“I can’t,” she breathes.
I loosen my hold and glare down at her, my temper flaring again. “Can’t, or won’t?”
Her hazel eyes are pleading as they peer into mine, but I’m not sure what she’s begging for. For understanding? For me to let her go? She won’t be getting either of those things from me.
Gwen steps out of my hold, wiping her face dry with the backs of her hands. “You’re a bully,” she declares. “You’re a bully, and I don’t want to date a bully.”
Her words feel like a blow to the gut, and I puff out a breath. “Okay, now I know this is a fucking joke. I’m a bully? Me?” I stab my aching chest with my pointer finger, my voice growing louder with each syllable spoken. “Why? Because I started standing up for myself and others? Because I’m making Westbrook a better place by taking down all the assholes who’ve been making it hell for everyone?”
She crosses her arms, her eyes falling to the floor. “You can dress it up however you want to, Cole. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re acting exactly like them now. You think I don’t hear the rumors about the things you’re doing with Thatcher and Arwen?”
It all started with Brandi and the rest of the girls who abused Thatcher. We found their secrets and used them to blackmail and blacklist them. They’re no longer able to attend school events and stopped getting invites to parties, each of them forced to choose out-of-state colleges as far away from Thatcher as possible. In a few months, they’ll all be gone, and he’ll be free of them. As free as he can be, anyway.
It felt so good to take them down, we decided not to stop there. We made a list of marks. All the people who’ve hurt and tormented others. And we’ve slowly been making our way through that list.
My personal favorite was Shane, though. He got exactly what was coming to him.
I’ve done my best to keep that side of my life away from Gwen. It’s a necessary evil, but the last thing I want is for any of this to come back on her.
I shrug, acting as if her words don’t feel like a knife in my chest. “Yeah, well…sometimes you have to become a monster in order to defeat one.”
“People are terrified of you. The infamous Westbrook Three,” she mocks.
We have no clue who started calling us that, but it stuck like glue. Everyone knows we’re a packaged deal now. A triple threat.
“Good. They should be. Fuck them all,” I spit.
Gwen can’t seriously expect me to feel bad for the things I’ve done to those assholes. Each and every one of them deserved what they got and more. She should know that as well as anyone else. How could she possibly side with the enemy?
“Fear and respect aren’t the same things, Cole. Those people are never going to see you as their equal. They’re always going to look down on you.”
Her statement couldn’t be any truer. Which is precisely why it stings so badly. My peers may fear me, but they’ll never respect me. Even now, they see me as the least threatening member of the Westbrook Three. They have no idea I’m the man behind the curtain.
As the Joker once said, “Sometimes you have to play the role of a fool to fool the fool who thinks they are fooling you.”
“And you? Is that how you feel? Am I not good enough for you? Is that why you’re doing this?” My stomach churns as I wait for her reply. It’s always been my biggest fear that one day, she’d realize I’m not good enough for her.
“You’ve always been better than me. Or at least you were. Before you decided to become one of them.”
My jaw tics as I crowd her, hating the way she shrinks away from me. “That’s bullshit. You know I’m nothing like them.” Doesn’t she?
“Aren’t you?” Her lips twist, her hand landing on her hip. “You’re bullying people to get what you want. The three of you are doing the exact same things you’re punishing them for.”
She’s not entirely wrong. Our methods aren’t exactly honorable. Thatcher hits people, Arwen seduces them, and me…I invade their privacy and then blackmail them.
The difference between them and us, though? We don’t prey on the weak. We don’t hurt people for the sport of it or to feel better about our miserable lives.
I cup her face in my hands, my eyes likely now filled with the same kind of desperation I’d seen in hers a moment ago. “There’s more to this whole Westbrook Three thing than you understand. It isn’t just about me. All of this started for a good reason. The people we’ve targeted have done some truly heinous things. Everything we do is for the greater good. I won’t feel bad about that. I do it for us—for you.”
Her eyelids fall as she places her hands over mine, taking a step back as she pries them from her face. When she meets my stare again, her eyes are empty. “Don’t sell your soul on my account. I’m not worth the cost.”
My dark laughter echoes around us, and she hugs herself. “I can’t sell something that’s no longer mine. You own me, heart and soul.”
“You can have them back. I don’t want them anymore. This is over.” Her words are spoken on a faded breath, her voice no more than a whisper. Yet it feels as if she screamed them, each one hitting me like a blow of a fist.
Mentally, I’m on the floor, bleeding out. But I refuse to let her see it.
“Keep them,” I bite, my tone laced with venom. “A crushed soul and broken heart are no good to me.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Present
GWEN
My skin is still crawling from Shane’s messages, and Cole hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts since he brought me home this afternoon. Nervous energy buzzes through me as I pace the floor, my mind racing with horrible thoughts. By the time my phone rings, I’m so far down the worry rabbit hole that I nearly jump out of my skin.
Lydia’s name flashes across the screen and my stomach plummets as I answer. “Lydia?”
“Is Cole with you?” she blurts, her voice dripping with anxiety.
“He dropped me off a little after noon, and I haven’t heard from him since. Has he not been home?” I shiver as icy panic runs through my veins. It’s nearly four now. If he hasn’t been home yet, something is definitely wrong.
“He was here,” she sniffles, “but he…he knows about his father.”
My heart feels like it stops beating, my head spinning. I already did. You just don’t realize it yet.
“Gwen,” she prompts, her voice frantic.
“How?” I finally manage to ask, already knowing the answer. This had to be Shane’s doing.
“I’m not sure. He came out of his room with a pained look on his face, and I knew something was wrong. When he asked me about his father, I couldn’t lie to him.” She hiccups a sob. “He listened to the whole story then he just…left. I’m so worried about him.”
Without knowing where I’m going or what to do, I slip on my shoes and grab my purse before heading toward my car. “I’ll go look for him. It’ll be okay. I’m sure he just needs a minute to process.” My words hold way more confidence than I feel at the moment.
She cries into the phone, and the ache in my chest is unbearable once I reach the bottom of the stairs.
“He shouldn’t be alone right now,” she says. “Please let me know the second you find him or hear from him.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Thank you, Gwen. He’s lucky to have you.”
Tears fill my eyes as my throat swells, and there’s a knock at the door. “Someone’s here. I’ll call you right back if it’s him.”
I hang up the phone and run to the door. Arwen is standing on the other side, worry etched on her normally stoic face. “Lydia called my dad,” she explains. “Thatcher’s already in the car. Come on, we know a few places he might be.”
Arwen’s car speeds all the way to Nashville, the cab remaining uncomfortably silent most of the time. Thatcher occasionally barks orders that she merely acknowledges with her middle finger, while I sit in the back seat chewing on my bottom lip and wiping away the tears as they fall.
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Once she slowly starts creeping down Broad Street, I finally get the nerve to speak. “Do you know? I mean…did your dad tell you why Cole ran off?”
Arwen eyes me through the rearview mirror. “Yeah.”
“I’ve known for years, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him,” I confess. “You must think I’m a horrible person for keeping something like that from him.”
Thatcher turns to glare at me. “It wasn’t your secret to tell, and you didn’t want to hurt him. We can’t fault you for that. Is this what that fucker Shane was blackmailing you with?”
I gasp. “You guys know about that?”
They exchange a look before eyeing me with pressed lips and raised eyebrows. Of course they know. The three of them don’t keep secrets from one another.
“I don’t understand how Cole found out,” I say.
Thatcher and Arwen exchange another look, their gazes apologetic this time when they land on me.
“What?” I prod. “There’s obviously something I’m missing.”
“He hacked your phone,” Arwen answers casually, as if it’s no big deal.
“What?” He’s been spying on me? No. That can’t be right.
“Use your brain. How do you think he found out? You didn’t tell him, and I sure as shit didn’t.”
“It’s what he does. It’s like this superpower he doesn’t tell anyone about,” Thatcher says with a shrug. “If it wasn’t for his hacker skills, we wouldn’t have been able to take over Westbrook.”
Hacker skills? I’m not surprised Cole doesn’t tell everyone about this superpower of his. But how could I not know this about him?
“Do you even know who you’ve been opening your legs for, you stupid fucking cow?”
My stomach sours. That’s how he figured out I was Phantom Girl. This also explains how he knew about my movie date with Cory. How could he invade my privacy like that?
“Shattering your illusions is going to be so much fun.”
“Shane,” I exclaim. “He sent me a text this afternoon, after Cole dropped me off.”
That’s what his cryptic text message was about. The asshole knew Cole would see his messages to me.
“That little fucker is asking for it,” Thatcher grits.
Shane wanted me to find out what Cole was doing by exposing the secret. He must’ve thought Cole would confront me and expose himself. That way he would get what he’s always wanted: to keep Cole and I apart. Only Cole didn’t say anything to me because he’s probably too hurt and angry.
“Cole is going to hate me,” I whimper.
“Are you kidding?” Arwen scoffs. “You sacrificed a lot to protect him. That shows how loyal you are. It proves how much you love him. Cole will recognize that.”
“You’ve sure as hell earned our respect,” Thatcher adds.
More tears fall as I nod my head, and Arwen parks her car in front of a small honkytonk. “What are we doing here?”
“Cole’s dad used to play here all the time. It’s where…where he played his last show. He comes here sometimes when he needs to get away from Westbrook,” Thatcher answers as we all climb out of the car.
My heart grows heavier as I eye the tall brick building, a neon sign blinking above the door. It makes sense Cole would come here to feel close to his dad. But my gut is telling me this is the last place he would come right now. “What if he’s not here?”
Arwen looks at me with pity in her eyes, hooking her arm around mine. “Then we keep looking. He’s bound to turn up somewhere. Try not to worry.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Present
COLE
My stomach is in knots as I wait in line. I’ve never been this nervous about anything before in my life. This is something I’ve dreamed about for years, not really believing it would happen. That was before I knew the truth. When my only goal for coming here was to unleash my anger.
This isn’t the kind of place anyone willingly visits. Everything about it is cold and uninviting. The blank walls, the florescent lighting, the cold metal seating secured to the hard floors. Everyone in this room is miserable, all of us brought here by circumstance.
The line moves again, leaving only one person in front of me. The beating in my chest grows heavier, and I eye the exit, questioning if coming here was the right choice. My mother won’t be happy about it, but it’s something I need to do.
The vibrating in my pocket distracts me from my nerves. Another text from Gwen is waiting for me when I pull it out.
Gwen: If you don’t want to talk to me, I understand. But please come home.
I’ve been ignoring her calls and texts since Sunday. She thinks I’m angry with her for not telling me the truth about my father. That might’ve been the case at first. At least a little. It felt like a betrayal. After having some time to think about it though, I realized how much she went through to protect my mother’s secret. To protect me from the painful truth. If anything, I love her even more now. But I also feel even less worthy of her.
It was bad enough being labeled as the help’s son and getting ridiculed by my peers. Finding out I’m the bastard offspring of a murdering, abusive psychopath is a whole different beast. One I’m not sure how to conquer.
“You know they say people who use physical violence typically have lower intelligence. We know that’s not the case with you. So, maybe it just runs in your DNA. You’re a chip off the old block. Just like your dear old dad.”
What if the cretin was right? It’s no secret I’ve always had a bit of a temper. When I think of the way I treated Gwen after she broke up with me…
“Next,” the officer calls, her tone bored and dull.
Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I move up to the metal counter with the bulletproof glass. “I’m here to see my…to see Brody Kenton.”
“Name?”
“Cole Masterson.”
After my mom told me the story about Brody, I ended up driving around for hours, not knowing where to go or what to do. The last place I wanted to be was home. I wasn’t ready to talk to my mother about all of this. Or to face Gwen. Thatcher and Arwen didn’t even feel safe. My emotions were all over the place, my mind reeling. It felt like the best option was to be alone.
I hit the store for some necessities and a change of clothes then pulled up to Brighton, knowing one of the front clerks would hook me up with a vacant room. At some point during the night, it dawned on me that the only way to move past this was to face the villain in my story.
When I came to the prison yesterday, they wouldn’t let me in. Apparently, visitors need to be approved by the inmate. They took my name and told me to come back during visitation hours today. I’m not sure if he even knows my name, but he must know the name Masterson. It can’t be easy to forget the name of the man you murdered.
The officer slides a round container under the glass. “Place all of your personal items in here—cellphone, watch, jewelry. Your pockets need to be empty. You’re not allowed to take anything inside with you.”
My hands are shaky as I do what she said, turning off my cellphone before placing it into the bowl. I slide my dad’s guitar pick over my head and hesitate. He should be with me when I face the monster who took his life from him.
“Can I keep this with me?”
The officer sighs. “Everything.”
I take a deep breath and place the necklace on top of my other belongings. Once I’m done, she yanks the disc back and points to her right.
“Stand over there,” she says.
Saluting her, I walk off and stand in the line formed at the doors. There’s a mother waiting with her crying babies, and some people who look like they’re in need of a fix. I can’t wait to walk out of this place and never come back.
A few seconds later, the guard starts reciting rules and instructions, but my head is too crowded with thoughts of what I’m going to say and do once I see him to hear any of it. How do you find the right words for the man who beat your mom a
nd killed your dad?
I’m in a daze as the line begins to file inside the doors, moving on autopilot. The room is much larger than I expect. There’s a sea of metal tables, fastened to the ground the same way they were in the lobby. But I still manage to spot him immediately. There’s no denying our relation. He looks like an older version of me. Same blond hair and thin lanky frame.
Hopefully though, there’s not a prison jumpsuit in my future.
I only saw a picture of the man who murdered my dad once. Nothing more than a flash on the screen during a news report before my mother turned it off. All these years later, and I still couldn’t bring myself to look him up. Like subconsciously I knew something was wrong.
Brody studies me while I approach the table, the proud smirk on his lips causing rage to volcano from the pit of my belly.
My jaw tics as I take a seat, words failing me.
“Hello, son.”
I swallow the bile in my throat, shaking my head. “You don’t get to call me that.”
“I’ve got every right. You’re my blood. My son. Just look at you, it’s like looking into a mirror.”
“We might share DNA, but you’re nothing to me,” I grit. “My father was Nicolas Masterson.”
Brody balls his fists, making me thankful for the cuffs around his wrists. “I’m not sure what kind of lies your momma has been feeding you, but that son of a bitch thought he could steal my family and get away with it. You’re my boy. You and your momma belonged with me.”
There’s not an ounce of remorse in his words. No guilt at all. He’s basically saying my dad deserved to be beaten, stabbed, and left to bleed to death in a dirty alley.
My entire body trembles with rage as I shake my head. “My dad was a good man who took care of my mom and raised me as his own. He loved us, never did anything to hurt us. And you…you killed him for it.”
The Princess and The Jester: A High School Bully Romance (Westbrook Three Book 3) Page 20