Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (43 page)

“Marcus and…” I eagerly prompt, knowing it just has to be Marcus- that Jamie business screams of a life filled with history.

“Dexter
Hayes. He and Marcus are cousins, raised as brothers. I’ve spoke of him before,” Grant whispers in my ear, making me jump. After he pulls back, the warm, fluttery feeling dissolves. “The boys are ten months apart in age- Dexter is the oldest. But they were in the same year of school, with me a year ahead. We went to Hillbrook and it was… it was good. We had each other’s backs and we excelled. A month before they started their senior year and me my freshman year of college, my mother and their grandmother were feeling charitable and dragged us along. They wanted us to see how the other half lived. Rebekah was a huge philanthropist and she heavily influenced my mother. They wanted to create a scholarship program for Hillbrook.”

“You’re telling me about why you don’t think you deserve Regina, aren’t you?”
I look over my shoulder as his fingers freeze on my back. Grant casts his eyes to the bed, refusing to look at me. He doesn’t speak until he no longer feels my gaze on his face.

“You wanted distracted, and this will do it,” Grant teases, but his heart isn’t in it. “We’re bored out of our skulls, pretending we didn’t stick out like a sore thumb at Transcend while an eighty-year-old and a fifty-year-old interview potential students. This tall, gangly
looking kid walks up. Her hair was a strawberry blonde mess. She walked like she owned the place and she just knew she’d get the scholarship, because she would accept nothing less. Marc and I called dibs at almost the same,” Grant laughs, a spark shining in his blue eyes.

“I guess you won, right?”
I say, but don’t look at him. I want him to keep occupying me and rubbing my back.

“Oh, hell no! Dexter is a cheating bastard. I said I said it first and Marc said he did. Dexter broke the tie, saying that the girl was still a kid, and the he called me a pervert. I was almost nineteen and Dexter was almost eighteen and Marc seventeen.”

“You conceded didn’t you,” I shake my head in disgust. “And I bet you called dibs first. You let Marc win.” My head cranes back. I can’t not look at him, because I need to see the smile on his face that I hear in his voice.

“Yeah,” Grant whispers, blushing like a sonofabitch. “They were right, though. Regina was only thirteen or fourteen. We agreed that Marc should wait ‘til she was an adult before he went after her. Marc was already living at ShadowHaven, engaged to be married to Diane. It was a fake marriage. Hell, we didn’t even know she was a lesbian yet. But stalking a minor would be… bad, very, very bad.”

“How did you end up with her?” I ask, turning my body around so I can look at his face. Grant looks defeated- hurt- agonized.

“Uncle Jack was dragging me to meetings, and I never paid attention. One night, I paid attention. They kept saying the scholarship student. There were four of them by then, but it caught my attention. A unanimous vote was cast. A vote that said I was to date the scholarship kid. Regina’s academics caught the Elders
’ notice. They knew she was destined for greatness, and they wanted her in their game. They were already stalking Marcus.”

Grant sighs, his hands leaving my back. He
turns to face the wall, feet dangling off the bed until they rest on the floor. “Marcus was in love with Regina by then. They’d shared a year of school, but she didn’t know he existed. Marc kept tabs on Regina through Adelaide and his grandmother. Marc felt connected to Regina for some reason. I was put into a horrible position that you understand all too well, Faith.”

“Ah, Grant, what were you supposed to do?” I try to pull on his shoulder so he will look at me, but he won’t budge.

“I could have told Marc the truth. It’s against the rules, the punishment is death. I’ve struggled every day for years to tell him the truth. He is my best friend. He would do anything to protect me… and I took his girl away and knocked her up.” Grant hangs his head in his hands, and I hear the tears he doesn’t want me to see. “I didn’t even do the right thing. I made the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with my mistress. I’ve disrespected us all. I’ve made us the brunt of jokes and town gossip because the elders voted on it.”

“You couldn’t help it,” I defend him.

“Couldn’t I?” Grant’s head whips up, and his blue eyes tinged in red pierce me. “I’m the one who blamed it on my father. I’m the one that continues the charade. I’m the one that tells her I love her and I’m not sure if I do or not,” Grant’s voice breaks on a sob. “I don’t even know what love is anymore. I thought I loved your mother and she wrecked me- incinerated me- tore me the fuck apart,” Grant spits. “I thought I loved Marc, but I took Regina from him. I look at my first born and I call him brother. I disrespect Regina, Whitt, and Niel by not telling the truth. I do worse to Regina. I make her my mistress, I steal her child and say it’s Cora’s, I hold her hostage by using her son as leverage.”

“You’re not the one who is doing it,” I protest.

“Bullshit. It was voted in, but it’s me who does it. I’m a bad person, Faith,” Grant challenges me to disagree. I’ve never seen him gearing up for a fight. Right now, Grant reminds me of me. I tell him what I wish people would tell me when I feel like a wild animal that needs to lash out to protect itself.

“We’re all good and bad. It’s our intentions that separate us from being evil,” I offer as comfort.
“You love her,” I say with conviction. “You deserve her.”

“I. DON’T!” Grant screams at me
, refusing to see the truth. He abruptly launches off the bed, and in two strides he’s out the door. I’m ready to go after him, but I hear a door loudly slam shut- so loud it reminds me of what I did to Wil’s apartment door.

I curl up in a ball, trying to think of Grant and his problems. It’s easier to rationalize other people’s issues than deal with my own. I try my damnedest not to think of the fact that the smiling man I called Daddy is dead in the city morgue. The warm man who played with me, chased me, and gave me the best hugs on the planet is laying on a cold slab waiting for unspeakable acts to be performed on his body.

I will never hear his infectious laugh. I will never feel his arms surround me in a bear hug that makes me feel safe and secure. I will never hear the slip of his non-accent into a full-fledged West Virginia drawl as he and I chat about everything and nothing. I will never enjoy the look of impatience from Fate and Momma as Daddy and I chatted in what constituted as our own language of slang. It always gave me pleasure because that meant Daddy and I were connected in a way that transcended the relationship he had with his wife and oldest daughter.

I’ll never be a daddy’s girl again.

In the past six months, I’ve lost everything: Momma. Fate. Aunt Amelia. Life as I knew it. My innocence. My future. My freedom. Daddy.

“Daddy,” I keen, curling tighter in a ball, trying to hug myself. I rock back and forth as I sob.
Strong waves of grief wrack my body until I feel like I’m going to shatter.

“Shh…” Grant soothingly murmurs in my ear. He picks me up and holds me. “Think of the things you’ve gained,” he answers what I thought had been unspoken pain. “Think of the changes you can make to your life. Think of the friendships you’ve forged. Don’t dwell in the pain or it will eat you alive until you are an empty shell that can’t deal with reality…. I would know,” Grant cries with me.

A t-shirt is tucked under my chin, a whiff of Wil’s comforting scent wafts up my nose. Grant somehow knows that Wil grounds me, fortifies me. Something cold is pressed into my hand. I laugh through the tears as Grant gives me my weapon- Daddy’s fireplace poker. I will never part with it.

~Chapter Thirty-Three~

As I pad down the hallway after waking to an empty bed and showering, I hear mumbled voices and my name. Stanton is back, and he and Grant are having a heated discussion about me. The sexual issues comment has me pausing. I strain to hear more, but nothing else is audible- it sounds like the adults on
Charlie Brown
. If emotions had substance, worry and fear would be coloring the air. I may not hear the words, but both men are concerned.

Giving up, I ghost from the hallway into the living room
. I see breakfast spread out on the table, and it turns my stomach. Never backing down from anything, I make a selection of toast and smear some blackberry jam on it. The lack of talking is my first clue. I turn to see Stanton and Grant looking at me strangely.

“What?” my voice breaks in confusion. I gesture to my toast, “Not for me?”

“Girl, what are you, a ninja?” Stanton looks so stunned that I bark out a laugh.

“I kept saying and no one would listen… I’m not meant to continue on with my mom’s side of the family business. I’m more criminal than whore,” I huskily say. “Watching Wil has taught me a lot,” I pointedly say, taking a huge bite of toast.

“Evidently,” Stanton drawls. “Good morning,” he pleasantly says, walking over to the breakfast table. The apartment has an open floor plan that I’m not used to. I’ve lived in a trailer and a micro-mansion. Neither had a large area filled with a kitchen, dining area, and family room. Personally, it’s too much wide open space without a place to hide and feel safe.

“I’d ask if you slept well, but I know you didn’t,” Stanton commiserates as he settles in a seat at the table. He starts loading a plate with sausage and scrambled eggs.

“Thanks,” I say, making it sound like I meant it, but the teenager gets loose. “I guess you’re saying I look like shit,” I say around another bite of toast.

“Little girl,” Stanton begins, “I deal wit
h bigger and badder on a minute-to-minute basis. You ain’t nothing I haven’t dealt with a billion times,” Stanton cautions and threatens at the same time. “But the sleeping comment isn’t about your appearance. It’s from mutual experience and Grant said you didn’t get any sleep.”

Grant’s
pleased smile gives me another clue.

“You dick,” I hiss at Grant. “You used Bianca to lure me here. You expect Stanton to fix my shit,” I hiss.

“And that,” Grant says as he tries to contain a laugh- the rat-bastard, “is my cue to leave.” He walks over and gives me a big, strong hug. Grant’s arms tightly band around my back, nearly suffocating me. Grant is soft skin and hard muscles, but it’s the soothing murmur of his soft voice and his familiar scent that relaxes me. I take a deep breath and wipe a few stray tears away.

“Don’t be a stranger,” I whisper, nearing panic-levels. I don’t know Stanton. I’ve lost so much. I want Grant to stay. 

“I won’t,” Grant promises. “I’ll call you daily and visit often, so often that you will be sick of seeing my ugly mug.”

“Ugly?
As if,” I scoff. “Dumbass.”

“Be a good girl and get your shit together or Stanton will make you behave
and force you to step in line. Always remember where Caleb is and where he will be going. The only advice I give, Stanton is the perfect dad and he is kind. But he never, ever fucks around. He says what he means, and he expects you to do it the first time around.”

“Oh, great,” I sarcastically say. “My worst nightmare since I’m a teenager with a huge motherfucking problem with authority.”

Grant’s laugh is warm and infectious. “Behave,” he whispers in my ear. I receive another strong hug and a soft kiss to the cheek. “I’ll call you tonight, Stan,” Grant says as he releases me and walks towards the elevator door. I watch his back disappear, feeling like I just lost my only ally and friend.

“Rule one,” Stanton says, not fucking around. He thoughtfully chews his breakfast while I stare at him in horror. Stanton has brown curly hair and chocolate brown eyes. His hair and eyes make him look friendly. He can’t be more than late twenties or early thirties- he almost looks the same age as Grant. But I can tell he’s older. Looking at Stanton’s handsome face, Roman nose, and chiseled jaw, and full lips, I can see that my mom had no issue making Bianca. I bet she even liked it a little- or a whole lot.

I instantly feel like shit. Ezra is a feast for the eyes. I even enjoyed it. But it didn’t lessen the shame and guilt I feel every day. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if we’d created a child. My life has paralleled my mother’s to the point that I actually understand her. And isn’t that just sick?

“Swearing: talk like a sailor for all I care, just not around your sister,” Stanton warns.

“Yes, sir.” I look at my toast, shredding it into little pieces with my fingertips. I feel his eyes penetrate me, looking, searching for my secrets. I glance up, realizing he wants me to look him in the eyes when I answer. Stanton isn’t like most men. He doesn’t want a child who bows down to him; he just wants an honest one.

I shake my head and say again, firmly this time, “Yes, sir. I don’t want my sister hearing it
, either.”

“Rule two: no visitors. No elders. No e
nforcers. No family. Grant will visit. You will have Bianca, Grant, and me. When Caleb comes home, he will entertain you. Soon you will have Roman. Grant told me that he showed Roman to you.”

“Yes, Sir,” I firmly say, never breaking eye contact.

“It sounds harsh. But the game players don’t know where I live. They think I live in the building where I was raised, the building my father used as our headquarters. I live here as protection.”