Page 107 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

I bite the inside of my cheek. There’s a ring of bruises around her neck.

Handprints.

It strikes me that I should feel concern—or at the very least, an ounce of sympathy. I don’t. Disgust travels up my throat.

Even through the addiction, the similarities between her and Margo are obvious. They have the same hair, the same smile. Same face shape, even though Margo’s still has traces of her childhood in her cheeks and her mother’s is extreme in the opposite direction.

“What brings you here?” She goes to the mini-fridge, kneeling and pulling out a bottle. She offers me one. “Come to steer me right, son?”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap. I shake my head.

She giggles. She removes her jacket, revealing a sweater that she probably got from a thrift store. It’s two sizes too big and hangs on her frame. She starts taking off the sweater, too, still giggling under her breath.

“You’re high.” I should’ve known. Should’ve anticipated it.

She takes a seat on one of the two beds, now only in her leggings and long-sleeved shirt. She twists the bottle in her hand.

Slowly, I mirror her movements. After sitting for a few seconds, I cross to the fridge and help myself to a beer. May as well, trying to reason with Margo’s mother.

“Why are you back?”

She grins. “I asked you that.”

I shrug. “I came to ask you why you’re back. Are you going to answer?”

She’s irritating. Infuriating. The woman who used to be my family’s chef has disintegrated into this.

“You look so much like your father,” she says. “I miss him.”

“What about your own husband? Rotting away—”

“Don’t, Caleb.” She shakes her head, folding forward. “Don’t bring up the past.”

She rocks back and forth for a moment, winding her scarf around her hands. Finally, she sets it down and straightens. Her cheeks are wet. She switches beds, sitting right next to me.

I hold perfectly still as she stares into my face.

There’s kindness buried in my bones.

But… not for her.

She wipes the tears on her cheek with the back of her hand, running her arm under her nose. It’s hard to be around her and not feel anger.

Hate.

“I just want things to go back to normal.” She latches on to my arm and lets out a sob. “Why did you come here?”

“To tell you that you need to leave Rose Hill. Tonight.”

“My money is gone. I have nowhere to go—”

“I don’t fucking care, Amberly.”

She flinches.

“You promised you wouldn’t come back. That you wouldn’t…”

“Interfere,” she mumbles. “But—”