Wicked Games Read online

  I prided myself on not losing my shit. I’d learned the hard way that tears solved nothing. They changed nothing.

  Eleven-year-old Margo learned that bad things would continually happen. It was her new reality. I went into the system when I was ten, but for that first year, I was optimistic. I thought I’d go back to my mom and dad, that life with the Ashers would return to normal.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Margo

  Past

  The detective took my dad away.

  A lady sat next to me on the bench and smiled. Even though she looked nice, she wasn’t particularly warm and fuzzy. Not like Dad when he held my hand on the way here.

  “Ready to go, Margo?”

  Dad struggled against the handcuffs. It was quite the commotion.

  “Where?”

  She frowned. “Your dad was just arrested. I’m with Social Services. We’re going to try and locate your mom, okay?”

  My pulse raced. “Mom? No, she…”

  Blank.

  “I’m Angela,” she said. She shook my hand and then wouldn’t let go. She pulled me up and away.

  I wondered if there were more police officers to arrest me, too.

  “Come on, honey.”

  We were almost to her car.

  Dad said never to get in the car with strangers.

  I screamed.

  Blank.

  I screamed, didn’t I?

  Blank.

  If I didn’t scream, did I get in the car? Go with her willingly? Give up on my family?

  Blank.

  Blank.

  Blank.

  Present

  I wake with a start. Pink walls. White curtains. Flowers a foot from my face.

  A dream—maybe more real than not?

  There are gaps in my memory. I think they’re bigger than I realized.

  “Who is Unknown?”

  I roll over, gasping.

  Ian sits on the edge of my bed, facing away from me. He has my notebook.

  “Well, I think the point of the name Unknown signifies your lack of knowing who they are. Unless they call themselves Unknown? Hmm.” Pen scratches the paper as he writes something. “Why is Caleb set on ruining my life?”

  “Why are you in my room?”

  He glances back at me. “Technically it isn’t your room.”

  “You’re prying.” I get off the bed and circle around it, stopping in front of him. “Give it back.”

  “I’m most curious about this question. Why is Caleb set on ruining your life?” He taps his pen on his lip. “Dare I answer?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “You ruined his life first,” he reasons. “At least, that’s the way my parents explained it.”

  I stare at him. “What?”

  “What part of that was confusing?”

  “The part where your parents were talking about it.”

  He chuckles, setting the notebook down next to him. “Ah. Caleb’s aunt and mine are second cousins.”

  “Holy shit. You’re related? I didn’t—”

  “Distantly,” he says in a tone that ends all of my other questions.

  He stands, and I take a quick step backward.

  That door really needs a lock.

  “You think he won’t come here searching for you?” Ian walks to the door.

  Does he realize that by standing in the doorway, he cages me in? Boys like him have all the power. I shouldn’t be taken aback by that.

  He’s still watching me, and I realize he asked me a question.

  “He might,” I admit. “He’ll probably search high and low for me.”

  Ian scoffs. “Well, I guess that’ll put you in a predicament tonight.”

  “What’s tonight?”

  “Party.”

  Of course. It’s Saturday.

  “We just had the ball,” I protest. “And you’re hosting a party? Here?”

  He shrugs. “Yep.”

  It must be a desperate bid to cure his loneliness. He’s all alone in this big house for the whole winter. I’d get lonely, too. And lonely people do dangerous things.

  The predicament must be whether or not I’ll show my face. “Is Caleb going to be here?”

  He smirks.

  I groan, throwing my hands up. “You couldn’t have warned me before—”

  “Before what, Wolfe? Before you got settled?” He looks pointedly at my bag by the door. “You didn’t even take off your shoes.”

  True. It’s a runaway kid habit. Be ready to go in an instant.

  I shake my head. “There’s not even a lock on the door—”

  “You can hide out in my room.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Just imagine if Caleb found you? How pissed he would be.”

  He’s positively gleeful.

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re not going to tell him?”

  “Probably not.”

  I groan and leave the room. I don’t trust Ian. Not that I particularly trust anyone at the moment, but Ian and Caleb are at the top of the shit list. I was hoping to go to bed early tonight, sleep in, and then figure out how the hell my mother was involved with the Jenkins’s daughter. If she was involved.

  If I can find her, then I can prove her innocence—and in turn, my innocence.

  The Jenkinses will take me back.

  Ian follows me down the hall, back into the kitchen. I open the fridge.

  “By all means, make yourself at home,” he says. “There’s enough meal-prepped shit in there to last a month.”

  I stiffen. “What?”

  “Mother Dearest makes sure I’m taken care of over the winter.” He leans against the island, watching me. “A chef comes in and prepares meals once a month. It’s a big ordeal. Time consuming. The whole house stinks like a restaurant for at least three days after.” He pauses. “Margo?”

  I blink and take a quick step back. I froze, I think.

  “Mom was a personal chef.” I clear my throat.

  “I know.”

  I glance at him. “Is that why you said it?”

  He scowls. “No. I said it because it’s the truth. Why? Do you need things sugarcoated?”

  “No.” I grab an apple out of the bottom drawer and take a bite. “It just took me by surprise.”

  “That we have a chef? Completely different from your mom, wasn’t it? I mean, you guys lived in the Asher guest house. I’ve heard the stories. How she catered to Mr. Asher’s every whim—”

  I chuck the apple at him.

  It hits him in the chest, juice splattering on his shirt. He catches it before it falls, then shakes his head at me.

  “Where’s your sense of self-preservation?” My face is getting hot.

  “You just need a dose of reality, since Caleb refuses to acknowledge it.” He takes a bite of the apple, winking at me. “So anytime you want to face the truth, let me know.”

  He tosses the apple back at me and strolls out of the kitchen.

  “Wait,” I blurt out. “My mom…”

  He stops in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “How much do you know?”

  “Definitely not as much as you wish I did.” He laughs. “I’d love to lie and say I could tell you what’s lost in your memory. But even I don’t know exactly what happened in the Asher house.”

  My lips part. “How…?”

  “Did I know you can’t remember?”

  The one thing I respect about Ian is that we can talk about this fucked-up situation without pity or sympathy. He doesn’t show any emotion except faint amusement. Amusement doesn’t bother me. It’s everything else that tends to get…

  Suffocating.

  “You wouldn’t let Caleb near you with a ten-foot pole if you knew the truth,” he says, not waiting for my answer.

  He leaves, and I stare down at the apple in my hands. My appetite has fled, along with my sanity.

  I don’t know where the hell my mother is—but now I’m even more convinced that she’s the one with the an
swers. Step one: find her. Step two: hope her mind hasn’t deteriorated enough to give me some goddamn answers.

  And there’s Tobias, too…

  So many freaking questions.

  Plus the leaked video, and Caleb’s betrayal, and Ian decided to throw a party.

  I set the bitten apple on the table and go back to the pink room. I flop on the bed and consider Ian’s words. Slowly, I toe off my shoes, letting them fall to the floor.

  You wouldn’t let Caleb near you.

  My head pounds. I drape my arm over my eyes, blocking out the light.

  What’s the truth?

  What’s a lie?

  We may never know.

  4

  Caleb

  I stalk into Riley’s house.

  There’s a commotion above my head, so I go to the stairs. We came here once—Eli and I—when Riley was piss drunk. That was before Margo arrived at school, and Eli was still the source of Riley’s misery. They’ve since shifted into something else.

  Still, the layout isn’t rocket science. It’s hazily familiar. I climb the stairs and stop in front of her bedroom.

  The door is locked.

  I could pick it if I wanted to—if I had the patience for it. But patience isn’t something I’m known for. Not now, with intoxicating anger flowing through me. I take a step back and kick, smashing her door open.

  Eli and Riley are going at it, and she screams when the door flies in.

  “Fuck, dude!” Eli yells. He doesn’t even flinch at his nakedness, the arrogant asshole. He just puts his hand on Riley’s shoulder and twists halfway toward me.

  I glower at him, then shift my attention to Riley.

  She’s desperately trying to cover herself, but my friend is still impaled in her pussy. She couldn’t go anywhere if she tried. I can’t see anything, of course. Just Eli’s white ass and her thigh. And her breasts. But they don’t hold appeal for me.

  “Where is Margo?”

  Her red face suddenly goes white. “What?”

  I lean against the doorframe, trying not to seethe.

  “You’re her best friend, Appleton. Where. Is. She?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Can you leave?”

  Eli shakes his head. “Margo run away?”

  I glare at him.

  His gaze moves from me down to Riley, a contemplative look on his face. He rotates his hips, and her eyes flutter closed.

  He towers over her. “Tell us where she is.”

  “I don’t know, Eli,” she moans. She keeps her eyes closed, but her cheeks are getting red again.

  I’ve seen enough.

  And, oddly, I believe her.

  There are only a few places that Margo would go to avoid me. A few places she would either trust to hide her from me—big mistake—or that she’d think I wouldn’t hunt for her.

  Savannah or Amelie, maybe.

  Or Ian.

  Riley was the obvious choice. I’m almost proud that Margo didn’t run straight here.

  Riley’s screams follow me out the front door. I shake my head, grimacing.

  My phone rings. I smother a groan, dropping into my car.

  “You better be calling to tell me you left town,” I say.

  “Hello to you, too,” Margo’s mother says. “I just—”

  “If you’re about to ask for a favor, don’t.”

  “Caleb, you don’t understand.”

  I growl. Amberly is a distraction and a drug addict. She had her uses, but her calling me? Absolutely not.

  “Your mom is looking for me,” she whispers.

  I freeze. “What?”

  “I don’t know what to do. Somehow she got my number—”

  “Then change your number.” I stare straight ahead. My mother, Margo’s mother, the fucking Jenkinses. This mess is snowballing.

  This wasn’t part of the game.

  I hang up on her. Can’t really do anything about Mother, since she’s always been a wild card. Everyone else has a plan, motives, wants, and needs. She’s just crazy.

  I try calling Margo again, but it’s still going straight to voicemail. If you had told me two months ago that the girl I had carried a grudge against for seven fucking years would change me, I would’ve punched you in the goddamn face.

  She’s under my skin.

  My next stop is Theo’s house. As much as I’d love to barge into Amelie’s home, it wouldn’t do me any good. So I’m sending someone who can be a little more persuasive.

  Theo and the Page girls have an interesting history. Amelie’s sister goes to Lion’s Head, where Theo and Liam attended school before they transferred here. One might say there’s bad blood between Theo and Lucille Page, but they’d be underexaggerating the truth.

  Theo meets me in the driveway, and I hide my smile.

  “Margo’s missing,” I tell him.

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “She might be at the Page house.”

  He snorts. “She might decide to hide in a bed of vipers, too.”

  “You want to go find out or what?” I snap.

  Time tugs on my skin. It’s odd to feel utterly helpless. Every bone in my body needs to know where Margo is. She can’t run away. She isn’t in control. I am.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Dunley’s, then Fletcher.” I shake my head. “Maybe Ian’s first. The fucker deserves to be hit.”

  Theo’s eyes darken. “And the video?”

  “Apparently it came from Savannah.”

  “Another reason to visit her first.”

  I sigh. Savannah and Amelie were Margo’s best friends. They’re causing more trouble than they’re worth at this point. But unfortunately, we don’t live in a society where I can just bury them in the backyard.

  “Your uncle is going to be pissed.” Theo crosses his arms.

  “I’m giving you a shot at Page, and you’re still flapping your lips.”

  His chuckle follows me back to my car. Fuck him. He’ll help, but he’ll do it in his own time. And maybe he’s right: I should clean up the video. It spread faster than I anticipated, and Savannah’s phone was just the catalyst. I know she didn’t record it.

  I dial a number I memorized a long time ago.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have a death wish?” I ask.

  They swallow.

  “Get rid of it.”

  “What?”

  “Get rid of the fucking video—get it off every phone, every server, or so help me God, I will ruin your life.”

  Silence.

  Then, “You didn’t like the angle?”

  I growl.

  “Fine. Consider it done,” they say.

  I know Margo isn’t with Savannah. Maybe she would’ve gone there if Sav wasn’t so hurt by my using her. No, she’d do anything to get back in my good graces—including tell me if Margo showed up.

  That leaves one option.

  I crack my neck. This is going to feel good.

  Next stop: Ian Fletcher’s house.

  Margo

  I wake up to Ian watching me. Again.

  “This isn’t going to work.” I need to leave—or that door needs a lock.

  The room is cast in shadow. Only the light from the hallway illuminates a vertical bar across his body.

  “Relax,” he says. “I wasn’t here long. You were mumbling about your mom.”

  I push myself into a sitting position and reach over, turning on the lamp.

  We both wince at the sudden brightness.

  “You sure do sleep a lot,” he adds.

  “I didn’t get much last night.” My face catches on fire almost immediately, and I cover my eyes. “Oh god.”

  “Naughty. Anyway, here’s the key to my room. Keep it locked if you go to the bathroom or something.” He tosses it on the bed and stands, brushing off his legs. “People are starting to arrive.”

  I jump up. “Already?”

  He shrugs. “Well, it’s eight o’clock. There are always some e
arly birds.”

  “You’re being nice.” And that makes me suspicious.

  “Don’t read too much into this, Wolfe.” He gets up and saunters out of the room, his hands in his pockets.

  I stare after him for a moment, contemplating. He’s never nice. I need to hide out and then get the hell out of here. I grab my bag and shoes and straighten the bed, slipping down the hall. Voices carry up the stairs, giggling girls and a boy’s low response.

  Ian’s room is kind of what I would’ve expected. The walls are gray-blue; his bedding matches in darker tones. There’s a lacrosse stick on his desk and a helmet beside it. The rest of his room is pretty much spotless. Closed black closet doors, plush carpet instead of hardwood.

  I drop my bag and sit on the edge of his bed. Music kicks on downstairs, loud enough to vibrate the floorboards.

  I slide to the floor and dig through the bag, pulling out my phone. I’ve avoided it, but now I turn it on. There are too many missed calls, and half from Riley. Another half dozen from Caleb. A few from Robert and Lenora. And texts. So many texts.

  I click on my conversation thread with Riley.

  Riley: OMG, where are you? Caleb just burst in on Eli and I…

  My mouth drops open.

  Me: You had sex with Eli?!

  Riley: Not what’s important right now, Margo! WHERE ARE YOU?

  I bite my lip. I can’t answer. What if she tells?

  Me: Somewhere not obvious… I hope.

  Riley: I’m scowling at you right now. Just so you know.

  Me: I need space.

  She doesn’t respond. I guess that’s space.

  I’ve tried for years to avoid loneliness. To push away everyone and everything in an effort to fortify myself. I changed homes frequently. At ten, I made attachments wherever I went. By twelve...

  Past

  Angela was waiting for me when I got back to the DiMario’s house. The bus dropped me off at the end of the street, and sometimes they waited for me in their car. If Mr. DiMario wasn’t drunk, that is. If he was, then I walked to their house and tried to slip in undetected.