Wicked Games

by S. Massery

  I’m not convinced.

  I flick the light on, inhaling sharply. “If you can hear me, I’m going to find you.”

  And then I get to work.

  By the time I finish tearing my room apart, I’ve found nothing. Absolutely. Nothing. I guess I should be grateful that the only thing spying on me was a mermaid figure. But how long will it take for Unknown to get back in here and plant something else?

  I sink to the floor, leaning against my bed.

  My phone rings. A blocked number.

  “Hello?”

  There’s a click, then, “You found my gift.”

  It’s an automated voice, like their phone is reading a typed message.

  “I wouldn’t really call it a gift, since you were using it to spy on me.”

  Silence, except for breathing. They’re still there.

  “You’ve never called before,” I say. But at least they’re acknowledging that the mermaid was theirs. “What prompted the change?”

  “Texting is so… impersonal,” the computer voice says. “Wouldn’t you agree, Margo Wolfe?”

  “I can’t say I particularly agree with any part of this.”

  “You’ve always had bad luck picking friends. How do you know this time is any different?”

  There’s a click, and the line goes dead.

  I bring my phone away from my ear, and it vibrates a second later with a text.

  Caleb: Are you home?

  My stomach flips. It’s just coincidental timing—that’s all. I don’t answer him and crawl into bed, instead. It’s still early, but I don’t care. There is a pile of things in the center of my room that I will reorganize tomorrow. And I can’t deal with Caleb’s judgement right now.

  I should’ve known that pretending to sleep wouldn’t keep Caleb away. Minutes or hours later, he pulls back the covers and slides in next to me.

  “Are you avoiding me?” he whispers.

  “I’m avoiding life,” I mumble, tucking my face into the crook of his neck.

  He always smells so good. It’s unfair. He could be sweaty from a run and he’d still smell like sandalwood and pine.

  “And apparently the mess in the middle of your room.”

  “I was searching for other…”

  He hugs me tighter. “Did you find anything?”

  “Not that I could tell. But I’m questioning everything. I was just thinking about the time you said Amelie was a bad friend,” I add.

  He stiffens.

  “Do you remember that? One night eating pizza with my dad—”

  “I try not to think about memories with your dad, love,” he says. “But Amelie was a bad friend, even when we were kids. You refused to believe me.”

  “I like to think the best of people.” I exhale.

  “A major source of your downfall,” he says.

  I tip my head back, squinting at him. “Really.”

  He grins. “Yeah. You thought I wasn’t a monster… Hell, you even convinced me to marry you.” His finger traces the bracelet on my wrist.

  Half the time, I forget I’m wearing it.

  “Stuck with me now, Wolfe.”

  I try to hide my frown. My fears. I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling, my chest tight.

  Life is fragile. Hadn’t I learned that from my parents?

  But that day is blocked. What I did to make Caleb hate me is still gone, scrubbed free of my mind. There’s a wall I keep mentally running into, even in my dreams.

  And I’m afraid I might misremember something.

  “Do you trust your memories?” It’s easier to ask when we’re not looking at each other.

  “Sometimes I don’t,” he admits. “But most of the time? Yeah.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t. The little pieces I do remember—like the pizza night, or eavesdropping on your mom—”

  “You eavesdropped on my mother?”

  I glance at him. “You found me in your room hiding behind your door.”

  He turns his head and stares me down. “Is this a new memory?”

  My cheeks get hot. I wonder if he can tell, even in the dark. “It’s coming back.”

  “The football team is going to the state championships in December,” he says suddenly. “They’re playing against Lion’s Head.”

  Theo and Liam are on the team. And the last time we went to a game, Caleb caused major drama with Amelie.

  “So?”

  He chuckles. “So, we’re going. It’s at Lion’s Head this year, since they’re last year’s champs.”

  “You can’t just order me to go to a football game.”

  “It’ll be fun,” he says, rolling toward me. His fingers walk down my stomach, dipping into my panties. He swipes across my clit, and my back arches off the bed. It’s a lazy assault, and he watches me squirm under him.

  This kind of attention—the slow, meticulous kind, where he sees everything—makes me hot.

  Maybe it’s because no one else has looked at me like he does. Like I’m the source of every ounce of pain… and his redemption.

  I can be that for you, I silently vow.

  He presses his lips to my cheek, just below my eye. His tongue flicks out and tastes my skin. “Why are you crying?”

  I don’t know.

  “Because I’m broken,” I answer. It’s true. My axis is tilted, spinning me off course.

  My mind has been filled with friendship and love and thoughts of a future. And Caleb, promising forever.

  “You’re not,” he whispers. Every word is another brush against my cheek. “Even if you think you are. Even if I’ve tried to break you. You’re stronger than you think, little wolf.”

  He withdraws his hand from my shorts and pulls me close.

  I don’t feel strong.

  I feel…

  Empty.

  25

  Caleb

  Matt refuses to let me drive. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, and yet…

  “Just spill it, would you?”

  He swerves onto a side street and hits the gas pedal, the engine whining. He grins, flexing his grip on the steering wheel. At this point, I’m just along for a ride.

  “I got a location,” he finally says.

  About time. It’s been two weeks. We’re a few days into December, and I was losing my patience.

  I lean forward. “How?”

  “Got into the computer. It only connects to one network periodically, otherwise it’s completely shut off.” He grimaces. “Whoever it is, they’re smart. This must be a device designated for this. I didn’t find any personal documents stored on it. No clues. Sorry, man.”

  “Did you see any of the videos?”

  He shifts. “Yeah. They kept two.”

  “Of what?” I want to punch Matt at the thought of him watching Margo in her room, even though he’s helping me.

  He eyes me. “There’s no audio. But there’s one of you sneaking into her room through the window—hey, man, I stopped it after that. I don’t need to see your naked ass fucking your girlfriend.”

  I glare at him.

  “And the other is her and Riley. I’m not sure what’s so special about it. They sit on her bed and make a phone call.”

  “But you can’t hear what they say?”

  “Nah, it’s just video. I guess you could figure out what they’re saying if you were a lip reader. Otherwise? Just two girls making a call.”

  “Send them to me.” Maybe there’s something he’s missing.

  “We’re almost there. I’ll check my laptop and see if it’s active. If it is, chances are good that we’ll be able to find Margo’s mystery stalker.”

  My blood rushes hot and cold. It’s true—she has a stalker. Someone obsessed with her… and me.

  Matt turns onto a familiar street, then into a parking lot. “The WiFi service comes from that restaurant,” he says, pointing to the diner on the corner.

  My stomach drops.

  I was just here a week ago.


  Matt puts the car in park and reaches into the backseat for his laptop. But I can’t wait. My mom’s car is in the farthest corner of the lot. I don’t even spare him a glance as I climb out and stride across the road, up the concrete steps. Into the diner.

  I’m on autopilot.

  My gaze sweeps around, trying to find someone with a laptop, a cell phone, a tablet… nothing. The place is filled with old people sipping coffee and young families enjoying brunch. No one notices my abrupt entrance except the hostess, who has frozen by the podium.

  “Caleb, what are you doing here?” she asks.

  I turn toward my mother, frowning. “You know something.”

  She shakes her head. “What?”

  The door bangs open behind me, and a hand lands on my shoulder.

  “They’re not here.” Matt sees who I’m locked in a staring contest with and coughs. “Holy shit. Mrs. Asher?”

  “Matthew,” my mother comments. “Did you boys come for brunch?”

  “No,” Matt says.

  Mother’s eyebrow goes up. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “Did you deliver my message to Uncle David?” I ask.

  “About Columbia?” She tilts her head, confusion washing over her features. It’s an act—every emotion she reveals is an act. She’s much more calculating than that. “Of course I did.”

  “Great. Just checking.” I shove Matt out the door ahead of me.

  “Caleb, wait—”

  I ignore her.

  Once we’re outside, I let out a growl.

  “What the hell was that?” Matt demands. He grabs my arm, stopping me. “Dude. Why is your mom working at a shitty diner two towns away from Rose Hill?”

  I shrug, yanking free. “Beats me.”

  He shakes his head, following me back to his car. “This is so fucked up.”

  “You’re telling me?”

  “Well, whoever normally connects there, I guess maybe your mom would know?” He unlocks the car, and we slide back in. “Damn. I didn’t think this was going to be a wasted trip. I guess we could camp out here, see if anyone you recognize shows up.”

  I grunt. “Fine.”

  We sit and wait. Every person who comes into the diner isn’t right. Matt and I get antsy, and eventually we decide to head home.

  I try not to take the day personally, but it comes down to one thing.

  We failed. And somehow I’ll have to go pretend everything is dandy with Margo, knowing Unknown is just going to make another attempt to spy on her.

  That gets me thinking. Plotting.

  She might just be safer with me.

  “You have a gleam in your eye,” Matt comments. “Care to share?”

  I don’t. I shake my head at him. “Just take me back.”

  We drive in silence back toward Eli’s house. A black car is parked in the driveway, and dread laces through me. Just the person I didn’t want to see.

  “You okay?”

  “My uncle.” I climb out and pat the roof. “Don’t forget to send me those files.”

  “See ya next week,” Matt says, lifting his hand.

  Right. The championship game at Lion’s Head. I only just invited Margo, and it already slipped out of my mind. I guess Uncle David has that effect on me. Now I just have to hope he doesn’t drag me back to his house to teach me some lesson—how to properly inform your family of college choices, perhaps.

  I spent Thanksgiving with Eli’s family, ignoring all calls from my so-called family. I could practically feel his excitement. His dear nephew was breaking the rules again. Another excuse to use his fists.

  My mind is torn in two different directions. I walk into the house and search the first floor for any sign of my uncle, then go down the stairs. He’s leaning against my dresser, holding the picture I had taken from my house the same night I took Margo’s bracelet.

  It’s the two of us as children, our arms hooked around each other’s necks. We were young and happy.

  But judging from my uncle’s expression, he doesn’t care that it was a happy memory. He cares that it’s Margo Wolfe. The destroyer of our families.

  She’ll never win in his eyes.

  I used to think the same way. If Margo came back, I’d make her life a living hell. And for a while, I fed on that energy. I got my wish. She came back to Emery-Rose for senior year. But then she got under my skin, and she’s stayed there ever since.

  Uncle drops the frame to the floor, taking a deliberate step forward. The glass crunches under his heel.

  “I tried to warn you, son. But you just. Don’t. Listen.”

  I throw back my shoulders, regarding him silently.

  He smirks at me. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn.”

  26

  Margo

  Len walks into the dining room, a big grin in place. “Painting again?”

  The portrait of Caleb is half finished. He’s still missing his eyes and lips. The two most defining features, and… difficult. I’ve been hemming and hawing over how exactly to do it.

  “I need to get this done.” I shrug.

  It’s due in a few weeks, Robert graciously reminded me. At the beginning of the project, Caleb was simple in my mind: vicious. The devil incarnate. A bully barely holding on to his demons.

  But now he’s more than that. He has moments of softness and kindness. He’s not just the devil—he’s the angel who was always destined to fall. He’s a liar and a jerk and sweet and the most heartbreakingly beautiful boy I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  How do I paint a liar’s lips?

  How do I paint the devil’s eyes?

  “I hate to interrupt, then. But you have a visitor,” Len says. She bites her lip, tipping her head toward the front of the house.

  “Who?”

  “Go see for yourself.” She takes my brush from my fingers and sets it down. “This will still be here later. Go on.”

  I exhale and stand, sweeping invisible lint off my thighs. I’d barely started, my brush still dry and clean. I walk through the kitchen, toward the front door. My foster sister sits on the couch, typing on her phone.

  Claire’s head jerks up, and we rush toward each other.

  “I’m so sorry,” she blurts out, throwing her arms around my shoulders.

  I hug her back tightly, leaning into her. The vanilla scent surrounding her is familiar. It brings back memories—most of them good.

  “Why are you apologizing?”

  “Because I totally dropped the ball after the ball,” she says. “No pun intended. Or maybe pun intended.” She releases me and stares into my eyes. “I know I dropped a big bomb, and then you didn’t reach back out, and I was just afraid you’d hate me for telling you about—”

  Her attention go over my shoulder, then to me. “Can you come with me? Maybe go for a ride?”

  “You have a car?” Something dark flutters in my chest.

  “Yeah, my foster parents taught me how to drive. Isn’t that cool? I just was able to get my permit last week! They still let me take the car out by myself, though.”

  I suck in a breath, tempted to tell her no. Her foster parents taught her how to drive. They’ll probably teach Hanna, too, when she is old enough. And here I am, relying on Robert, Caleb, and Riley to get me places.

  It stings like lemon dripped into a fresh cut.

  Luck of the draw. It’s always that way with foster care. Kids either get lucky or… not.

  And I definitely got lucky. I need to shake off this attitude just because Claire has her driving permit. Yet, I can’t get in the car with her.

  “Let’s sit on the sun porch,” I offer.

  Lenora lets out a slight exhale behind me. I guess I’m not the only one who wasn’t comfortable with me getting in Claire’s car.

  “Fine,” Claire huffs.

  I roll my eyes, and we go to the sun porch. I sink into one of the cushioned wicker chairs, and Claire mimics my movement. Clouds hang low.

  I clear my throat. “So, they taught you to
drive.”

  “Yeah.” Her face softens, and she grabs my hand. “I’m sorry, Margo. I feel awful that I just gave you that clipping and told you I recognized Caleb, then left.”

  I let out a short laugh. Claire might’ve been the catalyst of my realization, but Caleb dug his own grave. “You were just trying to help.”

  “Still.”

  “So you decided to swing by?”

  She brightens. “Yeah. Well, I wanted to show off my driving skills. I couldn’t get away before now.”

  Claire, the wild child. Always a rule breaker. I don’t bother pointing out that she shouldn’t be driving alone with a permit, and she especially shouldn’t be driving someone else around without a license. A little thing like the law wouldn’t stop her.

  “How’s Hanna?”

  She grins, releasing me and leaning back. “She’s good. She’s really enjoying that school.”

  “You said she’s at Lion’s Head’s middle school?” I perk up. “Caleb and I are going to the championship game. Are you going?”

  “We were thinking about it. A guy asked…” Her face gets red. “I just don’t think I’m ready to date. He’s nice and all.”

  “Well, if you go, you can meet me there.” It’s the weirdest feeling, seeing Claire in front of me and wanting to know everything that happened between August and now. There’s no way to get that time back. Not like how we used to be.

  “Maybe,” she says.

  “Remember when we first met?”

  Her gaze shutters for a second, then she lifts a shoulder. “How could I not? Hanna and I weren’t expecting anything other than a shitty foster home that’d been coerced into taking both of us. We got the surprise of our lives.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So, uh, you and Caleb are still together?”

  I squint at her. “Yep.”

  “Even though he’s an awful person?”

  I shake my head. “Seriously, Claire?” I get up. I need something—a glass of water to drink or chuck at her head, I’m not sure.

  She follows me through the dining room, pausing in front of my easel.

  “Wait,” she says. “What’s this?”

  “A painting.” I continue on, making a beeline for the fridge. I pour two glasses of water and carry them back, and she’s still staring at it. “Claire.”