Page 163 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

“Tell me what you said.”

Tears filled my eyes, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t say anything. I was going to keep her secret.

“Margo!” she screamed. Her fingers dug into my shoulders, and she shook me. Violently. My head snapped back. She yanked me toward her and away, movements brutal and jerky. “What did you do?”

For a second, everything was still and quiet. Her voice rang in my ears.

And then Dad was there, prying her away from me.

I fell backward. My head hit the edge of the table, and white spots exploded like fireworks in front of my vision. My head throbbed, pain radiating over my skull. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I saw Mom looming above me.

Dad shoved her—the first act of violence I’d ever seen from him—and lifted me into his arms. He carried me down the hall, into my room, and set me on the bed.

In the other room, Mom was screaming. She must’ve been throwing things, because the sound of breaking glass came through the doorway.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “Please, Margo.”

I touched the back of my head. My fingers came away wet with blood, and I burst into tears.

There was so much yelling.

I ran to my door—to escape, to take the blame—but the knob wouldn’t turn.

“You ruined everything!” Mom screamed.

I flinched away from the door.

“I ruined everything?” Dad yelled back. “You cannot seriously be pinning this on me, Amberly.”

“Like hell I can’t. I had a plan! A way out of this godforsaken home!”

Crash. Then… silence.

“Daddy!” I screamed, beating at the door.

No one came for me. I beat and scratched at the door, kicked it, slammed my body against it. It didn’t budge.

I backed away, then looked down at my hands. They were covered in blood. Then the pain came, edging through the numbness.

I had kept her secret, but Dad knew. He knew, and she blamed me.

“Mom,” I moaned and sunk to my knees. “I didn’t tell.”

Ages later, the door swung open. Dad came in and knelt in front of me, picking up my hands. He inspected the damage.

His whole face was eons of sadness.

“Want to go somewhere happy?” He scooped me up. “Let’s clean your hands off.”

He carried me into the bathroom and gently cleaned my hands, wincing for me at the shredded nails. They stung under the warm, soapy water, but I didn’t say anything.

I didn’t ask where Mom was.

Or where they both had been.

“Up you go,” he said.

I was in his arms again, hugging him like an octopus. He carried me to the car, and then we went to the park. I didn’t see Mom, or anyone else. Not until the detective and social worker showed up.