Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (53 page)

I am blue-eyed and exposed.

“My name is Faith Gwendolyn Simpson,” I grandly announce. “My father was Thomas Simpson, and my birth mother is Gwendolyn Meyers, and the woman I called Momma was Lara Simpson. Welcome to Fate’s and my home.” I gesture to the mini-mansion that I never want to step foot into again.

“I am a sixteen-year-old murderous whore… and I am a product of this game. My parents didn’t protect me. My siblings didn’t protect me. I’ve been living by your rules since I was a fifteen-year-old innocent child. NO MORE!” I scream in their faces, rotating in a perfect circle, meeting each and every set of eyes.

“I call a meeting, as is my right as the heir to The Simpson and the future heir to The Meyers. My first order of business is that I demand the ruling on my momma- what was voted on for Lara Simpson?” I boldly stare my grandfather down, knowing Mitchell was the one who called the vote and enforced the ruling.

My momma’s rapist, my future victim, looks at me with guileless eyes without an ounce of remorse. “A death for a death,” he succinctly says.

“Olivia,” I call at random, “that’s a large gray area open to interpretation. What did you believe that meant?”

“Execution upon capture,” her French accent is captivating, but not nearly as the pain I hear inflected.

“Pearl?”

“I would have killed Lara in the manner in which she killed Thomas. Excuse my vulgarity, I
would’ve slit her throat,” Pearl growls.

“Boyd?”

“I agree with Pearl,” he tightly answers.

“Kristal?” I ask, needing to capture the
answer from an enforcer.

“It wou
ld have depended on her behavior,” Kris says with an attitude that she owns. “I apologize for my opinion since I love Fate and you, baby girl, but your momma deserved to die,” she softly mumbles.

“I acknowledge that the vote was fit and just since I was the one to execute my own mother,” I admit. The gasps from t
wo-thirds of the members inform me that this wasn’t common knowledge. My sister looks like she’s going to be ill.

“What is the punishment for breaking a rule? Pu
nishment: usually involves your family members versus yourself, because it offers a larger payoff to watch those you love suffer. The ultimate punishment is death. Correct?” I ask, receiving murmured yays in response.

“Who captured Lara Simpson?”

“I did,” Raymond murmurs in a voice that is painful to hear, since he sounds exactly like Ezra.

“I did,” Wil parrots his partner, in a voice that is even more painful to hear
, for so many horrific reasons.

“Who took custody?”
I prompt.

“I did,” Mitchell says as if he is bored.

“Thank you, Grandfather,” I pleasantly say. “I call a vote!” I shout and every eye stares at me in shock. “I accuse Mitchell Meyers of breaking the rules. After I lay out the course of events, I want to vote for his punishment. If found guilty, the only person to receive the punishment is Mitchell.”

Mumbles, curses, and gasps of shock and outrage meet my request. I ignore it and soldier on. “The majority agreed that the vote of execution meant expedient death in a manner
befitting to the death caused at Lara Simpson’s hand. Lara was captured and held for days. Days in which she was tied to a bed, forced to urinate and defecate on herself. Nourishment and water were withheld. She was repeatedly subjected to rape by Mitchell Meyers. I found my mother in such a state that I don’t think mental and medical professionals would have been able to heal her injuries.”

I pace the arch of members, combat boots pounding the marble tile. I stare each and every one of them down, and they wince when I meet their stunned gazes.

“I went to my mother to say goodbye. I wasn’t sure if I was going to release her or kill her. I was hurt and angry because my daddy was dead. I understand an eye for an eye. But what I saw… my momma was reduced to something lower than an animal. I killed her out of mercy as she begged me for her death.”

“Women are not the weaker fucking sex!” I scream so loud the chandelier vibrates. I jump with every word, pounding my fists on my thighs
out of fury and frustration. “Just because we can’t fight you off, doesn’t give you the right to violate us!”

I yank at my hair and snarl. I turn into a rabid animal as the thirst to kill flows through me, over me, and tries to suffocate me.

“I just want to take every fucking one of you that has a dick and tie your asses down. I want to tell you what to do, how and when to speak, and who, what, and when you’re going to fuck. Then I want some huge motherfucker to rape you- repeatedly- until you get what it feels like to be a woman EVERY FUCKING DAY OF HER LIFE!” roars from my chest.

I stand in the center of the foyer, my tantrum echoing around my home. I snarl in disgust at every person in the room- they either have a dick or accept that dick to tell them what to do- both are unacceptable in my sixteen-year-old mind
... and that view is never going to change.

“Vote,” I flippantly say as if I didn’t just have a meltdown in front of twenty-some of my enemies. “The Meyers is exempt, correct?”

“Yes.” “Yeah.” “Sure.” “Yes.” Randomly mumbles from the shocked crowd. I feel
his
and
her
gaze on me, but I don’t care.
She
looks impressed and hopeful and scared and I don’t want to acknowledge what it all means.
He
just looks sad.

“Yay, in favor of Mitchell’s punishment,” Pearl spits.

“Nay, against Mitchell’s punishment,” Pierre says, a delighted sick light glows from his green eyes.

Olivia
smoothly stands, crosses the spans of the arch in the blink of an eye, and hauls off and punches Pierre in the face. Pierre’s head whips back. He gives it a slight shake, and then tips it to the side as a signal. Out of nowhere, Jon appears, and just as quickly Devlin has the smaller man’s hand in his fist. There is some major dissention in the ranks at the Fontaines.

I see it as they stand toe-to-toe, the resemblance. Pale blue gaze that is nearly white, the way they carry their frame, the way their fists clench in time with their jaws-
black or white, skin color doesn’t change a thing, Jon Wilson is Devlin Conrick’s father… and that of all things has me looking at Wil.

I flash Wil an
I know what you didn’t want me to know
look that means so much that I can only look for a split-second before emotions overtake me. It’s so quick that I have no idea if Wil saw the look or not. But it doesn’t matter, because I only needed a glimpse of his stern profile before the wealth of pain and betrayal flows over me and rolls me under.

“Yay,” Stanton growls to get us back on track. The almost-fight dissolves with Jon sitting next to Pierre and Olivia with Devlin.

“Yay,” Grant quickly answers.

“I wish I could vote,” Anthony grumbles, glaring at Pierre. His fingers dig into his knees. I wonder if he wants to hurt Pierre because of the vote or because the man almost struck his wife.

Ever my grandfather’s lackey, Henry says, “nay,” with a wince, waiting for someone to hit him, too.

“Sister,” I call, everyone waits with bated breath. With The Meyers out of the vote, it could end up in a stalemate- the vote caller always wins a stalemate- meaning this time around it will be me, in favor of punishment. Fate’s vote could result in a stalemate or a nay for Mitchell’s punishment. My sister needs a backbone for two seconds- that’s all. Because
I
need
her support-
we
need her support. Momma needs her support.

Fate looks at me, shy Fate, who hides at the first sign of conflict. She tu
rns her face and stares down our grandfather in challenge. “YAY,” her feminine growl echoes around our foyer. “I look forward to the day Faith says you are dead. You should have known better. You just signed your own death sentence.” Fate looks to her lap as if she never spoke a word.

“The Elders meet in private to discuss the punishment that shall be mete out,” Stanton says in a calm and collected voice. “I p
ropose we meet tomorrow night, giving us twenty-four hours for the allegations to sink in and marinate. We will entertain all ideas for a fitting punishment and vote on each and every one.”

“I have one more suggestion- we need a solution
to the vacuum of power. There are no checks and balances to this game. The greed and lust fuels you all to ‘bend’ the rules with little or no consequence. We need to ratify that… and soon.”

“Trying to promote yourself, granddaughter?” Mitchell snidely says. It doesn’t matter what look he gives me, I see my mother’s blood on his hands and the X on his forehead marking him for death. I don’t even reply.

“You would be the one to be against that,” Grant snarls.

“Oh, moving on to the daughter now, are we?” Mitchell counters. “I wish you’d quit playing hide-and-seek with my offspring.”

“First, I’m hiding myself from your twisted game of rape-and-seek. Second, if
it
has ever touched my mother or sister,
it
will never touch me again,” I spit, eyes latching onto Wil’s pale gaze… and I see it, he now knows that I know his biggest secret- his betrayal. I don’t give Wil the satisfaction of my pain. I don’t show him the disgust he seeks. I show him disinterest. I shrug and look away.

“The Elders will discuss your suggestion when we meet for Mitchell’s punishment. Syn, thank you,” Stanton affectionately says, pride strong in his voice. “I belie
ve it’s safest if Grant escorts his ladies from the premises,” Stan stresses.

They rise from their seats with feral expressions and a restlessness- lions ready to gorge on the kill. The kill is less than five feet tall with a huge red target on her back
- and for once, she ain’t me.

Grant manages to grip Fate and Kristal’s arms in
one hand and mine in the other. He drags us from our house with Roman at our heels. We’re shoved into Grant’s car before we can even register that we are moving.

~Chapter Forty-Four~

Grant is quiet as he drives us away
from the chaos, fingers tight on the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. Roman just keeps flicking glances at all of us, like he’s wondering what the hell he just got himself into- he keeps mumbling underneath his breath about how gangbangers have nothing on rich psychopaths. Anger is radiating off of Kristal in waves, like she wants to jump from the moving car and run back to my house and kick some ass. On the spot, I decide I respect Kristal and she will do as Fate’s enforcer.

Past forgotten, I pull my sister into my arms, stroking her back and murmuring words of comfort into her hair. My daddy was a bad man, but a promise made is a promise kept. I promised to take care of my sister and I will. She is hurting and it’s my job to fix what I can. I comfort her as she cries. No daughter should ever know the brutality their mother lived
and died. I would know, I saw it with my own eyes, and it will haunt me until the day I die.

“
I’m proud of you,” I declare, and I’m as surprised as everyone else in the car that I mean it.

“For what?” Fate mumbles.

“For taking a stand for something you believe in. For doing the right thing no matter the consequences. For voting in favor of Momma,” I choke up.

“I’m not brave like you,” Fate shamefully says. “I’m not strong like you. Everything terrifies me.”

“Well, no surprise there, sister. I’ve always wanted to be like you. I’ve been jealous and angry. It helps to know you feel the same… I don’t have to like you,” I honestly say. “But you can come to me for anything and I will make sure you get it. Don’t think you are alone. Don’t rely on anyone but me. I don’t think you are stupid, Fate. But I say this because I know you. You are not a good judge of character. I’ve fucked up, but never again… Come to me and I will tell you if it is safe. Promise me!” I order.

“Yes, sister,” she sniffles.

“Don’t trust anyone until I give the okay,” I demand, shaking Fate to get through her grief. The firmer I am with my sister, the clearer her eyes become. I don’t understand it. Someone telling me what to do just pisses me the hell off. But it’s comforting Fate, giving her a purpose.

“Come to me first,” I demand. “But if you can’t get to me- Grant. Grant wil
l find me. Don’t ever retaliate against someone unless it is life or death. Don’t have Kristal do it, either. There would be stiff penalties for you both. As an heir, I have more leeway than an elder or enforcer. The rules have loopholes.”

“I don’t want you to kill anyone else, sister. It will hurt you,” Fate whimpers.

“Nowhere as badly as it would hurt you. You don’t have it in you, and I do. I’m very practical. Do you see it now? Do you see that this isn’t a game- we aren’t living, we’re surviving- it’s life or death.”

“I don’t understand what made them so angry back there,” Kris says
as Grant pulls up in front of Whittenhower Estates. The building looms ahead- it dark and foreboding and it matches the mood that’s descended in the car.