Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (21 page)

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I didn’t plan on leaving the house today after last night’s shit-fest of
what the fuck
. My sixteenth birthday will go down in infamy as the worst of my life- God, I hope that is the truth because I can’t live through a worse one.

Since there is no staff and Lara is comatose on the sofa after
binge drinking until she passed out, I guess I’m the one who has to answer the door. I don’t know who awaits me. But I would’ve liked to pick who first got to see the new and improved Faith. I don’t even want that name anymore- Faith Gwendolyn Simpson: Faith from Lara. Gwendolyn from Gwen. Simpson for Daddy. It’s not who I am anymore, or maybe I never was.

“Hi?” It comes out as a question as I crack the door open and mumble the word.
A relaxed, smiling Marcus Zeitler stands on my threshold.

“Are you alright?” the handsome man serves a question right back at me.

“Are the boys okay? Why are you here instead of them?” I wonder how long I can volley questions back and forth with the young man.

Marcus’ brown eyes light up like a fire on a warm summer’s night. He tries not to laugh, but a small, cute giggle slips past. “I like you, girl. You’re good for the boys. Now
, here is another question for you. Did you go to a rave, get piss-roaring-drunk, and wake to a makeover? What’s up with the hair and clothing… and makeup?” He points a long, elegant finger at all the changes I’ve made overnight.

“I thought I’d try the next sixteen years with a new style,” I cockily say with a smirk. “Don’t like?”

“Hmmm… turn in a circle for me,” he teases, and I comply. When I complete a revolution, I wait for Marc to answer. “I do like it. It’s spunky, but I worry about why you did it. It’s a dramatic transformation.” He sighs and runs his fingers through his dark curls. “I thought we’d go driving. The boys are in the car, or we can take your new ride. It’s up to you.”

“Thanks, but I was about to return the car. I don’t want it,” I mumble, hoping he won’t ask any more questions about it.

“I’ll take you,” Marc says, opening the door farther, and then walking into my house. His eyes narrow because Lara is visible from the doorway. She’s half on, half off the sofa. She’s flashing her ass, and I’m pretty sure that puke on her chest isn’t a shirt.

“I didn’t want you to see that,” I grumble, embarrassed. I don’t blush, instead my face goes pale. “I’ll just get my wallet, and then we’ll go.” I quickly snatch my wallet and the keys to the
Expedition
.

“Listen, it’s walking distance. I can drive it back. I’ll just catch you guys later tonight sometime. Can
you tell the boys that, please,” I beg in a sweet voice.

Uncertainty over my new look
, and the huge kick to the ego over being so unsexy that Wil went limp at a pivotal moment, have me feeling kind of shy and skittish. It also hurts to look Marc in the eye when I’m lying to his son and hurting the boy he’s raising. I feel sick when I look in the mirror. I can’t do this to them, but I don’t know how to tell the truth without getting them or myself hurt. I don’t want to talk any more, fearing the lies that spew out like bullshit.

“I’ll drive the S
UV, and we will walk back. We’ll leave the boys in my car, and when we get back, you’re going driving.” The edge of finality in Marc’s tone means he’s not dicking around. Marc just knows I’ll do as he says or he’ll pick me up and make me.

I hover at my front door, not wanting to leave the comforting embrace of my home, as Marc tells the boys what’s doing. He motions me over to the car that was mine for
all of twelve hours. The car I haven’t driven… and never will.

With a deep breath, I leave the house and shut the door behind me. The click signals that I can’t quickly duck back inside.

Screw it.

Damn it all to hell!

I pull my shoulders back and jut my chin out as I walk towards the car. My newly shortened black hair bobs along my jawline as I walk. The black skirt swishes around my hips.

I’d raided what was left in Fate’s closet and snuck into Lara’s. Funerals are popular around here. It’s a huge community, so there are a lot of wakes to attend. It’s the only time the elite wear black- with the exception of the little black dress that everyone chats about at functions. Whatever the hell that means.

Thanks to the funeral garb, I had a lot to choose from. I have on a skirt, tights, boots, and blouse- all black. Fate’s makeup tips came in handy. I used the concealer and went heavy on the liner. I feel like death today, and why shouldn’t I look the part? Plus, I doubt Lara, Fate, or Gwen would be caught dead in this outfit. That thought alone puts a smile on my face.

“Faith,” Cort’s hiss is long and loud from the open car door. “What the?”

“Don’t,” Ez commands, yanking Cort back into the car. “Let Marc and Faith have some alone time.” I squint at him for saying that. I don’t know what Ez’s getting at.

The ride is short and quiet… and uncomfortable. It’s ridiculous, actually. We drive a couple hundred feet- three houses down the street to
a home that is identical to mine. Whereas my house is gray, Henry Spencer’s house is white. I bet the layout is the same since all the houses in our gated community were built by the same architect. 

With disgust
, I realize that five of those families that Wil listed last night live behind those solid gates manned by Jimmy the security guard. I have no idea where the Fontaines or my baby sister Green live, but Whittenhower Estates and ShadowHaven Estates are at opposite ends of our expensive, clone-like community. They are so pompous that they have yet another set of gates manned by more security guards and miles of driveway that wind through densely-wooded forest. Boyd and I aren’t so lucky.

My goddamned mother!!!

My goddamned mother!!!

Jesus Christ, that whore just turned me blasphemer to the nth degree.

The Meyers family lives directly across the fucking street from Boyd. Cocksucking bitch has watched us all grow up.

FUCK!

I’m glad I never got a crush on the boy down the street- Faith, too. This is an incestuous little community Mitchell Meyers is forming, now isn’t it? I’m sure my baby sister is close by somewhere. They already messed up with Ezra and Cortez, cousins falling in love. No wonder they tell us who to date, it’s to avoid turning us into six-fingered freaks. And to think people make fun of West Virginians as sibling-lovers.

Welcome to Crest
view Drive: where the rich elderly screw around with Gwendolyn Meyers. Population: multiple unknown siblings and an overwhelming desire to commit patricide and matricide.

I chose Boyd’s driveway to return my present because h
e was the one that gave me the SUV. I could have used Wil’s garage, but I’m avoiding him for now. I could drop it off in the Meyers’ driveway, but something tells me it’s best to avoid Mitchell Meyers, my pimp granddaddy.

This is a message. I can’t be bought
, and I don’t want her shit. If I have to whore for her, I’m not getting paid for it. It feels less dirty somehow. If I was destined to do this and it’s the natural course, then I shouldn’t get paid with a fifty-thousand dollar ride for my efforts.

I’d rather just have a mother- whore or not.

I pull the note, I’d written Boyd to give to my mother, out of my pocket and tape it to the steering wheel. Marc watches me with a calculating stare, no doubt reading into every movement I make.

Dearest Mother,
You may be a whore, but I am not. I will not be paid for my services.
You’ve provided me with nothing since my birth, don’t bother now.
I’ll be fine on my own- just as I always have been.
You don’t want to see me- that’s great, because I could care less if I ever meet you.
Will I do the job I was created to do?
It’s debatable.
Prove to me it’s to keep my family safe, and I’ll consider it.
Your loving Daughter,
-Faith.

I
know Marc read the note with lightning speed. I don’t wait for Marcus to say anything about my strange behavior. I jump from the SUV like it’s on fire. As soon as my feet hit the pavement, Boyd is charging towards me from the front of his house. Boyd’s face is red and his hands are fisted at his sides.

“Faith, what’s going on?” He sounds worried, and for some reason that pisses me off. He’
s my big brother, not my goddamn pimp.

“Fuck you,” growls out my throat. I sneer at the little bastard that was raised by our mother. Wh
y was he good enough to have Gwen in his life, but I wasn’t- what was wrong with perfect Fate or cute and intelligent Daniel or my baby sister I know nothing about? Boyd, he is Gwen’s special little bastard.

“Faith, I swear to God I’m going to kick your ass for cutting your hair off. Fix it or I will. What have you done? Get back in that car
and fix…” Boyd stammers over what he was really going to say when he sees Marcus materialize next to me.

I sneer at my brother and flash him a pair of birds- dual
fuck yous, because I’m not fucking anyone for you, brother.

I march down the street with a new resolve. I’
m just gonna do what I want from now on. They can beat me for all I care, but I’ll just hit back ten times harder.

“Wa
nt to talk about it?” Marc asks. His voice is filled with hope, as he walks next to me towards my driveway.

“Nope, I sure don’t,” I emotionlessly murmur.

“Didn’t like the car? It drove really nice,” he pleasantly says, but I can hear his curiosity.

“It’s not about the car,” I growl. “My mom isn’t Lara, and I don’t know her. This was her attempt to buy me off. I didn’t need her for sixteen years and I don’t need her now. My birth mother is a pestilence on her children.”

“Go with your gut,” Marcus seriously says, but he’s smiling- happy that I’m talking after I said I wouldn’t. “I don’t like how Boyd just spoke to you,” he hisses.

“Same here. If Boyd
does it again, he won’t like what I have to say back. I may be born from a whore and poor white trash, but I’m not my parents. I won’t be disrespected, even by my own brother- especially by my own brother.”

“Good girl,” Marc praises. “Just remember that every time you feel like
giving in for the sake of peace. Remember, peace doesn’t have a price. It shouldn’t cost losing yourself.”

My feet hit my driveway, but I still feel like talking. Marc doesn’t flinch when the West Virginia flows from my tongue. He doesn’t judge me. He just nods his head and gives advice. I can’t shut my mouth after sixteen years of silence. Sixteen years of talking in West Virginia and playing mute in New York. Sixteen years of lies.

Marcus teaches me to drive for hours as the boys sit in the backseat listening to me talk. Marc, Ez, and Cort ask me the questions, and I answer. The questions have nothing to do with games, schemes, lies, whore mothers and her offspring, and prison-bound fathers. They ask about Aunt Amelia, and laugh when I talk about her beaux. I tell them that West Virginia isn’t a bunch of hillbilly inbreds. I tell them all about a land they’ve never seen and a lifestyle they will never experience. They soak up my stories as we drive around, and something loosens inside my chest. These three men, they are a real family- nothing will ever break their bond. It makes me realize I’ve never truly had a family, and I feel less connected to anyone now that I have a huge family.

~Chapter Sixteen~

“Well, you did a lot better today,” Ez teases m
e. “Didn’t crash or get stuck.”

“It was all
because of my teacher,” I give it right back to him. “Marcus knows his shit. It was stupid to have two guys teach me to drive when they’ve only had their licenses for a few months- and illegal.”

“You suck,” Ez
growls at me, not having a good comeback. “You’re right, though. Marc is an excellent teacher- patient and calm.”

“Are we going to have a ‘how much we love Marc party’ or is the birthday girl going to finally eat her cake and like it?” Cort taunts me with a slice of cake
resting in the palm of his hand. He keeps waving it in front of my face and I keep jerking back. The ass is going to pelt me in the face with it, I just know it.

“Let me have a taste,” I beg, closing my eyes, waiting for the smush. “You should be careful,” I warn. “If the cake goes everywhere, you’ll have ants in the tent.” 

A little piece of cake teases my lips. I open my mouth, happy that Cort is being nice. He places the
Funfetti
cake on my tongue. I sigh as the sweetness melts over my taste buds.

“This is good,” I purr. “Ugh!” I grunt out as I fall backwards to the tent floor.

“It’s too cold for ants,” Cort cackles as I clear cake from my nostrils and eyes so I can see and breathe.

“Assmunch cocksucker!”
I growl like I have Tourette’s. I roll around the floor having a fit while the boys hysterically laugh at me. I fling cake and frosting out of my eyes and try to blink my vision clear.