Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (83 page)

When no one answers, thinking my question was rhetorical when it was not, I soldier on,
“Do I hate you all? No, I do not. As I’ve said to my sister countless times- you’re family- my blood- I have to love you, but I don’t have to like you. You are all my family- don’t you get that? We’re all stuck in this game and we can’t stop. Wouldn’t you like a safe place to fall? A place where you know without a shadow of a doubt the rules will be enforced? Wouldn’t you like to know that those who break the rules and hurt you will be punished? With fear, the rules will be abided. I say again, I will be unbiased and ethical… and ruthless. I hate this game, but I respect it more.”

“What do you propose for this position of Game Master- what rules would you have for yourself?” Pierre as
ks. I find it interesting, the heirs and enforcers are biting their tongues, so badly they want to speak. Jon had actually asked that question, whispering it in Pierre’s ear. The trust we all put in our faithless elders is disgusting. I would never want to be in a spot where I couldn’t voice my thoughts on a game that impacts the lives of my friends and family.

I cock my head to the side and think for a moment. “Firstly, I know that I cannot hold two positions. So it behooves us all if you would please leave my mother and sister breathing. When the time comes, one of my nieces or nephews or one of my own children
will replace the positions of heir. I do not wish to be an elder, but if something were to happen before I have a replacement, I will take their seat. Bear in mind, that will leave you without a safety net- the next Game Master may not have good intentions. A vacuum leads to an abuse of power, as you all have experienced.” I point to Mitchell’s still form.

“My rules: I will not vote, but I will voice my thoughts. I am exempt from the game. I will make no plays and I will not have any plays brought against me. I will not strategize or help anyone in any way. I will run the meetings so that this madness of cock measuring ends. You can gloat on your own time- I don’t have any free time as it is, I could give a shit less who did what to whom. I will police the smaller play, and determine if punishment should be meted out. I am safety because I will give you clear-cut boundaries that will never bend. I will do my best to be impartial. Think of me as the judge that presides over the game.”

“You’re too young,” Henry barks. “You haven’t lived long enough to have good judgment yet.”

“Or I haven’t lived long enough for my judgment to be skewed by misdeeds and perversions,” I purr. “If you are worried about me blocking your fun, then learn to go around the rules. Are
you really going to tell me no, Henry? That screams of fear- fear of someone you think is too young. If you were really that much better than me, then my being Game Master wouldn’t affect you in any way… or it just proves how often you break all of the rules in a game you helped create.”

I hate the sniveling, child-stealing, rapist of a weak man named Henry. If I could get away with it, I’d kill the bastard. But those rules that protect us all, protect him, too. Only two people on this planet can kill Henry- Boyd and Torian, and neither is related to the bastard.
Old age will mete out its sweet justice soon enough.

“I’d like to call
a vote, as is my right as the heir of both The Meyers and The Simpson,” I formally announce. “I would like to vote on adding the position of Game Master to the Game. And if it passes, I would then like to vote on taking the position. Please cast your vote by family,” meaning the order in which the family was added to the game- we are never equal under the guise of the game.

“The Meyers’ family is in favor of the Game Master,” my mother casts the first vote of her life- a thread of confidence laces her voice.

“Nay,” Henry growls, “this is utter bullshit.” He petulantly crosses his arms across his chest like the child he called me. He scowls, hating that the game has turned against his favor. Henry is now on the minority of the vote. But that doesn’t mean I’ve won. This is a brutal game, and the elders will always vote in their best interests.

“Yay,” Stanton proudly declares.

“Nay,” Pierre says, but he’s smirking because this part of the vote is already won. He smirks because he is disgusted, but the thought of the challenge he will face to outsmart me and the game, fuels fire in his blood- Pierre is a sick sonofabitch, but no one could ever call him weak. He looks forward to the added challenge in a game that was boring him.

“Yay,” Pearl adds.

Grant stands up and shouts, “YAY!”

“Yay,” Fate demurely whispers, not fit to be in this room, let alone the head of my small family.

“Even I’d say yes, if I were allowed to vote,” Anthony Marconi grumbles- hating that he isn’t allowed to play with the big boys yet- he can makes plays, and block plays, and be totally fucked left and right, but the poor bastard can’t vote. It is exactly the same way for Regina and Marcus- if they knew they were playing a game.

“Vote passes- the position of Game Master is official,” I announce. “Please proceed to vote on whether or not I am fit for the position.”

“I would like to begin first,” my sister meekly says. “Please forgive me, but I vote nay. I believe the position is needed. I believe that you would make a great Game Master, but you are my sister, and I would rather see you safe, than in charge of the game.”

My mouth pops open. I feel betrayed and stabbed in the heart. There is no way I can win with her opposing m
e. This is why she sucks as an elder, why she shouldn’t be in this game at all. She is not objective, she doesn’t think ahead. Fate is ruled by fear. Fate said she feared for my safety, but the position of Game Master puts me above the game- the safest person there is out of all the players and their pawns. Outside of assassinations- which after showing them that I do not fear murder, is unlikely- I am safe.

“That was retarded,” Grant grumbles out the side of his mouth at Fate, “proof that you should not be in this game. Hell, if Regina were able to play, she would have smacked your mouth for being an idiot.”

“I’m not angry. Everyone should have their equal say without fear of judgment. Whether I agree with Fate or not, it was her judgment call,” I exhaustedly mutter. “No interrupting the vote Grant. You’re being rude.”

“My apologies,” he playfully says with a smirk, not sorry at all. “I vote yay. I have faith in you, my sinful Faith.”

“I vote nay,” Pearl says without explanation. My blood boils in my veins- I want to stand up and scream,
what the fuck is wrong with you people? Are you gluttons for punishment? Or do you have something to hide, Pearl?

Somewhere, somehow, I find an inner-calm and keep my mouth shut. If I were to attack Pearl for her vote, then I guess I don’t deserve to be the Game Master. I prove my worth by keeping my mouth shut- doesn’t mean I didn’t call her a fucking cunt half a dozen times inside my mind, and maybe breathed out a few, too.

It’s Pierre’s turn, and I know I’m screwed. He does the one thing I would’ve done- he not only consults with Olivia, Devlin, and Jon, he turns to Anthony, and his Enforcer, Victor Vance. The group of people gets into a headed battle.

“Sure, why the hell not…” Pierre purrs, as if he is thinking salaciously violent thoughts. “It will bring a new level of play to the game.
I’m always up for a new challenge- Yay,” he places his vote.

“Absolutely,” Stanton says with a ferocity I didn’
t think he was capable of. Redemption, vindication, and pure pleasure bleeds from his pores. “I wouldn’t have arranged for this remarkable young woman to take down the head bastard if I didn’t find her capable. A hell yeah, from my small family of four: Caleb, Bianca, me… and Syn. Yay from the Green’s.”

I mouth
thank you
and smile at Stanton. I take a deep breath. The vote stands at three to three. One vote left, and she acts just like her naysayer daughter.

“Do you really want this?” The Meyers is dumbfounded
as to why I would want to have control over the game when she’s never had control over when she took a piss. My mother and I have absolutely no common ground to stand on. Gwen’s voice, her demeanor, and her beautiful face scream sensuality, but I realize for the first time ever- it’s innate, she isn’t doing it- it just is.

“I do,” is all I say, not wanting to influence her either way.

Gwen hesitates, and she then smiles brilliantly- several people’s breath catches in their throats at the sight. “Don’t ever say I didn’t give you anything,” she teases, this side of flirty, but there is an edge of innocence. “The Meyers family votes yay.”

~Chapter
Seventy-Two~

“Ugh,” I gasp a moan as I am assaulted with another round of cramps. I curl around the base of the toilet, tears streaming down my cheeks, leaving a salty taste to my lips.

I lay on the cold tile in the bathroom stall of the station locker room. I’d really thought I was pregnant. I’d been exhausted more than usual and throwing up several times a day. My period is almost a month late. But, yesterday afternoon, I started cramping. I ignored the sensation, telling myself it was nothing. Then this morning my panties had blood in the seat, and when I wiped the toilet paper was tinged pink.

I guess you really don’t know what you wanted until it’s gone.
Last week, I was so frightened, thinking I was really pregnant. I didn’t allow anyone to know I was vomiting. I wanted to be sure before I said anything. I promised myself a week before I took the test. Yesterday morning, I bought the test to take this morning. When this morning came, the blood told me there was no need.

I wanted to be strong, but I sat on the toilet in my bathroom and cried for about an hour.
The only thing that pulled me from my misery is that people count on me- I have lives to save. My not going to work means so much for me than the person who skips out going to the office. Cory or Wil, or one of the other members of the eighteenth, would have been a man down while I sat in my pity party. It would have been worse if I was late, and one of our own was hurt on a scene- I would’ve felt responsible. I pulled my panties up and got to work. My shift made me feel better- emotionally- physically, my body is revolting.

I told myself
over and over all day that I should be thrilled- being the Game Master took my play off the board, wiped the slate clean. Ezra and I no longer needed to copulate on a monthly basis for the next three months. Actually, it was two weeks ago when we would have been forced. I’d worked instead.

The cramping is violent- to the point that I thought I was paying the price for almost missing an entire cycle.
Like somehow my period compounded twice as bad to make up for its absence. But, I’m still throwing up- still exhausted- still bleeding- still cramping… a horrific thought assaults me.

Karma is going to prove she is a bigger bitch than me.

When the last of the dry heaves subsides, I crawl from the stall and use the vanity to pull myself to my feet. I guzzle water straight from the tap, swishing it around my mouth before spitting it back out. When my mouth doesn’t feel furry anymore, I sip a few ounces. I am thirsty, but I don’t dare drink until quenched, because I will be curled around the toilet again.

“Oh God,” I cry, gripping the counter with my fingernails. I whimper, shuffling to the door. My shift ended a half hour ago- that’s how long I’ve been inside the turquoise-colored stall.

I manage to make it to my car. I lean my forehead against my window, the coolness easing some of the pain. I wait for another series of cramps to pass. I fear driving and having them hit. I’ve seen too many car accidents to want to be in one of them. My car door opening shocks me. I almost fall to the ground because I was using that door for support. Instead, strong arms surround me, and place me in the passenger seat.

“What are you doing, Wil?”
I grit through the pain, fingers turning to claws. Wil starts driving us to destinations unknown, as if on autopilot.

“Out of
twenty-three people in the station house, every single one of them heard you crying out in pain. I followed you to your car.” He is driving on autopilot- to the hospital- the hospital we drive to and fro countless times per week.

“I’m just having my period,” I whimper.

“Your period is like clockwork, and you never have cramping,” Wil knowingly says.

“You are too deep in
to my private shit if you know my cycle,” I angrily hiss.

“Yeah, I’m not the only one,” he hisses back. “
Why do you think you were retrieved when you were? What good would it have done to drag you back and make you promise to have sex at the same time every month? Girls are only fertile for a few days a month- I’m not the only creep who figured out your cycle.”

“You told on me?” Even to me my voice d
oesn’t sound betrayed- expected. I sound as if I expected Wil to sell me out.

“No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that,” he damned near growls. If I weren’t cramping, I’d have rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of Wil talking about loyalty and honesty.

“Are you pregnant?” Wil hesitantly asks.

“I don’t know,” I whimper in pain. “I don’t know if this is one vicious mother of a period or if I’m having a… I don’t know if I can say the word,” I cry.

“A miscarriage? Are you sure?”  Wil calmly ask. If he would’ve freaked out, I would have broken. Wil is as calm and quiet as ever, but his foot presses the gas pedal just a bit harder.