Page 14 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

I knew it was drugs. Angela and Lydia had both told me, around the same time, that my mother was giving up her parental rights. She’d been checked into a rehabilitation center only a few months after Dad was locked up.

I blamed him for her addiction.

As much as I hated him, I couldn’t give her the same level of loathing. It wasn’t her fault.

I wondered who she lost. Dad, maybe?

“You could go see Dad,” I said. “If you’re feeling like he’s gone.”

She scowled. “No.”

It’d been four years. Maybe she saw him and didn’t want to tell me. She tended to be petty like that. She blamed me. Everything was my fault.

Sometimes I wondered how we got here.

“Margo, I need to go,” she said. “You were right. I’ve been traveling a lot. I’ve been working in the city. But I was late because my car broke down, and they fired me…”

“What are you hooked on?” I repeated.

She turned away from me. I hated the sharp angles of her body. She used to be soft—someone worth hugging. Now, her bones threatened to slice through her skin every time she moved. There were marks not only on her neck and face, but tract marks in the crook of her elbow. I saw it even when she tried to hide it.

It was August.

It was hot.

No one wore long-sleeve t-shirts in August. Only a drug addict.

“If you can’t help me, I’ll leave.” She took three quick steps back, her shoes scraping on the concrete.

“I don’t have anything,” I whispered.

Our little secret was about to end. If I couldn’t make her stay… she wouldn’t come back.

Mom shifted again, pulling at the hem of her shirt. She was backing away, shaking her head. Strands of dark hair slid from the clip on top of her head, getting caught in the wind.

“Take care of yourself,” I told her.

I stayed rooted to the spot until she was gone. Down the street, around the corner.

I glanced back at the house. It was shuttered, dark. Now that I knew what the inside was like, I could spot the flaws on the exterior. Cracked foundation and a crumbling roof. Ivy burrowed in the stucco walls, gripping like its live depends on it.

Me too, ivy.

They wouldn’t notice if I went for a walk.

All my belongings were on my back, anyway.

Mom didn’t want me. The foster system certainly didn’t want me.

Maybe I’d just keep walking until I found someone who did.

Present

The detective is skeptical.

Angela is clueless.

And my head freaking kills.