Not So Cinderella Read online

  Not So Cinderella

  Rebekah L. Thompson

  Pages and Adventures Publishing

  Copyright © 2021 Rebekah L. Thompson

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  To those who show kindness in all they do.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Books By This Author

  During the day Athena is a hardworking, meek, seventeen-year-old school nerd who’s berated continuously by her horrible stepmother at home and targeted by her stepsister and the entire student body at school. As long as the punches keep rolling her way, they don’t come near her little brother, Mason.

  Taking a hit for the ones you love is NOT a weakness.

  When the clock strikes midnight – she is Cinder Wolf. Fighter. Winner. Champion. No one stands in her way in the underground, not with the skills her father had passed onto her before his brutal murder.

  Bad Boys are also curious boys.

  Four no-so-Prince-Charming’s join the school, much everyone’s excitement. Drake always likes a challenge – and there is something about the girl who keeps her shades on that attracts him. The feeling amplifies when they see Cinder Wolf dominating the underground ring. At first, Drake and his friends are intrigued to find out the secrets Athena hides – never imagining that he would fall for both sides of the same girl.

  However, the clock is set to strike – shadows are twisting – and the men who murdered her father are returning for a final ringside showdown.

  This is no fairy tale – this is a trail for survival.

  Chapter 1

  Athena

  As I kneel, I lay the white lilies on the two graves. Mom loved lilies, I muse, my eyes tracing the familiar inscriptions on the faded gray stone.

  Kathryn Hale. Loving mother and wife. 1970-2008.

  Steve Hale. Loving father and husband. 1970-2010.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, I sink to my knees on the ground. The grass tickles my fingers as I stare at the stones.

  My mom died seven years ago when my brother and I were young; I’d been eleven, and Mason, my brother, had been ten. A year later, Dad remarried; a stepmother and a stepsister came with this marriage. To me, that was scary. Every story I’d ever read portrayed stepmothers and stepsisters as bad; these two were no exception.

  They were, and still are, pure evil.

  A year after the marriage, someone murdered my dad, and everything went downhill from there. My stepmother took over the household and my and Mason’s lives. The step-monster- as we call her- is lazy and entitled. Our stepsister is a mini version of her mother, taking every chance she can to make our lives miserable.

  One year, I remind myself.

  One year until I turn eighteen, which means only one year until I can take Mason to get emancipated and take him away from this toxic household.

  I don’t know if I have enough proof for both of us to get emancipated, but if I’m legally an adult, I can be who and what Mason needs for his emancipation. I just have to wait a little longer to take us out of our unpleasant situation.

  For the last two years, I’ve been reading up on what it takes to get emancipated.

  If someone wants to get emancipated, they must be sixteen, have parent/guardian permission, and there’s usually a court hearing.

  Of course, my stepmother wouldn’t give us permission, which is why I’m trying to wait until I turn eighteen to try anything. We would need proof of abuse, neglect, or some other form of a critical household situation. Which, of course, we see every day, but seeing it and proving it are two different things.

  Out of the things I’ve gathered, I’m not sure I have enough of a case. It’s mine and Mason’s word against my stepmother’s and stepsister’s word.

  “I thought I might find you here,” Mason calls out from behind me.

  I turn, noticing his outfit, and smile. “You’re wearing the beanie I got you,” I mention, pointing at his head. The sixteen-year-old tilts his head, a crooked smile beaming back at me before he takes a seat next to me.

  “Hey, Mom. Dad,” Mason murmurs once his eyes settle on the gray stones. I grab Mason’s hand and squeeze it. It’s been hard living with the step-monster and her demon child. We both hate it, but neither of us can do anything because of the looming threat of being separated. We always remind each other to keep our cool and be patient.

  Sometimes patience is the hardest thing in the world.

  “We should get to school,” Mason suggests after a pause of silence. I sigh and nod.

  School. The only other place I hate more than home. Lexi, the demon spawn, has it in her head that she rules the school. Lexi and her boyfriend, Lucas, are horrible. They gang up on me, making school a living hell.

  I try to keep everything away from Mason, but Lexi always finds a way through the cracks. This year will be different, and I remind myself, I’ll keep Mason safe and happy.

  “Come on. Don’t wanna be late, sis,” Mason says, cutting through my thoughts. He climbs to his feet, towering over me, and holds out a hand. I take his hand and let Mason pull me to my feet.

  With one last glance at the gravestones, we turn and start walking.

  “You’ve got a fight tonight,” Mason mentions. I smile and nod, letting him continue. “You’re fighting a beginner.” He cringes as I cut my eyes to him and raises his hands, “Don’t ask me. He’s the one who thought it was a smart idea to challenge you.”

  I roll my eyes. If this beginner were as smart as he thinks he is, he’d cancel the fight. He’s going to get crushed, and for what? A few laughs with his friends? An attempt to defeat the undefeated? Maybe I should go easy on him. The thought passes through my head before I shake myself.

  No cheating. The fight has to be fair.

  “Anyway,” Mason sighs, “His name is Lightning, and the fight is at nine.” I nod again, and we continue walking.

  The school isn’t far from the house. After a while, we’re making our way through the parking lot.

  People stare as we walk up, but like usual, we ignore their gazes. With Lexi as Queen Bee, everyone listened to the rumors she spread about me around the school, so most students watch us, or more clearly, me.

  Mason and I make our way to the front doors and enter the school. The students in the hallway are bustling a
round, grabbing their friends, and walking to their lockers. It’s only the fourth week of school, so everyone is still on their summer brains.

  “I’ll see you after class,” Mason tells me.

  “Yeah,” I murmur, and we turn in opposite directions. Without a word to anyone, I push my way through the hallway. I stop at my locker to grab books before making my way to English.

  By the time I reach my classroom, a few girls are already seated by the far wall. I immediately make a beeline for the seat in the back corner. Since the start of school, this has been my seat. I wanted a seat away from everyone else, especially Lexi, who sits up where the giggling group of girls sits.

  “OMG, did you girls see those hot, new guys?” One of Lexi’s ditsy friends asks with her annoying, high-pitched voice. New guys? I tilt my head to listen, curious at the development. We rarely get new students, so this is something everyone will talk and gossip over.

  “I did,” another Barbie wannabe states, “And the blond one is h-o-t, hot, and I totally called dibs.” A laugh threatens to explode from me, so I slap a hand over my mouth to keep it in. Dibs? Are they in third grade or something?

  Lexi’s fake laugh fills the room as she sits down, making me roll my eyes. “If anyone gets to call dibs, it’s me,” she says, and the other girls slump down in their seats. What a great girlfriend she is, I muse as I tuned out the rest of their conversation.

  After a minute, the warning bell rings. I pull out my sketchbook and pen as the last few students filter into the room. I watch as friends cluster together at their desks, talking about their weekends or what they would do after school, while the teacher enters the room.

  “Class, settle down,” Mr. Richard, the teacher, instructs. Students sit but continue to whisper to each other. Mr. Richard scowls at their disobedience but picks up the class roll and calls out names.

  It didn’t take him long to get to my name, and as usual, his gaze lingers for a couple of seconds longer than it should. Before he can move on, the door flies open, banging against the wall, and all at once, every girl seems star-struck.

  Four guys stand in the doorway. I study them, the way they stand, and the way they dress. They’re hot, I’ll admit.

  The guy in the front hitches his backpack up on one shoulder, his blue eyes running over the class. He has brown hair that’s shorter on the sides and longer on the top, slightly hanging over into his eyes. My eyes move down his body, taking in the tattoos painted over his arms and peeking out of his shirt collar.

  I remember Lexi’s declaration of dibs, even though she already has a boyfriend. Now I know why. He’s hot.

  Watch out, Lucas, I snicker. Your girlfriend found fresh meat.

  The guy beside Tattoos must’ve been the blonde that Lexi’s friend mentioned. He has shaggy blonde hair and looks like a surf model. His cheeks and nose are home to a light dusting of freckles, giving him a more innocent vibe than the first guy, but then again, he’s wearing dark colors and a leather jacket. He reminds me of a golden retriever pretending to be a rottweiler.

  The third guy looks a little out of place with his glasses and math t-shirt. He has chocolate brown hair and matching brown eyes. As he stands there, with his hands shoved in his pockets, he runs his eyes over the room, studying it. If I’d seen him without the other three guys, there wouldn’t be any sign that he’s friends with these bad boys.

  The last guy has what I can only guess is an annoyed expression on his face. His eyebrows pull together, his lips press together in a thin line, and his face pinches together. He has dark hair, too, and looks similar to the third guy. They could be brothers. I notice the scowl doesn’t leave his face as he surveys the room, giving off a ‘don’t bother me’ vibe.

  “Why are you late for my class?” Mr. Richard demands, ending the stunned silence. I look at the older man when the blonde guy laughs. Mr. Richard is the King of tardies. He gives tardies to anyone late, and I doubt he’d stop for the new students. Mr. Richard doesn’t care why students are late.

  “We’re new, and we got lost,” the blonde guy says, which Mr. Richard returns with a glare. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. The blonde is the jokester. Every group needs one to cut the tension; at least, that’s what I’ve read in books.

  Mr. Richard moves over to his roll and reads over it. “Drake, Alec, Ross, and Chase?” He asks, but who else would they be?

  “Sit in the empty seats by Miss Hale,” Mr. Richard instructs, pointing to me. I groan inwardly. The only empty seats are by me, and I can’t help but want to kick the desks away before they sit down.

  They all walk toward me, the tattoo guy staring. An uncomfortable feeling passes over me, so I look away to draw in my sketchbook. As I draw, I sense someone watching me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I know one of those pairs of eyes is Mr. Richard. The sicko, I scowl.

  A chair scrapes against the ground, alerting me that the new guys are in their seats around me. The guy with the tattoos sits right next to me. He clears his throat, an annoying sound, but I don’t take the bait. Forget it, buddy. I send up a silent prayer that he won’t speak to me, but it gets ruined when he sticks his hand out.

  “Drake,” he says. I look at his tattooed hand and then at his face. Without a word, I turn away and angle my back to him. Because of Lexi and other things, I kept to myself. The only person I talk to is Mason unless I’m telling someone off, which only happens when I forget myself.

  If I don’t talk to people, they won’t speak to me.

  “Helloooooooooo.” Drake stretches the word out and waves a hand in front of my face. The sudden movement catches me off guard, startling me. I grab his hand and slam it on the desk with a loud thud.

  Everyone turns and looks at us, making me cringe. I mentally kick myself and release Drake’s hand, mumbling, “Sorry,” as I turn away.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rub his wrist. I shouldn’t have done that. I can’t show that side of me in school because people can’t realize who I am. If anyone found out… it would ruin everything. Word would get out, and the men who’d killed my father would find me.

  A sigh slips past my lips, and I return to my half-completed drawing. I focus on the swoops and lines, the light and the dark, the simple and the detailed.

  “Hey, girl,” Drake says again. I clench my teeth and my pencil. Why is he trying to talk to me?

  “I’m Drake,” he repeats, “And you are….”

  I turn and glare at him. “Someone who wants to be left alone.” Drake’s eyes widen, the corner of his lips turning up. Stop! Why are you looking at his lips? I shake my head and once again turn away from the inked guy.

  Drake got the message because, for the rest of the class, he doesn’t bother me. After a while, I glance at the clock and notice it’s a few minutes before the bell. Quickly, I pack my things away, and as soon as the bell rings, I push out of my seat and make a beeline to the door.

  “Miss Hale, please stay behind,” Mr. Richard says. He grabs my arm as I go to walk past him. I snap my head so fast that my glasses slide down my nose, almost falling off. I catch them but continue to watch my teacher. If he doesn’t let go of my arm…

  “I- I can’t, sir,” I stutter, shocked the creepy teacher who has a staring problem would have the nerve to touch me.

  With a yank, I rip my arm out of his grip. “I’ll write a note to your next teacher,” he says, and I shake my head. Mr. Richard’s eyes move to something behind me before he looks back at me. “Never mind, we’ll talk later.”

  “No, sir, we won’t,” I reply with a shudder before dashing away. I run down the hallways to get away, and finally, I end up at my locker.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the small metal door. The mirror, the one I hung in the door, throws my reflection back at me. Brown hair and brown eyes… fake brown eyes, I remind myself. With a sigh, I study myself for the thousandth time. To keep my secret, I wear brown contacts. My eyes are actually blue. I only wear my contacts at
school and in public.

  At that moment, I realize I miss looking at my blue eyes. They remind me of my mother’s eyes, just as Mason’s eyes remind me of our father’s eyes.

  The mirror also reflects my shirt and the Shakespeare quote printed on it: “And though she be little, she is fierce.” This… this reminds me of my dad. I still remember when he gave me the shirt. It was too big when he bought it, but it fits perfectly now, years later. He quoted this when he’d first started teaching me self-defense. He used to say it was the best description of who I am.

  Looking away, I shrug my jacket off and shove it in my locker along with my English book. Time to find Mason.

  With a bang, I slam my locker and walk off in search of my brother.

  Again, I have to push through students to get through the hallway. I receive and dish out several elbows to the ribs as I walk, something that’s become an everyday experience in high school. I reach the third hallway and spot Mason ahead. When I look closer, I see he’s not alone. Lexi hangs on his arm like a monkey on a vine.

  With narrowed eyes, I stalk forward, anger pumping through my veins. This girl just doesn’t know when to quit. Mason notices and sends me a pleading, wide-eyed stare. I nod and stop in front of the two. “Why are you hanging on my brother’s arm like a monkey?” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “I’m not a dirty monkey!” Lexi shrieks, making me laugh.

  “Oh, yeah?” I question, “Then why are you all over my brother?” Lexi’s mouth opens and closes, flapping like a fish. She takes a second to regain her senses, and then, with a huff, Lexi releases Mason’s arm, giving him the space to move to my side.

  “At least I’m popular and not a pathetic little nerd like you,” Lexi counters, sneering at me. I narrow my eyes at my stepsister again and watch Lexi spin around and walk away. Lexi’s Barbie wannabe friends let out various huffs and follow right after her.