by Wendi Wilson
“Why would you say that?” I asked, and he finally looked up.
His blue gaze speared me, and I stumbled back a step. He was furious. But not at me.
“I let this happen. I let my fucking parents control me to protect Stella when she didn’t even really need it. We could have talked to a lawyer. We could have resolved this months ago, and instead, I caved to their demands and stayed away from you.” He paused, his eyes turning glassy with emotion. “I touched her while you watched.”
“Stop,” I said harshly, the shock of the sound making him blink and snap his mouth shut. “I’m not going to pretend that watching you touch her didn’t hurt me. It did. Especially before I knew for sure it was an act to appease your parents’ demands.”
“Chaz, I’m so sorry. I swear, I never fuck—”
“Stop,” I shouted again, cutting him off. “I know why you did what you did. I know it wasn’t real. The only question I have is this…Is what you feel for me real?”
“Yes,” he said, giving me a firm nod. “It’s more real than anything I’ve ever felt.”
“Okay, then,” I said, stepping forward and circling my arms around his neck. “We’ve wasted enough time. I don’t care about anything but you and what you’re going to do to me…right now.”
And just like that, the pain cleared from his eyes, replaced by hot flames of blue fire.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning as he snaked his arms around my waist.
My body slammed against his, and his mouth ravaged mine as his hands slid down to knead my ass. I moaned at the heat his touch sent coursing through me. It had been too long since I felt that pleasure.
Bracing my hands on his shoulders, I bent my knees and jumped. He caught me as I wrapped my legs around his waist, and I rubbed myself against him until he groaned with need. Then we were moving. Mason took such long, fast steps, we were on my bed before I could take my next breath.
The weight of his body on mine was glorious, like seeing the sun after a long, raging storm. Only, now we were the storm. Our breaths like gale-force winds. Our hearts, booming like thunder. Our hands, destructive tornados as we tore at each other’s clothes.
All too soon, yet not soon enough, he was inside me, and the world was finally set aright. He started to move, whispering words of love and perfection in my ear as the best kind of tension built inside me. I finished fast and hard, a testimony to how much I’d missed him and how bad I’d needed him in my bed.
Mason wasn’t far behind, howling his release before collapsing on top of me. He took several ragged breaths before rolling off me. His weight lifted from the bed, and he ran to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He rushed back to me, leaping into my bed and rolling me over on top of him.
“I love you,” he murmured, smoothing a hand over my sex-mussed hair.
“I love you more than coffee,” I replied, giving him a wink as I propped my chin on my hands to look into his face.
He grinned for a moment before his features fell into a serious expression. Both hands delved into my hair, gripping it tightly. He stared into my eyes for several heartbeats while I stared silently back.
“Never,” he said, his voice firm with conviction. “Never will anything or anyone come between us again. We only split up if we decide it’s not working. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said solemnly.
Tugging on my hair, he pulled me forward to seal the deal with a kiss. Which led to other things. Which led to another round of hot, satisfying sex. I stayed on top, setting the pace as Mason gave up complete control and followed my lead in every move he made.
We had a lot of lost time to make up for.
Sweaty and exhausted, we were curled together with my head on his chest when my mood dropped. Mason sensed the change in me, asking what was wrong.
“Charlotte,” I sighed.
“I really don’t want to talk about her right here, right now,” he groaned.
I ignored his protest, saying, “You’re parents can’t hold Stella over your head anymore, but they can—and probably will—cut you off, financially.”
“Will you still love me if I’m poor?” he asked, giving me sad puppy dog eyes.
“It’s not funny, Mason,” I scolded. “What are you going to do?”
“Is that trailer you moved out of still available?”
“Mason.”
“Sorry,” he said, chuckling. “Lying here with you curled up next to me, I just can’t find it in myself to care.”
Said the man who’d never had to worry about where his next meal was coming from. Or if the lights would come on when he flicked the switch.
“I’m sure Atticus would let you stay here, too, if it came down to it,” I said, then rested my cheek back against his chest. “It’s just doesn’t seem right, letting them get away with everything they’ve done. And to have them cut you off, too? It’s salt in the wound.”
“Those wounds healed a long time ago, Chaz. I haven’t let their lack of love, or even basic decency, hurt me in years.”
“What about Stella?”
He fell silent for a moment before saying, “She acts tough, but it hurts her, I know. Mom and Dad wanted a son to carry on their legacy, and she’s always been treated like a tag-along. And my main motivation for falling into line with their plans. They’ve never hesitated to use her against me, even when we were kids.”
God, I hated them. Terrible people with terrible motives who had no business raising children. And they’d forced their so-called friends to raise their own children as pawns, too. Theo and Cooper were just as tangled in Phineas’s and Gwyneth’s schemes as Mason and Stella were.
Seth, too, but only because of his feelings for Stella. Atticus was too strong willed to stay under the Bellamy couple’s thumb.
If only there were some way—
“Oh, shit! I’ve got it,” I yelled, popping upright and looking down at Mason.
“Got what?” he asked, his face screwed up with confusion.
“I know how to fix this. Get dressed and find your sister. I’ll meet you downstairs in the parlor.”
Mason did as I asked without asking any questions, which warmed my heart as I pulled my own clothes on. He trusted me.
This plan had to work. Several people’s futures depended on it.
29
Seth nearly blew a gasket, but in the end, we convinced him that it was better for all of us in the long-run if Stella went back home for a few days—after spending the night with us. Her absence without explanation, followed by showing up at home would give my plan much better odds of succeeding. Everyone realized that right away, even Seth, though he wouldn’t admit it.
He wanted to keep his love safe and protected.
“Stop being such a Neanderthal,” Stella finally said. “I can take care of myself for a couple of days.”
“What if they decide to send you to Europe tomorrow?” he countered.
“That’s not going to happen, Bro,” Mason said, laying a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “I’ve protected her all our lives. I can handle it for two more days.”
Stella looked at me and rolled her eyes. Men, her expression said.
We spent the rest of the evening hanging out in the TV room, listening to music and playing silly word games. Mom and Atticus left us to ourselves, and I felt freer than I had in weeks. It was a great night. The calm before the storm.
True to our word, Stella stayed in my room and Mason stayed with Seth…but only after we’d each had a little alone time with our partners. Stella seemed happy. Lighter than I’d ever seen her.
But the next morning, as she prepared to go back to her parents’ home, her mood dropped.
“Are you sure you’re good with this?” I asked as we ate bowls of chocolatey cereal in the kitchen.
“Yeah. I’m sure,” she muttered.
“Okay,” I said, watching her closely for any signs that she might want to back out.
“Really, Chaz. I’m good. It’s just
so…final. After we do this, there’s no going back.”
“Do you think you’ll regret it?” I asked softly. “Burning those bridges?”
“That ship sailed a long time ago,” she uttered, then shook her head as if to clear it. “We’re all going to be better off after this.”
“Yes,” I agreed, nodding. “Every single one of us.”
She tilted her head to the side, giving me a smirk. “I guess you, me, Simone, and Joshua are the new Roguettes, huh?”
I balled up my napkin and threw it at her. “Shut your filthy mouth, woman. Never call us that. We’re way too awesome to be groupies. If anything, we’re official Rogues.”
“I second that,” Seth said, walking through the door into the kitchen.
“And I said it when we first met,” Mason added, following behind him.
The memory came back to me, and I smiled.
“That’s what I call your merry band of acolytes—Charlotte, Isla, and Amelia. You guys are the Rogues, so they are the Roguettes.”
“I’d forgotten people called us that. And no one asked you to follow us blindly. We told you yesterday we were cutting those three bitches out, and we have. Stella’s show of support this morning was to solidify your new status. No one will dare mess with you, again.”
He took a step closer and linked the fingers of both hands through mine.
“And for the record, you could never be a Roguette, as you called it. You, Chaz Miller, are a Rogue, through and through.”
“Ready to go, Stella?”
Mason’s question pulled me from the memory, and I stood to give them both hugs goodbye.
“You have the bag?” I asked, and he held it up, giving it a little shake. “Good. Are you sure they won’t be home?”
“They’re pickleball league champs,” Stella said. “They wouldn’t miss a match if one of us was on our deathbed. They’re not home.”
“Okay,” I replied, then looked back at Mason. “Be careful.”
“How about a kiss for luck?” he asked, giving me a devilish grin.
This Rogue was going to be the end of me. I just knew it.
The peck on the lips I tried to give him quickly morphed into something deeper and not so innocent. When he finally released me, I needed a minute to catch my breath, which only made him smile wider.
“Miss me while I’m gone?” he asked.
“Always.”
A couple of hours later, Seth and I settled on the couch in the TV room as he held his tablet between us. The screen was split into six small boxes, each a view of a room in the Bellamy home. Mason and Stella had taken all of the tiny cameras we’d found hidden around our house by Phin and Gwyn’s spies and planted them in key areas of their own home.
We were using their own tactics and their own equipment against them. And it was awesome.
Most of the rooms were empty—Phineas’s office, his study, Gwyneth’s parlor, and the home theater. Stella was in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator while Mason was stretched out on a couch in the formal living room. As I watched, he unconsciously pulled up his shirt to scratch his belly, revealing a row of perfectly toned abs.
“Down, girl,” Seth laughed as my breathing sped up.
I backhanded him across the chest, and he laughed harder. I opened my mouth to retort, but snapped it shut as Stella suddenly straightened and looked over her shoulder. Mason sat up, his head tilted as if listening, then jumped to his feet.
He strode toward the camera hidden beside a white vase and brought his face close to the lens.
“Showtime,” he whispered, then left the room.
My eyes scanned the other screens, stopping as Phineas and Gwyneth entered the frame in the kitchen and headed for Stella. Mason walked in behind them, moving quickly around the island to stand beside his sister.
“Where were you two all night?” Gwyneth demanded. “And why aren’t you at school?”
She set her designer handbag on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. Phineas remained quiet, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Stella told me you’re trying to force her to date Randall Walsely,” Mason said, his voice loud and succinct.
“And?” Gwyn demanded, tapping her toe with impatience. “It’s a good match.”
“Good match, my ass,” Mason shot back, his face darkening. “Walsely is a degenerate. He’ll force himself on her and make her do unspeakable things—sexual things—without her consent.”
“Which is why I told her to do what she has to do and give her consent,” she replied, waving a hand in the air. “It’s just sex, and well-worth what we stand to gain in the long run.”
“What is that, Mother?” he snarled. “What does Stella possibly stand to gain from letting a lying, cheating, disgusting excuse for a human being stick his diseased dick in every orifice of her body?”
Stella flinched at his crude words, and I flinched right along with her.
“Please, Mason. There’s no need to be so vulgar.”
“Answer the question, Mom,” he said, ignoring her chastising words. Then, he looked at Phin. “Dad?”
“Leave him out of this,” she snapped.
Interesting. Gwyneth seemed to rule the roost in the Bellamy household. I wondered if she kept Phin’s balls in that five thousand dollar designer purse.
“What the Walsely’s owe us is none of your concern,” she continued, then looked at her daughter. “But if letting a young, handsome man like Randall touch you sounds so horrible, maybe you’d like to go for option number two? I can still send you to Europe to be married.”
Bingo.
“You’re recording this, right?” I murmured to Seth, and he nodded.
He gripped the tablet so hard, I was sure it might crack at any moment. I gently pried his fingers from the corner and held it between us.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said. “We’re doing this to protect her from that raving lunatic of a bitch she calls mother.”
Seth nodded once, but kept his eyes on the screen.
“You can’t send her to be married against her will, and you can’t force her to fuck Randall Walsely without consent,” Mason gritted out. “She has rights.”
“Rights?” Gwyneth repeated, evil laughter trilling from her mouth. “She has no rights. She will do as I say, just as you both have always done. She will let Randall stick his rod anywhere he wants to stick it, and she’ll do it with smile, or so help me God…you both will pay.”
“So, I’m the prostitute, and you’re my pimp. Is that it, Mother?” Stella asked, speaking for the first time.
Before anyone could react, Gwyn’s hand shot out and her palm cracked against Stella’s cheek. Mason roared and charged her, but Phin stepped in and pushed him back. Before he could try again, Stella placed herself in front of him, whispering furiously in his ear.
Gwyneth stood back with a smile, the fucking bitch. She really was evil.
“Tell me what you get for whoring out your own daughter,” Mason yelled as Stella braced her palms against his chest to hold him back.
“I get a seat on the board of their finance company,” Gwyn taunts. “I get power and money…and that is all that matters. Do you hear me, Mason? Nothing. Else. Matters.”
Mason stormed out, and Stella quickly followed, leaving their parents standing in the kitchen, alone. Several boring minutes passed as the couple sat at the table with their eyes glued to their phones. Then Mason walked back into the kitchen, a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“We’re leaving, and we’re not coming back,” he said.
“Oh, you’ll be back,” Gwyneth mocked, waving her phone in the air. “I’ve just closed your bank account and Stella’s, too. The Jeep is in my name, and I’ll report it stolen if you try to leave in it.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” he said, then turned on a heel and strode out.
A few seconds later, my phone rang. I answered even though I didn’t recognize the numbe
r. I knew the twins were stopping to buy new disposable phones on their way home this morning.
“Hey, it’s me,” Mason’s voice sounded off, like he was struggling to keep his shit together. “Did you get all that?”
“Yes,” I said simply. “We got it.”
“Good,” he said. “Theo is coming to pick us up. Everyone else is meeting us there in twenty.”
“Perfect,” I said, then in a lower voice, “You okay?”
“No,” he admitted, “but I will be. As soon as I’m back with you.”
And that couldn’t be soon enough for me.
30
We were all together, and it should’ve felt like old times. Theo and Josh sat close together, fingers interlaced with Theo’s thumb tracing light circles over Josh’s knuckle. Simone was in Cooper’s lap, his arms draped lightly over her waist. Stella and Seth were cuddled up, and I sat on the arm of Mason’s chair, my hand on his shoulder.
But there was no laughter. No teasing banter.
We were a sorry bunch.
We’d all watched the footage together, Mason’s hand gripping mine tightly. After a lengthy discussion, we just weren’t sure if the confession we got from Gwyneth would be enough to stop her from cutting the twins off. Or to make her lose the control she had over Theo’s and Cooper’s parents. The plan was shit if they got cut off, too.
If we showed our hand too early, and they laughed in our faces, we’d be right back where we started. Fucked.
And I’d run out of ideas.
We needed a miracle.
After a while, Simone jumped from Cooper’s lap and propped her fists on her hips.
“This is bullshit,” she said. “We haven’t found a sure thing yet, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t. I say we put it out of our heads for a while and just enjoy being all together again.”
“She’s right,” Cooper added. “Time’s a-wasting. We should go out and do something fun.”
The room seemed to exhale the breath it had been holding as everyone perked up. They were right. Sitting here moping wasn’t going to change things, and who knew when we’d all be together and free like we were right now?
