The Third Strike: Rogues of Everly Prep Book Three

by Wendi Wilson

  “How bad can it be?” I asked, a sense of foreboding tingling down my spine.

  “It’s bad,” he said, sighing again.

  “Just tell me, Josh!”

  “Fine!” he shouted back, then lowered his voice. “Mason and Charlotte seem to be…together.”

  The tension drained out of me. “Is that all? We both know it’s an act he has to put on to appease his parents and protect Stella.”

  He was shaking his head before I even finished.

  “This is different, Chaz,” he said. “He looked happy.”

  “Good acting?” I suggested, feeling the dread build back up in my gut.

  Josh shook his head. “If it is, it’s Oscar-worthy. He was smiling, holding her hand, letting her sit in his lap at lunch… Chaz, I saw them kissing. More than once.”

  My heart plummeted, and I gasped for air as Josh’s hand rubbed circles on my back. After a few deep breaths, I got myself under some semblance of control.

  “Is that all?”

  His face paled, his lips tightening. I smacked his chest with the back of my hand and ordered him to tell me. He stalled a few more beats, then spit it out in a rush.

  “She’s wearing a promise ring.”

  “A what?” I asked, confused. “What is a promise ring?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before saying, “It’s like a precursor to an engagement ring. It’s a symbol of commitment…a statement that one day, he’ll propose.”

  My vision tunneled as my heart tried to die in my chest, but I forced myself to breathe through the panic. This was nothing. Nothing at all. It was a performance—an act meant to appease the parentals and keep Stella safe.

  Becoming emotionally ravaged over a little playacting would be ridiculous, and I was not a ridiculous girl.

  “Theo said Mason refuses to talk about it,” Josh added, and a streak of panic returned, unbidden, to lodge in my chest.

  “So Mason is not denying that it’s real?”

  “It’s not real. It can’t be. Can it?”

  “No. Of course, not,” I replied.

  I wasn’t sure how the conversation got reversed, and I was the one reassuring Josh, but maybe it was exactly what I needed. By assuring him whatever was happening between Mason and Charlotte was a farce, I was reaffirming my own belief.

  Mason loved me. He wouldn’t do this to me.

  Would he?

  19

  My week of freedom quickly morphed into one of isolation. With Seth at school and Mom out doing newlywed things with Atticus, I was home alone…a lot. I sought out Gerald daily, but the old man had things to do, and I felt bad for wasting his time with my boredom and loneliness.

  I spent an inordinate amount of time in my room, moping on my bed while watching the Roguettes’ social media accounts. All three girls posted pictures of Charlotte and Mason several times a day.

  The two of them, all smiles, leaning against Mason’s Jeep in the parking lot.

  Mason kissing Charlotte’s cheek while she stared bright-eyed at the camera.

  Charlotte’s back, pressed against a bank of lockers while Mason leaned into her, whispering something in her ear.

  And in every one, Charlotte positioned her right hand to bring that fucking promise ring to the forefront.

  A thin band of silver or white gold, studded with a row of tiny diamonds that sparkled in every single goddamned shot. I wanted to rip her bleached-blonde hair out and punch her in the face every time I saw that fucking ring, and yet, I continued to troll the social sites.

  It was masochism at its finest.

  And to make things worse, Mason still hadn’t contacted me. It was like I’d fallen off the face of the earth, or something. Out of sight, out of mind.

  I tried to stay positive. To remind myself that none of it was real. That I’d been the one to make this happen—Mason had to do something drastic to protect Stella after my drunken spectacle at the Homecoming Dance.

  But as the days marched on, and my weeklong vacay came to an end, I’d burned through my reserve of positivity. Mason wasn’t denying his suddenly realistic involvement with Charlotte to anyone—not to Seth, not to Theo or Cooper, and definitely not to me.

  I hadn’t heard a single word from him all week.

  Simone and Josh had taken turns coming to see me and bring me my schoolwork, and I had to force myself to keep things light and cool. To not beg for information on Mason and Charlotte—not that they had any to share that I hadn’t already seen online.

  By Monday morning, I was a wreck. I was ready to get back to school, to see Mason with my own eyes and demand the truth from his perfect lips. But at the same time, I was scared to death and wished for another week of suspension. Another month.

  Because if the truth was as bad as I suspected it would be, I‘d rather live in a haze of lies and denial.

  “No,” I gritted out to my reflection in the mirror.

  I was not that girl. I didn’t cower, and I didn’t hide. I faced my problems head on and dealt with them.

  I left early, knowing the extra time burning miles in my Chevelle would lift my spirits. It worked, and by the time I pulled into a spot in the school lot, I felt as cool and self-assured as my black leather jacket made me look.

  Fuck these rich assholes. And if he’s really turned his back on me, fuck Mason Bellamy. I don’t need him.

  I swaggered across the lot and breezed through the doors, riding a wave of confidence. I shot that redheaded bitch queen of the office, Mrs. Jones, a saucy wink as I walked by her frowning face. Her snarl didn’t faze me. Nothing was going to faze me today.

  I was a wolf among coyotes.

  The imaginary soundtrack highlighting my slow-motion strut through the halls screeched to a halt as I rounded a corner and ran right into Mason—and Charlotte. My eyes zeroed in on his hand, wrapped tightly around hers.

  Her right hand lifted to his bicep, her fingers curling around the muscle while perfectly displaying that fucking ring.

  It was even more sparkly in real life.

  “Excuse us,” Mason said, staring at me pointedly with narrowed eyes.

  There was no humor in their blue depths. No secret message. No love.

  Just indifference.

  All my swagger disappeared as I stepped to the right, clearing a path for the couple to pass by. Which they did without a backward glance. I turned and watched them until they disappeared from sight, my eyes burning with emotion.

  I ducked into the closest bathroom until the urge to cry had been displaced by the fire of anger. As I turned to leave, Simone rushed inside, skidding to a halt in front of me.

  “Hey. Are you okay?” she asked, searching my face for the truth.

  “Yeah,” I said, giving her a head wobble that was somewhere between a nod and a negative shake.

  “Josh is waiting outside. We’re going to stick to you like glue today. One of us will always be there, in case you need us.”

  “Thanks, Simone,” I said, giving her a small smile—my first real one of the day. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Josh.”

  “Ditto,” she said, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Now, let’s go. No hiding in bathrooms for Chaz Miller.”

  “Show no fear, and look them right in the eye,” I added as we exited the bathroom.

  “Chew them up, and spit them out,” Josh said, falling into step on my other side.

  True to her word, Simone was waiting for me in the hall after my first class. She and Josh seemed to take turns escorting me from classroom to classroom, making sure I was never in the halls alone. I appreciated their devotion, even though I thought it was overkill—I didn’t need a babysitter.

  Or maybe I did.

  Josh and I strolled into the dining hall together at lunch, and he told me to go sit while he grabbed us a couple of trays of food. He must’ve thought I’d be fine by myself for five minutes…a grave miscalculation on his part.

  As soon as I was alone, t
he vultures swooped in to pick at my exposed carcass.

  “Hey, Chastity,” Amelia sneered as she and Isla slid in front of me, blocking my path to my usual table.

  “Get out of my way,” I snarled.

  “Or what?” Isla taunted. “Are you going to hit us, too?”

  “Don’t tempt me, bitch,” I muttered under my breath.

  By the way Isla took an involuntary step back, I knew she heard my words. One corner of my mouth turned up into a snarky smile.

  “What do you want?” I asked, impatience lacing my tone.

  “We just wanted to congratulate you,” Amelia said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “For what?” I asked, taking the bait.

  Stupid, stupid Chaz.

  “For winning the Dumbest Bitch on the Planet Award. You’re so fucking stupid, you thought Mason Bellamy actually cared about you. Like he’d ever choose a trailer park whore like you over Charlotte.”

  They burst into a round of giggles, the tinkling sound grating on my nerves while hitting me right in my most vulnerable spot. I felt my confidence waiver, my trust in Mason’s love fade a little with each second their laughter continued.

  My gaze darted between them to land on the couple in question. At that exact moment, Charlotte slipped onto Mason’s lap and rubbed her tits in his face before pulling him into a deep kiss.

  He kissed her back, his tongue darting out to dance with hers as his hand caressed her hip. She grabbed that hand and pulled it up to her breast, and his fingers kneaded the flesh as he tilted his head to kiss her even more deeply.

  My vision darkened around the edges as Amelia and Isla’s laughter morphed from light giggles into evil fucking witch cackles. Time slowed down as I looked away from Mason and Charlotte, my eyes focusing on Isla’s overly white teeth as she tilted her head back to laugh.

  At that moment, a demon jumped into my body and took over. That was my only excuse when my hand curled into a tight fist and shot forward, punching that bitch right in throat. That made her stop laughing.

  Amelia shouted something, but all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears as I turned toward her. She stepped back, then spun around in full retreat mode, but I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her back toward me.

  Her fingernails scratched at my hand as she tried to extricate herself, but I ignored the pain and gave her a swift tug downward, throwing her on her ass. I untangled my fingers from her hair and jumped on top of her, my knees straddling her hips as I slapped her across the face so hard my wrist throbbed.

  Somewhere, deep down in the rational part of my brain, I knew it wasn’t Amelia I was angry with. It wasn’t Isla, either. Hell, it wasn’t even Charlotte, not really. Okay. Maybe it was partially Charlotte.

  But the main target of my anger was me.

  I’d let myself believe in Mason Bellamy. I’d accepted his claims of love and loved him in return. And this was what I’d been reduced to—a hair-pulling brawl in a high school cafeteria.

  Strong arms pulled me off Amelia as I wound up to slap her again. I fought against their hold, immediately assuming it was Mason, but as my eyes darted around the dining hall, I caught sight of him. Still in his chair. With Charlotte still on his lap.

  She stared at me with anger and disgust, while he just looked…unfazed. Uninterested.

  “Calm down, queen.”

  It was Josh’s arms around me. His voice in my ear.

  “What a fucking trash-whore.”

  Charlotte’s voice rang out, drowning Josh’s words of comfort and spiking my rage to new levels. She wanted to see trailer trash in action? Well, I’d fucking show her trailer trash in action.

  I tore out of Josh’s grip, jumped over Amelia—she was still sprawled on the floor, crying like a little bitch—and ran toward the Rogue’s table like the hounds of hell were on my tail. The blonde’s eyes flared, and she curled further into Mason’s chest, like that would somehow protect her from me.

  It only fueled the fire of my wrath.

  I approached the table with a roar, ready to leap over the damn thing and onto my nemesis when I was suddenly yanked backwards. I lost my breath for a moment, the shock of it bringing me back to my senses.

  “Chaz, stop. Swain called the police.”

  “What?” I asked, turning to look into Seth’s amber gaze as his arms loosened their grip on me.

  He nodded. “I overheard him telling the staff to leave you be. To let you do as much damage as you could so the charges against you would be as strong as possible.”

  That’s when I heard the sirens.

  20

  The hard plastic of the chair was as unforgiving as the handcuffs cinched around my wrists. I sat in silence as the officer typed up a report on his computer. I’d already called Mom, and she and Atticus were on their way to the station to pick me up.

  He’d taken the phone from her and ordered me not to say a word until they got to the station with the lawyer Atticus kept on retainer. I’d promised to keep quiet, and hadn’t succumbed to the officer’s attempts to cajole information out of me with her kind eyes and soft voice.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. I’d been so stupid, letting Isla and Amelia get under my skin like that. I could see now that it had been intentional—confronting me in front of a crowd, pushing all the right buttons, and making sure the headmaster was present and ready to call the cops—and it reeked of a set up.

  I’d fallen right into the trap, though I was sure they hadn’t thought I’d react as violently as I had.

  Maybe they thought I’d scream and hiss, unsheathe my claws and swipe like a kitten. What they didn’t count on was me being a lioness, not some fluffy housecat.

  I’d been used, humiliated, pushed beyond the brink…and now, I had to live with the consequences of lashing out at the Roguettes. As Atticus strolled through the front entrance of the police station, followed by my mother and a man in a blue suit, I realized I was about to find out what exactly those consequences were going to be.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Mom asked, rushing to kneel by my side.

  “Why is she still handcuffed?” the man in the suit asked before I could answer her.

  “She is being charged with assault and battery. It is standard procedure to keep violent perpetrators cuffed while they are being booked,” the officer said, rolling her eyes at the end like she was annoyed by the lawyer’s question.

  “Monica, come on,” he replied, his voice taking on a smoothness that made me blink.

  “It’s Officer Peterson,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. “Get it right, Mr. Waterson.”

  Oh, these two had a history. And if the sparks flying between them were any indication, that history involved a little time in the bedroom. Or, a lot.

  “She was provoked,” he said, sounding much more professional after clearing his throat. “Those girls have been harassing her for months, and she had emotional distress.”

  Her face grew solemn as she looked from Mr. Waterson to me. Something in her expression made me feel like I was looking into a mirror. Like she knew what I was going through. Like maybe she’d gone through it, too.

  “Headmaster Swain is pressing charges,” she said, finally looking away from me. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Actually, he’s not,” Atticus said, drawing everyone’s attention as he walked toward us, a phone held to his ear.

  I’d been so wrapped up in the fireworks going off between the lawyer and the cop, I hadn’t even noticed Atticus had stepped away to make a phone call. As he handed his cell to the police officer, I met my mother’s eyes. Hers shone with hope as she nodded and smoothed my hair.

  “Hello, this is Officer Peterson… Yes… Are you sure? Okay, I’ll file the paperwork.”

  She handed the phone back to Atticus and took a deep breath before turning back to me.

  “The charges have been dropped.”

  “Does that mean I can go?” I asked as she stood and rounded
her desk.

  “For now,” she said, unlocking my handcuffs. “If the district attorney decides to file criminal charges, we’ll be in touch. Don’t leave town.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted as she said those final words. They were cliché and slightly ridiculous, and she knew it.

  I rubbed my wrists to ease the soreness and stood. Mr. Elliott shook hands with Officer Monica, and I didn’t miss the nerves twitching in her face at his touch. Oh, yeah, there was definitely a story there. I put it from my mind though, as Mom’s hand wrapped around mine and pulled me toward the exit.

  As I stepped out into the afternoon sunshine, I took a deep, cleansing breath. The sweet smell of freedom lifted a weight from my shoulders. Mom dragged me to the car, pushing me inside before she slipped in behind me. A minute later, Atticus slid into the car on my other side, and I was sandwiched between them.

  “What did you have to do?” I asked, swallowing thickly as I waited for him to lash out at me.

  “It’s nothing,” he said, giving me a sad smile. “I offered a large donation to the school—one Swain couldn’t afford to reject. He dropped the charges, officially, and agreed to a two-week suspension as your punishment, rather than expulsion.”

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice small and meek.

  “Chastity…Chaz,” he said, placing a hand on my knee and squeezing it comfortingly before pulling it away. “No one blames you for losing your temper. Isn’t that right, Trisha-baby?”

  “Of course, not,” Mom said, agreeing with him.

  “You’ve put up with more than anyone should be expected to handle. Those girls deserved an ass-beating, if you ask me.”

  I looked at him with wide eyes, then blinked a few times to quell the burning sensation. Atticus Kincaid had a way of pulling on the heartstrings.

  “How much did you have to pay?” I asked, sniffing. “I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Now, don’t you worry about that, darlin’. It’s no more that I’d do for Seth. You’re my daughter now, and Kincaids take care of their own. Don’t you forget that. You can call me, anytime. I will always be there for you.”