Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (40 page)

I’m quiet in my numb fog, refusing to accept the reality of my life. It’s Wil that breaks the silence. “I would wait in the living room so I could answer the door… but… that won’t be necessary since it looks like someone Hulk-smashed throu
gh it,” he snickers, “or maybe the Kool-Aid man.”

I snort. “Oh, yeah!” I say in a stupid, comical voice, imitating the Kool-Aid man.”

“My God, Faith, I wish I could have recorded your entrance for the history books. That was the wickedest thing I’ve ever seen. A tiny, crazy chick in full black, wielding a fireplace poker broke my damned door down and ruined my apartment.”

“I’m not sorry,” I grumble, not smiling because I physically and emotionally can’t. My daddy is dead and my lips are split and bleeding.

“I’m not either,” Wil readily admits. “You needed to get that out of you. I don’t want to say this, but Boyd is like that, too. I’ve been beat like that a whole lot. Next time I won’t be as scared to fight back. I know you can take it now.”

“I think something is wrong with me. Marc called it a sadist. I felt high as I was beating on you. I like seeing people in pain. I’d fear I was a sociopath if it wasn’t for the fact that it hurts me as much as it hurts them. I get a sick satisfaction, but it pains me as much as it makes me high… I can’t really explain it,” I grumble.

“I-” Wil starts to reply but the sound of footsteps draws him up short. Being Captain Obvious, Wil says, “They’re here.”

“No,” I weakly cry out when I see them- when I see the look of agony on their faces, it makes it all too real.

Daddy is dead.

Wil’s hand seeks mine out as the Elders enter the small bedroom, my grandfather at the front. My father’s fellow elders- enemies, friends, and allies pay their respects.

“Faith,”
Mitchell says in greeting- the first time we have ever acknowledged the other’s existence. “I knew your father for over thirty years. He was a fierce competitor and a friend. We may deal in death, but never the death of a fellow Elder. Thomas was my ally, the father of my grandchildren. That elevated him to a level of respect that many never reach within my realm. My condolences,” he emotionally whispers as he places a black rose on my blanketed legs. “He will be greatly missed.”

My grandfather steps to the side as the Elders greet me in order of power. My chest shakes with silent sobs as a distraught Pearl steps forward. Tears rain down her
cheeks that nothing will abate.

“My condolences, dear. Thomas,” she chokes on her grief. “Thomas would be
very proud of you- never doubt that-” Pearl breaks to the point that she cannot speak. She turns on her heel and faces the wall.

Henry steps forward, a mask of indifference on his face. But he still cries tears of sorrow. “Thomas was a fine man
, and an even better father. He raised you girls to be the women you needed to be to survive this-” Henry gestures, encompassing his mates. “I will miss him.”

“Faith, I wish we would have met under different circumstances,” a younger man softly says. He has friendly, brown eyes and an easy smile. He’s not as emotional as Pearl, but he looks more devastated than any of them.

“Stanton?” I speak for the first time. 

“Yes, I’m Stanton Green. I me
t your father when he moved here to study economics. I was a boy learning the family business when my father employed Tom. He was kind to me. He treated me as a son. And when I grew up and took over for my father, Tom worked for me. Someday I will tell you stories, endless stories of your father’s antics.” Stanton says with a sad, fond smile.

“Thank you,” I whimper. “I’d like that.”

Stanton leans down to kiss my cheek. He brushes his lips against my skin and breathes, “You’re safe. Tonight you’re coming with me. The ones who are your enemies do not know.”

When Grant’s hand cups my cheek, I break down. I can’t stop the flood. Grant sits on the edge of the bed and holds me while I sob. He gently rocks me, murmuring words of comfort against my hair. I want to feel shame for showing my enemies a glimpse into my weakness. I should present a strong façade
so that they never dare to cross me. But I can’t. I just can’t. Each Elder drove home the fact that my father is dead and never coming back.

My eyes open and meet Gwen’s. I hate what I see shine from her eyes- grief. My mother looks human
, and I don’t want to see her as anything but pure evil. A flash of satisfaction trills through my body as my eyes drink in the bruises braceleting her slim neck- I did that. I almost killed my own mother and it makes me feel proud.

I bury my head in Grant’s neck, ignoring the tw
o people at my mother’s sides- my deadweight sister and my precious, chosen-one brother. The three of them create a picture I can’t erase from my mind’s eye. They are a family. My mother with the son and daughter she loves. Her castoff is lying broken on a bed while condolences are given. Her castoff son hides in a Castle surrounded by familial strangers. Her youngest castoff daughter awaits her vicious fate.

My eye flick back to Gwen’s- I pour all of the hatred I feel and direct it into her soul. Everyone of any importance in our lives stands in this room, and they all can see how I feel about my mother. I stare at the ligature marks and maliciously grin so that they know I did
that
.

Boyd ignores the
do not cross the imaginary line in the center of this bedroom
warning and walks to me. My hand flashes out and whips his head to the side from the force.

“No,” I snarl, as Boyd flexes his jaw. “You’re not the type of brother I need. Today is the day I cut the deadweight,” I direct to Fate. “You prove your worth to me, not the other way around,” I menacingly hiss.

A face that looks like Gwen- like Fate- like me- like Whitt- smiles at me and it twists my insides. “I believe today is the first time you’ve proven your worth, sister,” Boyd says in a pleased tone that holds a cryptic message I can’t decipher. “Someone hold her hands,” Boyd orders, and Wil’s hand flexes in mine as Grant grabs my other hand.

Boyd leans down and sweetly kisses my cheek. “I’m so very sorry, Faith,” Boyd says in a voice thick with emotion. He kisses my forehead, lips lingering as he murmurs against my skin, “I love you, dear sister. But more so, I like you. I trust you. And I’m wicked proud of you.”

Boyd pulls away and stalks back to the doorway. He grabs Fate’s wrist and pulls. “Don’t even try it. She doesn’t want to see you after all you’ve done,” he snidely says. “You either,” Boyd says to Gwen, yanking her wrist with his other hand. “Your presence just upsets her further. C’mon.”

The Elders relax as a unit as soon as Gwen and her spawn leave the apartment. They sigh and lean against the walls, star
ing at the bed- the bed that holds Wil, me, and Grant.

“Sir,” Wil says to Mitchell, “Would you like me to leave?”

“No, stay,” my grandfather calmly orders. “And Grant, quit coddling the child and stand next to me,” he snaps.

Grant gives me a hug. His lips press tightly to the shell of my ear. He says so quietly that I can barely make out the words, “I’m staying at Stan’s this evening to help you assimilate.”

Mitchell clears his throat, causing Grant to hastily pull away. “Thomas’ death was outside of the game. There was no vote. There are rules prohibiting the execution of a fellow elder. The only way it is acceptable game play is if the elder dies by their heir’s hand. Since Thomas was retired and his heir took his position as the Simpson elder, it wouldn’t behoove anyone to eliminate him.”

“Was it just random violence? I can tell by your mannerisms that there is more you have to say,” I emotionlessly utter.

“As you can see, we are missing an Elder this evening. The Fontaine- Pierre is based in Las Vegas. He and his retinue were here last month for the ball,” Mitchell pointedly says and we all know what he’s hinting at. “Pierre was taken by you in the brief moments you came face-to-face. I believe he was curious to see how you would react to certain stimuli.”

“That French fuck killed my father?” I snarl and it seems to delight my sadistic grandfather- a soft laugh flows from his age-bracketed lips.

“No, but he knew who did,” Mitchell gloats. “The same person came to Pierre for another matter. This matter he wouldn’t touch.”

“Who?” I demand.

My grandfather simply says, “Lara.”

~Chapter Thirty-One~

“Faith,” Wil says to gain my attention as I’m pulling on my combat boots. The Elders left a few minutes ago, giving me time to pull myself together before I start a new life. I think the numbers are split in half- half know I’m going to Stanton’s and the other half think Grant is driving me to ShadowHaven. They bought it because Pearl was in no shape to drive and my grandfather had to take her. Mitchell tried to get me to go with them. My excuse was that I couldn’t be in a confined space with him. He laughed and told Grant
to drive safely. Mitchell had an evil twinkle in his eye- he knows we’re up to something.

Grant is patiently waiting- pacing around the apartment, looking at all the damage I created. He just finished pulling the fireplace poker from the sheetrock. He’s whistling while carrying my weapon around like a baton. The door seems to fascinate Grant for some reason. He keeps poking at it with his iron stick.

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, hating the name Lara gave to me. With a sharp tug, my laces pull so tautly in my fingers that one snaps from the tension.

“Why?” Wil drops down onto his knees with a wince. I did a real number on his body. While it was happening, I was driven by a force I didn’t understand. Now
, I feel regret for hurting my friend. The split above Wil’s eye has three butterfly closures. I bet he goes to the emergency room and gets stitches after I leave. Wil already reset his broken nose, but it looks like a smushed tomato.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble my apology while Wil deftly ties my broken lace back together. His fingers aren’t in as bad of shape as my own. Mine are swollen with broken skin and cuts and bruises and teeth marks.

“Why?” Wil repeats and I laugh without humor. Wil quickly ties my boots and then runs his hands up and down my calves in a soothing motion, loosening the aching muscles.

“Is that all you have to say, my name and the word why?” I tease. “I’m sorry for attacking you.” I outline the bruise on his cheek with a hesitant fingertip.

“The other guy looks worse,” he smirks, eyelids getting heavy from my affectionate touches.

I snort. “Yeah, I bet he feels worse, too. I am sorry. I’m not bullshitting you. I’m sorry about the apartment. Make sure my mom gets you tile instead of linoleum this time.”

Wil flashes me a sad smile, just a slight curl of his lips. “This was the apartment I grew up in- Gwen has nothing to do with it… and it’s rent controlled,” he slyly says. “My father was my age when I was born. This is all he could afford at that time, but it was always perfect for us.” Wil rests his cheek on my thigh, like he wants to hide his face while we talk. “I lied,” he gruffly admits.

“Wow, really? I would’ve never guessed that,” I tease to lighten the gloomy look on his face. I watch a flush creep up the back of his neck. I still have no idea what color his hair is because it’s shaved off. I run my fingers over the feathery texture on his scalp. Wil sighs and leans harder into my legs.

Wil rolls his pale blue eyes up to me and smirks. “I actually don’t lie to you as often as you assume,” Wil grumbles. “But I did tell you a whopper of a lie. My birth mom isn’t dead. My dad didn’t marry her. So yes, I am a bastard.”

“You can be a real bastard,” I taunt. “But that’s your parents’ fault, not yours.”

“I’ve never spoken to her. I know all about her and what she looks like. I’ve stood feet from her, but she’s never acknowledged me in any way. I have other siblings, too. I know my grandfather,” Wil says as a violent shudder rolls through his entire body. Sweat beads on the back of his neck. “He’s the only one who says I belong to them.”

“Wow, how the hell did that happen?” I grumble, reaching to pull Wil up so I can look at him. But he
tightly clings to me.

“Uh-huh,” Wil grunts against my thigh, hiding his face. “My dad fell in love with a girl he wasn’t meant to have,” Wil voice is heartbroken. “My family came from here, so my father was sent to work for Mitchell when he was sixteen. It’s how I came to work for the Meyers’ family. By the time Dad was seventeen a surprise showed up in the form of me. My grandfather sent me to my father the day I was born.”

“Oh, Wil,” I softly cry, hand affectionately stroking his head in comfort.

“It’s why I felt connected to you,” Wil reluctantly admits. “I know who my mom is and she knows who I am. I see my grandfather all the time and he doesn’t acknowledge me
in public. I know how you feel.” Wil pulls away from me, and crouches on his balls of his feet, finally looking me in the eye.

“No,” I utter in horror- a horrible thought screams through my mind.

“No,” Wil snorts. “Not on your life, Pixy.” Wil giggles, a trilling laugh that should never come out of his mouth. “I won’t tell you who my mother is because she doesn’t give a shit about me. But no, it’s not Gwen.” He heartily laughs. “And thank God for that!” Wil’s pale blue eyes glitter with amusement.