Page 27 of Wicked Promises
I can’t shake that Unknown was here the other night, waiting for the detective to arrive and interrogate me. But the more important thing is that Margo feels safe.
No—the most important thing is that sheissafe.
I put the bag down on the desk chair.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Mr. Black tells her. “Norah is heating dinner, it should be ready soon.”
He leaves, and then it’s just us.
My phone has been steadily blowing up in the last hour, but I’ve ignored it. Now, I pull it out and scroll through the messages. Half of them are from Riley, which would be weird if…
Well, Margo texted me from hers. Which means?—
“Did you find your phone?”
Margo flops on the bed. Her dark hair fans across the pink pillow, and she bites her lip. “They took it, I think. Or I lost it in the accident.”
I frown.
“Lenora texted Riley, who met us at the house. She stayed until Ms. McCaw called and said they weren’t approved…” Her cheeks pinken. “I don’t really have anyone else to talk to except her or you.”
I hand her my phone.
She sits up and scrolls through. A small smile creeps across her face at the messages from Riley. They start off formal, with Margo’s name at the top. As if I’d get confused about who she wants to reach.
She taps out a reply, then goes to hand the phone back.
“There are others. People who are either nosy or think they care.” I stay standing. What I really want is to climb on top of her and kiss her until we’re both breathless and she’s trembling on the edge of an orgasm…
But I can’t risk the Blacks kicking us out.
“I notice Amelie and Savannah don’t give a shit,” she says on a laugh. “Amelie’s nowhere to be found, and Sav’s latest ones all seem a bit desperate.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, well. Sheisdesperate.”
She sobers. “What if I’m misremembering stuff? Like my brain just put in a person who didn’t really make sense?—”
“You don’t trust yourself?”
“How could I?” She stares at the ceiling. “I forgot that my own mother cheated on Dad with yours.”
My stomach knots. While I’m glad her memories finally opened up, I hate her forlorn expression. “It was traumatic, but I’m glad you were able to live without it for a little while.”
She cocks her head. “What do you mean?”
I could give her this. A taste of my side.
“After Dad died, Mom couldn’t stand to be in the house. She was self-destructing.”
“Not as bad as mine,” she whispers.
“No, Mother didn’t turn to drugs. But she did think she couldn’t parent me anymore, so she carted me off to my aunt and uncle’s house only a few days after the funeral.”
Margo knows exactly what that means. She’s seen my uncle’s handiwork firsthand.
“All I wanted was to get you back.” I cave and sit beside her. My hand lands on her thigh. “Uncle David employed a very specific type of behavior modification. He was relentless in blaming not only your father, butyoufor everything.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “Why?”