Page 143 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

I only pray her sister left her out of this mess.

“Closet,” Riley whispers, hauling me across the room.

We slip into it, and I take a moment to be thankful for the size. She closes the closet with the tiniest snick. We both back away. I spin around. The closet is deep and narrow, with Claire’s clothes on both long sides. In the back is a few rows of shelves, sparse except for the boxes at the top.

Claire’s bedroom door flies open. “Claire, I asked—”

My heart cracks. Wherever Claire is, Hanna expected her to be here. And now the twelve-year-old is alone in the big, creepy house, as she called it. I take a step toward the door, ready to reveal myself.

Riley grabs me from behind, covering my mouth with her hand.

“Please, be quiet,” she whispers in my ear.

My lungs stop working.

I’m so sorry.

I thrash my head, clawing at her arm.

She holds on tightly. “Stop, stop.”

“Claire,” Hanna sings, her voice farther away. “Are you downstairs?”

Riley releases me, and I fall out of the closet.

I land on my hands and knees, gasping for air.

She crouches beside me. “Margo, I’m sorry. I didn’t think that would… I’m an idiot. We have to be quiet. Claire lives here—does that mean she’s involved?”

It takes a minute for me to regain my breath, but then I grab Riley’s offered hand and stand. “She’s obsessed with car accidents.”

Riley nods slowly.

I go to her desk, yanking out the chair and taking a seat. Her computer is bound to be password protected—but at least it’s more proof that she has a laptop. Portable computer.

“It can’t be her,” I mumble.

I open the drawers and riffle through loose paper. At the bottom of the last drawer, there’s a wooden box.

I pause. Whatever is in this box was worth her hiding it—or it’s nothing.

If I don’t open it, the contents can’t hurt me. Claire remains innocent.

“What?” Riley takes the box from my hands and flips it open. Inside is a folded picture of me and Caleb. She pulls it out and flattens it.

I gasp. I can’t help it.

She’s…

“That bitch scratched your face off.” Riley’s tone is appalled.

I shudder.

“We need to get out of here.” She looks over her shoulder. “And fast.”

“We still need the yearbook. What if Masters is in on it?”

“Can’t we just trust the police for once?” Riley retorts.