The Wicked Trilogy by S. Massery
Deleted Scene
This scene was originallyat the beginning of Wicked Games, when Margo is hiding from Caleb at Ian’s. I ended up going in a different direction, but I’ve always loved how obsessed Caleb is in this scene!
—Sara
Margo
I grab the notebook and find my way back to the office. I close myself in, sinking into the chair behind the desk, and fire up the computer.
Ian had written down notes next to some of my questions.
Joke answers.
I flip to the next page, inexplicably irritated. I came to him. I should be able to put up with whatever he does to me. If that’s invade my privacy or touch me…
No.
There are some things that I can’t release. That I will guard furiously until the end.
Once the computer is loaded, I type in my dad’s name.
No results.
I shake my head. That’s not right.
I type in my name. Same thing. No results.
With trembling fingers, I type in Caleb’s name.
The last name catches results, but they’re all about a man named Josiah Asher.
Something should come up when I type in my dad’s name. His arrest coverage in the media, his achievements in school sports when he was younger… there’s nothing. I search again, just to make sure it wasn’t a glitch.
In fine print at the bottom, the search engine says: Articles and webpages may have been removed by a third party.
Who would have the power--or the desire--to do such a thing?
The front door slams against the wall. It echoes through the house. I have the urge to hide, so I do. Without remorse. I grab my notebook, clear my history on the computer, and dash into the hallway, through the kitchen and into the pantry.
“She would be here.”
It’s Caleb’s voice.
My knees go weak. Will he search every room in the house for me?
“She’s not.” Ian sounds bored.
I thought he left–but maybe Caleb caught him at the top of the driveway and made him turn around. It wouldn’t surprise me.
“Seriously, mate. You think she’d come here?” He grunts.
I wonder if Caleb hit him again.
Slowly, I rip out my list of questions and tuck the notebook into the pantry. I fold the paper and stuff it into my bra. If Caleb finds me–and finds the list–I can’t imagine what will happen.
“She has nowhere else to go,” he answers. “And she’d come here to throw me off. So I’ll ask you again: Where. Is. Margo?”
Ian laughs. “Fuck off, man. I have no idea where your girlfriend is. You two having a lovers quarrel?”
There’s a choking noise, and I jump forward. My fingers touch the doorknob.
I could do it. Step out there and stop Caleb from hurting Ian… And then I pause. Why the hell should I help Ian, when he’s been almost worse than Caleb? He deserves Caleb’s punishment. I highly doubt Caleb would kill him.
Caleb’s demons aren’t to be messed with–and right now they’re searching for me.
I shiver.
“I’m going to have a look around,” Caleb says. They must be in the kitchen for me to hear them so clearly.
Their footsteps pound on the stairs.
He’s going to find my bag by the door in the guest room. The crumpled comforter that I slept on top of. Even if the bed isn’t unmade, he’ll jump to conclusions.
I slip out of the pantry, thankful that I never took my shoes off. It’s one of those things you learn as a runaway. Always be prepared to run. It’s in the name, and it’s a lesson most of us learn quickly.
Getting branded as a runaway when I was thirteen...
Maybe one of the bigger regrets of my life.
I stayed in a group home for a year. It’s where I met Claire, actually, because she was a flight risk like me. We were in that home for a year together before I got released into another family. She stayed until we were placed together with Hanna.
I know Angela still has a talk with the foster parents about my runaway status. She pulled some strings to get me into a good home, but for a while, it was difficult.
“Margo!”
I jump. Caleb must be right above me. Maybe he found my backpack.
Fear threads through me.
The sliding glass door rolls open on nearly silent hinges, and then I’m free. It pains me to leave my things behind, but I don’t have a choice.
I creep down the stairs, just in case Caleb is at the window. Once I get to the edge of the house, I have to make a break for it.
And I do. It feels like I’m flying across the yard, my legs pumping, my arms swinging. I almost make it to the tree line when something plows into me.
Someone tackles me.
We hit the ground at an angle, my shoulder cushioning most of the blow. My head snaps forward, and white spots burst like stars in front of my vision. A weight presses me down, keeping my face in the grass.
It takes a second to distinguish the fingers squeezing the back of my neck. The hot breath moving my hair.
I try to turn my head, but the grip on my neck tightens.
They move–it’s either Ian or Caleb, I rationalize–and straddle my lower back.
“You can’t escape, love.”
Caleb.
I struggle, but he’s got me pinned. I reach back and try to shove him off of me. He smoothly grabs my wrist, wrenching it behind me until my shoulder burns.
I stop.
“I don’t know why you’re still fucking trying.”
“You want me gone,” I pant into the ground. “You made it clear enough, Caleb. So just get the hell off.”
“You may have started off as a game,” he whispers in my ear, “but let’s get one thing straight: you’re fucking mine.” He bites the shell of my ear.
I throw my head back, smashing into his, and twist my body with all my strength. He falls to the side, and suddenly I’m free. I pop up, glancing back at him.
He’s still on the ground, his eyes dark. Blood drips from his nostril.
He smiles at me.
I shake my head, backing away from him. “You’re nuts.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re into it.”
“I would be more inclined to agree with it if you didn’t just…” I shake my head. Destroy my life? I don’t want to give him that much credit.
He scoffs. “It’ll take more than that confession to loosen the Jenkins’ claws in you. They know who you are.”
I tilt my head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t try to sucker me.” He gets up.
Why do I feel like I’m the prey in this situation?
I back up as he approaches. He moves faster than me, but I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want him to even look at me.
“You and I,” I say in a low voice. “We’re done. I’m not yours, Caleb.”
He shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”
“Stop following me.”
He’s close enough to touch me. I wait for it, for whatever he’s going to do. Grab my wrist, my waist, my throat? He invokes such a visceral reaction in me. Lust. Fear.
Right now, all I can feel is horror.
Even as I stop moving and his hand slides up my arm, into my hair. He stands there, looking up and over my head, and his fingers move infinitesimally against my scalp. I wonder if he realizes he’s doing it.
“We were happy,” I accuse.
His eyes flicker down, his gaze colliding with mine. “We don’t deserve happiness. We deserve each other.”
His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling my head back. He leans down and kisses me, but I refuse to be part of it. I keep my lips closed, and my eyes flutter shut automatically. I force myself to open them.
He’s glaring at me. His other hand comes up and grasps my chin, like he wants to pry my jaw open.
Not going to happen.
I bring my knee up sharply, hitting him in the groin.
He lets go abruptly and staggers to the side. He lets out a pained groan.
I run. This time, back to the house. At least I can get a locked door between me and this madman.
Ian is on the porch, leaning against the railing. “Quite a show.”
“Fuck off.” I run past him, up the stairs, and seal myself in the bathroom.
I lock the door a second before the knob shakes.
“Open this door,” Caleb demands.
“No.”
How the hell does he switch from hot and cold so fast? It makes me feel crazy–just as crazy as him. And I am not opening that door. Not after I just kneed him in the fucking balls.
“Let’s play a game,” he says. He sounds like he’s right against the door. His feet cast shadows in the crack at the bottom.
I gulp.
“Five…”
“You can’t just say let’s play a game and then not–”
“Four.”
“Caleb.” My voice shakes. Damn it. “Do not–”
“Two.”
“You skipped three!”
“One.”
The door swings open.
My mouth drops. “That was locked. How–”
“Time’s up.”
