all my body remembers is the pain.
He’s close enough to touch me, but he doesn’t. He stares into my eyes, a slight frown on his lips.
He leans into me. I put my hands on his chest and shove.
He laughs, going with the momentum. A second later, he traps my wrists in his hand and holds me against the sliding door. It rattles when I hit it, protesting the abuse.
“Let. Go.” I try to shake him off, but his grip just tightens.
He yanks my shirt up to my chest.
My stomach is still a kaleidoscope of bruises. It was a vicious move on his part, kicking me. It still hurts, but not as bad now. The first week? Forget about it. And after Caleb’s betrayal, it’s a drop in the bucket. Mentally, anyway.
“Got what you wanted?” I ask.
He runs a finger over my abdomen.
I shut my eyes. “Stop.”
“He calls you a sheep,” he says. “But I think you’re proving to be far from that.”
I open my eyes.
His attention is fixated on the bruises. There’s an odd expression on his face—a split second of remorse, maybe, and his damn finger on my skin.
“Stop touching me, Ian.” My voice doesn’t tremble like I thought it might.
He releases me like coming out of trance.
“Payment accepted,” he whispers. He clears his throat. “Take the room, Wolfe. Upstairs, first one on the left. Don’t ask me for anything else.”
I don’t push it. I slip past him and dart up the stairs, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. I lean against it for good measure. My bag hits the floor next to me.
The room is huge. I mean, big surprise—the whole house is a freaking mansion. But it’s pink. A girl’s room, clearly, by the white-and-pink bedspread and the light-pink walls. The curtains on the two windows are white. A rug covering half of the hardwood floors, a low dresser in the corner… a vase of flowers on one nightstand and a lamp on the other.
Weird.
I’d imagine they must have a housekeeper, someone who keeps everything clean and fresh. The water in the vase is high and clear.
There’s no lock on the door. I inch toward the bed, exhaustion crashing over me. It’s not even ten o’clock yet. Was it only five hours ago that Caleb was inside me? He wasn’t professing love—I’m not that daft—but our sex…
I’m delusional. Clearly.
After a night of limited sleep, I could stay in bed for a week.
I lie down and stare at the tiled ceiling. My eyes won’t close, even though they feel like sandpaper. I can’t cry, either. I spent most of the walk to Ian’s house swinging between stoicism and sobbing. No in between.
How could he do th
is?
There are questions that need answering.
I hop up and pull a notebook out of my bag. The way to get organized is to make a list.
Who is Unknown?
Why is Caleb set on ruining my life?
Tobias—Dad’s attorney?
When I try to remember my past, nothing happens. It’s like there’s a wall in my mind. It isn’t active unless I try to access the few months before I entered into foster care. I remember being with my dad in the park, but that’s because Caleb practically forced the memory out of me.
Maybe…
No.
I look down at my list again.
There’s more.
Where are Caleb’s parents?
What happened in our past?
Who sent the video?
My head pounds. Ian told me he knew. I’ll have to ask him again.
I lie back down and force my eyes shut.
Today’s been a clusterfuck. Being in Ian’s guest room… well, I can’t say that really makes it any better. My phone is off, at the bottom of my bag. I can only imagine the texts and calls piling up: Riley, Caleb. The Jenkinses might call to inform me that Angela will be picking me up. I might come back and find my stuff on the curb.
That happened once.
Angela was waiting for me next to a plastic bag of all my belongings—a few shirts, underwear, pants, and a toothbrush. The foster family hadn’t even given me toothpaste.
