“Oh, you won’t. I’m serious about what I said. About the plan.” Her voice lowered and she waited until one of the servers passed our table before she continued. “I can help you. And when we’re done, Carter won’t know what hit him. The Elite either.”
“Why would you do this? Help me? What do you get out of it?” I asked, still unsure this was a good idea. Today, I’d been open, but now…
“I have my reasons for wanting to pierce the Elite’s solid circle. You could say I’m still butt sore about Micah. But more importantly, I want to destroy Carter. You aren’t the first girl who has been victim to Carter’s brutality. He and a few of the other football players have a reputation of harassing girls and taking things too far. Help me bring him down.”
Was she one of Carter’s victims? Or did she know someone who had been hurt by my stepbrother and his thugs?
“Kill two birds with one stone,” Ainsley muttered.
Mads grinned. “Exactly. Getting Josie the protection of the Elite means they will take care of her and anyone who touches her. Especially Carter. Brock has history with him, and I know he is just looking for a chance to take him down.”
I couldn’t believe I was sitting in a pizza parlor discussing how to destroy my stepbrother and essentially use the Elite to do it. Two days ago the thought would have made me laugh. “I can’t believe Grayson is your cousin.”
Mads rolled her eyes. “Our mothers are sisters. But you see how this works in our favor. I have inside information.”
Ains jumped on that. “Okay, tell us all the dirt you have on the Elite.”
“First, we have to agree that whatever we discuss stays between us.” Mads started to lay out the rules.
Ainsley and I both nodded.
Taking a sip from her drink, Mads looked us each in the eyes. “This only works if we keep quiet about what we're doing. If word gets out, the Elite will make our lives a living hell.” Her voice made it perfectly clear. “We’re not just dealing with four high school boys. You guys have heard only the surface stuff of what the Elite does, but it goes so much deeper.”
“My lips are sealed,” Ains said, drawing an invisible zipper across her mouth.
“Same,” I agreed, tucking my hands into my lap.
“Josie, you are taking the most risk here, but you also have the most to gain. You can’t let Carter keep treating you like this and getting away with it. Things will only get worse. Trust me,” Mads said, an expression of regret and sadness creeping over her features.
I didn’t know why, but I did trust Mads. “I can’t spend the entire year afraid. I’m not safe anywhere.”
“Agreed,” Mads and Ainsley said at the same time.
Our pizza arrived a moment later, and the table fell silent as we waited for our waitress to leave. I grabbed a slice of cheese and set it on my plate. “And if the lesser of the two evils is Brock and the Elites, then I’m all in,” I said, giving the pizza a few seconds to cool off before I devoured it.
Mads beamed as she picked up a slice for herself. “I was hoping you would say that,” she said, right before taking a bite.
It seemed an unspoken agreement had been formed between us. Mads would take point. She was the mastermind behind the plan, so it only made sense that Ainsley and I took direction from her. Something told me Mads had been involved in schemes like this before. It wasn’t her first takedown.
And so the plotting began. We scarfed two pizzas between us as we laughed, brainstormed, laughed some more, and stuffed our faces. It was one of the best nights I’d had in a long time.
There was no backing down now. I was in. Full throttle.
Chapter Eight
The following weekend, the house was in an uproar all day Saturday in preparation for the dinner party. Only an hour left to add any last-minute details. The only other time I’d seen my mother this frantic was when she was planning the wedding.
I was looking forward to this stupid party nearly as much as I had the wedding.
Angie was so strung out, finally feeling the pressures of being a trophy wife. It wasn’t all about looking pretty. She was damn determined to prove that she wasn’t the gold digger she’d been labeled, that she had a right to socialize among them, even though not coming from any money herself.
She was scared to death.
And that meant she was on her second or third martini.Who’s counting?
“What did I tell you?” she snapped at the middle-aged woman. “I want the larger floral arrangements positioned in the front hall and going up the stairwells. Smaller arrangements go on the tables.” She shook a handful of roses so hard, petals fell at her feet, while the florist only nodded and hurried away with her head down.
I couldn’t help but sympathize with the florist.