Page 17 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

I slowly nod. “I woke up once, when I heard the voices talking. Matt… he wanted to take me to the hospital. Someone else didn’t.”

Detective Masters leans forward. “I need specifics here, Margo. Tell me about that other voice.”

“They…” Searing pain flashes through my head. I cover my face with my hands and groan.

My heart monitor shrieks.

A nurse rushes in, followed by the doctor who helped me.

“Out,” he orders the detective. He puts the bed back flat, his hand on my shoulder. “Margo, it’s okay.” He guides my hand away, showing me a clear mask. “Oxygen. Okay?”

He lowers it over my nose and mouth.

I’m so sorry—

It’s too similar to what just happened to me. My head is searing. A ringing noise fills my ears. It takes a second to realize I’m the one screaming, pushing at the mask.

A sob breaks through me like a crashing wave.

Is it too much to ask for a little peace?

“I’m giving you something to help you sleep,” the doctor says.

Ice rushes into my vein through the IV. It spreads, rushing through my body, weighing it down.

Panic still crushes my chest, though. Just because I’m about to be dragged under, doesn’t mean all my fear goes away. No, it’s being pulled down with me… right into my own personal nightmare.

My memories.

6

Caleb

Mr. Black meets me outside the county jail, and I can’t say I’ve ever felt like more of a miscreant. I’m just glad it isn’t my uncle waiting for me.

After our ‘interview’, the detective said he had enough cause to hold me without pressing charges. So there I sat, while Margo was in the hospital without me.

“I found her,” I say once we’re in the car. “And they just—”

“He already suspected you. When you showed up with her at the hospital, her arms still fucking bound…”

Eli’s dad isn’t a swearer. He drinks expensive whiskey when the occasion calls for it—after a big day at work, maybe—but otherwise, he doesn’t like alcohol. For years, I’ve been trying to find his vice. Smoking, gambling, women.

There had to be something.

Instead, I found a good man. He went to church with his wife on Sundays and tried not to disappear into his office on the weekends. He was present. At the games, cheering us on. When we were younger, he’d pick us up from school and we’d grab ice cream.

Eli’s family was more like mine for a long time.

He hands me my phone. “Your uncle called.”

I grimace. “I was hoping to avoid telling him I’m out.”

“Did two nights in jail make you delusional?”

“Maybe.” I fiddle with it. “How is she?”

It’s been just under seventy-two hours. Almost three days exactly since I saw her. And every moment of it has been hell.