Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (54 page)

“Yeah, I’m fucking lost,” Roman groans from the front seat
, turning to face me.

I can tell that Grant is too furious to speak
. We’re parked, but his hands are tight on the steering wheel and his eyes are gazing forward at nothing. He’s panting in panic.

“Mitchell will be out for blood. I just turned the tables on a game he thought he controlled. For the first time ever, a vote didn’t sway his way. The power has shifted. Pearl, Grant, and Stan have always opposed Mitchell, Henry, Pierre, and Daddy. They are bringing in Anthony, hoping he is another yes man. Marcus and Regina were voted in because the game needed balanced. Sister,” I call, pulling her from my chest so that she can look at me- so she can see the gravity of her vote.

“Mitchell will be out for blood- mine and yours and Grants. He thinks Grant controls you. You voted with Grandfather’s opposition for the first time ever. You are no longer his pet. Mitchell thinks you are Grant’s pet. Grant just put his family at risk for us. It’s why he brought Roman in as his enforcer. Before… Grant was seen as weak, without protection. Tonight was an open declaration of war. Men like Mitchell Meyers don’t take kindly to punishment.”

“Thank you, Grant,” Fate softly murmurs.

“Don’t mention it,” Grant breathes, “just stay safe.”

My eyes connect with Grant’s in the review mirror- he is petrified of Mitchell’s retaliation… and he will retaliate against Grant. It’s against the rules for Mitchell to harm Fate or me. Grandfather sees Grant as the one hiding me and whispering in Fate’s ear. He is also the one who has direct ties with both Regina and Marcus.

“Kris, you and Fate need to go inside. Grant has to take Roman and me… somewhere,” I mumble, not trusting anyone to know where I live, even my sister.

After a few protests, the girls are out of the car and we are winding down Whittenhower Estate’s three mile long drive. The tension in the car is suffocating. If emotions were visible, a gray cloud would be wafting from Grant’s flesh.

“I have to sit with you until Stanton arrives,” Grant woodenly says as he parks out front of Stanton’s building. Morretti’s is closed for the night, but Ridin’ High is packed to its seams. I watch two guys fight with broken beer bottles and a length of chain. Nothing I ain’t seen in this neighborhood before.

I watch Grant’s
hands, fingers shaking on the steering wheel.

“Get back to your family and make sure they are safe. Hug your sons and talk to Regina,” I softly say. “I’ll be safe. Once I walk through that door, there are a lot of badass motherfuckers who will protect me to the death. Whittenhower Estates isn’t so lucky.”

“Go,” Roman says, “I have a few hours before the crowd hits my ally. I’ll stay with Syn until the boss man gets home.”

Grant says nothing as Roman and I exit the car. As soon as my door closes, Grant is peeling away from the curb,
leaving skid marks in his wake. The sound was loud enough that the combatants stopped fighting to watch.

Stanton is a man of stringent rules. Not knowing if he would be upset that Roman invaded his personal space, I take Roman to the roof. I grabbed some sodas and a bag of chips on my way past the kitchen. Roman’s eyes eat everything up- being observant is a quality trait. I think Ro
man is a good match as Grant’s enforcer.

“I bet you sit up here all the time,” Roman says, leaning over the half-wall to look to the ground. “I would,” he wistfully says. “I’m stuck in the basement apartment.”

“I love it up here, but it’s out of boredom,” I grumble. I take my position in front of the telescope and gaze into the lowlifes a block down the street. A john doesn’t even seek the privacy of the
inside
of his car. He leans against his car door as a disease-infested hooker drops to her knees and sucks him into her mouth without a condom. That dude just paid a woman to give him a blow job and a case of Herpes that he’ll take home to his wife. Ain’t no orgasm worth that shit. It’s just another night of contagious debauchery in the neighborhood. The gunfire doesn’t even make me blink anymore.

“Um… I think you’re using it wrong,” Roman says with a laugh. “Pretty sure you point it at the sky and stargaze.”

“You have a nice laugh,” I admit before I can tell myself to shut up. Roman’s laugh is warm and friendly. It reminds me of nights on Aunt Amelia’s porch, when her beau of the month would let me have a beer while they had several. Her boyfriend would tell outrageous stories and we’d all laugh. It was music for the soul, and I miss it.

“Minor,” Roman sings, a flirty smile pulling at his red lips. “And even if you weren’t, you’re not my type, baby.” He self-consciously tucks his silky hair behind his ear.

“Dumbass, I’m not anyone’s type,” I snarl, trying not to be offended but I am. “I’m not hitting on you. You’re dang hot- I’m not too proud to admit that. I just meant that I liked hearing you laugh. I’ve been very lonely for… the normalcy of nothingness. Stupid conversations that don’t revolve around life or death or duty… and I’m most certainly using this right,” I say to change the conversation as I step away from the telescope. “Have a look.”

Roman looks in the telescope and gasps. “Holy shit, what are you, a member of the crime stoppers?”

“HA!” I bark a laugh. “Hardly, Stanton and I watch so he knows who to recruit or fire.”

I blush like a sonofabitch as Roman puts the telescope in its usual position. “Um… this is how you knew so much about me and we
ren’t afraid to approach me,” Roman grumbles. “Lovely.”

“Boredom,” I reply with a shrug.

“Get a new hobby,” Roman growls.

“You are my hobby. I had to make sure you were capable for having my friend’s back. Grant needs you,” I sadly say as I drift back over to my chair and plunk down.

“I’m so glad you approve,” Roman murmurs while watching the crowd. “You really do need a hobby or go to a movie or something.”

“Stanton won’t let me out of his sight. I wanted you to be brought into the game so I could have a buddy. I don’t want you
in the way you’re thinking. I know Stanton was worried about that, but it’s bullshit. I just wanted someone who doesn’t know my past and hasn’t been handpicked by Mitchell or Gwen. I’d love to walk down the street and go shopping or to the movies or for a snack. But Stanton is controlling.”

“So you need me because I don’t know you, but Stanton would approve, is that about right?”
Roman flatly asks.

“Yeah,” I bashfully say.

“Kid, I’m not a babysitter,” Roman growls, annoyed by me already. “I won’t be ordered to befriend you.”

“Never mind- forget I ever said anything.” I slice my hand through the air, clearing the conversation.
I feel stupid for thinking that someone would want to be seen in public with me. Wil’s words are always at the fore of my mind. Public or private, I annoy everyone just because I live.

“Have you ever heard of Parkour?”
I say to change the subject and to cut off my destructive internal monologue. If I let my mind roam free for too long, I’ll be near wrist-slitting in no time.

“I’ve heard of it, why?” Roman
grumbles, still angry at me. He intently watches our neighbors with the telescope.

“Roman,” I groan, “I apologize, okay? I didn’t mean anything by it. I never asked Grant or Stan to make
you be my friend. Just forget I said anything… I know I have nothing to offer as a friend.”

“Syn?” Roman wrenches his attention from the criminal underworld to look at me. He’s confused
, and I don’t feel like explaining or continually apologizing.

“So Stanton thought I might be good at Parkour after I told him about all the climbing, hiking, and tree climbing I did back in West Virginia. I know you don’t want to do Parkour with me or anything,”
I shyly say, “I just need to know if I should try it out.”

“Parkour is more of the baby crime lord’s speed. His graduation is in a few weeks. He’ll play with you,” Roman reassures me.

“Because Stanton tells him to-”

“I tell whom what?” Stanton asks as he sneaks up on us. “I’m glad you weren’t bitching about me, now that would have been uncomfortable,” Stanton drawls out in his calm
, deep voice.

“I believe I called you controlling, but I think stifling is more appropriate,” I nonchalantly say. Roman freaks out that I’m about to have my ass kicked, but Stan just laughs.

“As you can see from my spyglass, you have a few customers milling around- like over ten,” Stan stresses. “I think Syn is safe now. I’m the one that she was eyeing last night. I was scared she was going to push me over the wall… and that was before she was a killer!”

“Very funny, fuckface,” I hiss.

“Duty calls,” Roman says with a grin. He disappears into the stairwell, no doubt happy to be away from us before Stan ordered him to play nice with me.

“I tell whom what?”
Stan settles into his chair beside me, beer in hand, just like when I first came to live here.

“I asked Roman to play with me, but he sees me as an annoying little sister that he has to babysit. I was asking him if he was into Parkour. He wants nothing to do with me,” I sigh. “He suggested Caleb, so I told him that you’ll just tell Caleb to hang out with me even if he doesn’t want to. I think Roman left fearing you’d order him around.”

“Syn, really? I won’t buy your friends or order my brother to play with you,” Stanton says, perturbed. His face is drawn tight and his lips are puckered in distaste. “Caleb will like you. You’re practically the same age and like the same things. I won’t have to say anything.”

“I need some freedom,” I spit out before I can stop myself. “I work hard, I take care of Bianca- I need a life.”

“You’re not dating until you’re eighteen,” Stanton declares, case closed.

“I could give a fuck less,” I growl. “I just mean walking down the block without Julio. I’m not allowed to go anywhere except to work and Bianca’s school. I need to breathe. You’re suffocating me, Stanton,” I whine.

“For your own protection,” he growls at me. “You know better than to question-”

Crack! Crack! Crack!

“That was close,” I say in a quivering voice, standing up from my chair in a daze. Instinct taking over, I edge toward the front of the building, and fear has my feet swiftly moving without thought. “I’ve never heard gunfire on your block before,” I yell as I run to the edge of the roof and look over the side.

My hand covers my lips as a silent scream pours from my mouth that instantly erupts into a very real sound. “Stanton! NO!” 

We bolt into the stairwell and exit into the living room of our apartment. Neither of us can stand the wait of the elevator. We use the back staircase and run down five flights. The exit door hits the wall as we erupt.

“Frankie!” Stanton breathlessly orders, “Call nine-one-one. Roman’s been shot.” As Stan barks out his request, I run through the reception area. “Marcus Zeitler will notify Grant,” is the last thing I hear as I charge out the door and run headlong across the street. It’s the first time no one has stopped me.

~Chapter Forty-Five~

Gunfire makes everyone scatter like cockroaches in the light. There are no heroes when the criminals are waiting for the police to show and ask questions. The street is usually filled with more than fifty people milling around. Now there is only a fallen Roman. Everyone fled: no one saw anything or heard anything… and they sure as fuck won’t help.

I feel like an Olympic sprinter as I cross the street. But time still
s, making the two seconds feel like an eternity as my feet thud on the wet pavement with a splat.

I land hard on my knees, falling to the ground before my body can register the request from my mind. Roman is deathly pale- the white of bleeding out. His beautiful skin is no longer a healthy
tan hue and his eyes are no longer vibrant blue-green. I’ve seen eyes like that before- early this morning. My Momma’s eyes looked just like Roman’s do now- glazed-over and lifeless, fading out.

Roman is dying.

I whip off my sweatshirt and press it to Roman’s leaking chest. It’s a fatal shot to the heart. My arms aren’t strong enough to put enough pressure on the wound. I crawl on top of Roman and use my knees to put pressure on his chest to staunch the blood flow.

“Look at me, buddy,” I coax. Roman’s eyelashes flutter- he’s trying. “You’re not going to die. I’ve had enough people die on me today.”

Stanton is at my side, looking helpless. For a man that is always in control, he can’t handle that Roman’s life is in God’s hands at this moment. The only thing we can do is pray, and that isn’t good enough for a man like Stanton. We need a miracle, but Stanton and I aren’t the type to wait for miracles- we want to be able to perform our own.

“Ambulance?
” I breathlessly ask in a wavering voice, sobs hitching in my throat. “Please tell me this wasn’t reported as a gang shooting, they will never come!” I yelp in outrage.

“I may have had Frankie lie to get their attention,” Stanton
hopelessly bites out. His hand rakes through his brown hair out of frustration.

“How’s that?” I ask, pretending that I don’t hear a gurgling sound coming out of Roman’s chest.
I watch his eyelashes, begging them to lift and show Roman’s twinkling eyes.

“Frankie said that he thought Roman was an undercover officer working a drug sting,” Stanton says in an amused tone I’ve never heard him use before. He quickly sobers. “Roman was shot because of us. I don’t care if I go to jail or
have to hand over all of my money. The only thing I want is for this young man to live. He is my employee, but for years I’ve waited for him to join our game. I’ve watched after Roman and Regina both. The reason Roman sells where he sells is because everyone knows he’s untouchable- even the police. Now… I didn’t protect him- I couldn’t protect him,” Stanton keens deep from his chest.

Roman’s hot blood is so
aking through my jeans, turning icy cold against my skin. My jeans are absorbing his blood from ankle to knee and wicking it up to my thighs. I worry. We need our blood to stay in our bodies. We can’t make it as quickly as Roman is leaking it.

“Roman… Roman… Buddy, come on. Stay with me,” I rapidly say to the dying man. “Grant needs you
, and none of us can handle your death on our conscious. I’ve lost too many people in the past few weeks. Don’t die on me,” I cry. “I need to know if you’re a cool guy or if it’s just an act you portray. C’mon, buddy.”

My eyes focus on Roman but my ears are focused on sirens. I try to sort through the car alarms, street noise, the music and ruckus spilling from the bar. A woman down the block is yelling at her no good man about spending their money on crack. Several men are fighting outside of Ridin’ High
. I concentrate so strongly that I can hear their fists connecting on flesh, and the grunt of pain that immediately follows.

Doesn’t anyone care that a man is dying out on the filthy street? All they give a shit about is their piece of shit lives that will never do any good for the world- another fix, another fuck, another drink, another fight. Just as long as they get their needs met, nothing else matters. They are a different kind of evil than my grandfather and the rest of the game players, but no less destructive. The game proactively influences lives, for the best and the worst- creating innovators and killers while destructing lives. The indifference these bastards display sickens me- they create new generations of addicts and take the future from their children’s lives. I will never call my sister deadweight or worthless again, because tonight, as a man dies, I see real worthlessness. Aren’t there any
more heroes in this world? A new thread of anger winds around my soul, so tightly that I feel like I will suffocate from the frustration.

“It didn’t work,” I whine, stifling my need to start bawling. Crying won’t bring Roman back. I can feel his body falling lax. The lean muscles beneath my calves no longer hold the tension of life. I want to fall apart and
scream, but I tell myself I need to stay focused.

“Mitchell did this as a warning, as a message. It was against the rules. You c
an’t attack or kill the enforcer. It will start a nasty precedent. You can’t let him get away with this,” I hiss at Stanton. “This proves, now more than ever, that we need someone to police the game.”

“
We all know Mitchell did it and we can’t prove it. Whatever punishment we find tomorrow night will be stiff and severe. Those who were on the fence during the vote will now vote for Mitchell’s punishment. They will fear for their enforcers- they are treated like family… and in most cases, they are family,” Stanton mumbles, his mind going to his own enforcer, his brother.

“No punishment is stiff enough for raping and torturing a woman or for killing an innocent man,” I sharply bark out, surprised at my conviction.
“Death is too kind, even.”

My eyes close in silent thanks- I hear it- the wail of the ambulance.

The minutes that follow, happen in a daze. Arms pull me off of Roman, asking me if I am hurt. I numbly shake my head because I’m unable to speak. The paramedics slide Roman onto a strange looking orange board and secure him to it. I watch in awe as they perform lifesaving acts that I wish I knew how to do. They are the real heroes because their magic is keeping Roman breathing, his heart still pumping. They are heroes because they make me believe there is a reason to hope- hope for a brighter future, hope that people out in the world are still good, hope that Roman will live.

I mumble the word sister as I crawl into the ambulance with Roman and the paramedic.
I’m so upset and covered in blood that they don’t question the blood tie I have with Roman. I distantly hear Stanton say he’s following in the car.

During the ride to the hospital, I stare at the side of Roman’s face as the paramedic asks me Roman’s medical history. I just shake my head no over and over. Finall
y the man asks if I am really Roman’s sister. I blankly say
foster sister
, not knowing how or why I thought it. The hero gives me a sad smile in understanding and continues to question me in hopes that I can answer something.

Every few minutes the paramedic checks Roman’s vitals. I watch in interest as he takes Roman’s blood pressure and monitors
Roman’s heart rate and breathing. I need to know how to do this. The life I was born into is more dangerous than the lives born in Stanton’s neighborhood. I need to be able to save a life. I need to be a hero to balance out my evil. For every life I take, I should save several more.

I may be the angel of mercy and death, but I want to be a hero, too.

~Chapter Forty-Six~

Six hours.

When I first got here, the paramedic told a nurse I was in shock. I didn’t have the energy to argue or to tell her that it wasn’t from a physical blow. The past twenty-four hours are pressing down on me. I don’t think I can suffer through another and another if this is how it’s going to be.
I guess it was a type of shock- the emotional kind.

I was scrubbed and inspected for wounds. The sixty-something nurse kept muttering profanity as she found more scars, healing wounds, and tattoos and piercing
s on my body as Roman’s blood washed off me and flowed down the shower drain. When I answered my age, she nearly had a stroke. I wondered what she would have done if I told her I was a murderous whore.

Instead of inciting the kindly nurse, I asked her how you went about becoming a paramedic. This won me brownie points, even though that wasn’t my reason behind it. I was dressed in a pair of blue scrubs that
are cinched as tightly as they will go, and one of the nurses was nice enough to give me her hoodie.

The nurses thought I was joking about being a paramedic. They said it was a stressful job and that a sixteen-year-old girl wouldn’t be able to make that decision yet. I told them that I already graduated high school, work a full-time job, and that I’m raising my baby sister. Then I told them my address as proof that I know what stress really means.

I think I reached the limit of possible brownie points. They started taking me seriously and treating me with respect- they no longer saw my age or my size or the markings on my body. When I told them I needed alone time, they actually left me alone.

I waited the four hours during Roman’s surgery in the waiting room
that is dedicated to family members just outside the surgical suite. Stanton wasn’t even allowed in there with me. Since then Roman was moved to Intensive Care. I’m curled up in a chair with a contemplative Stanton sitting beside me in yet another waiting room. Neither of us have the courage to look at Roman in his hospital bed.

I’m clutching pamphlets to my chest- an odd assortment of birth control options and information on the medical field. Stanton keeps eyeing the papers, trying to figure out what i
s in my death grip- my future- my whore-free, professional future. I’m keeping the murderous title. There are way too many people who need punished.

The pamphlet on abstinence was my favorite. I don’t particularly
want to have sex anymore. But my family and my slut of a body have other thoughts in mind. If I’d never felt the pleasure of sex, my body wouldn’t know the difference. I’ve already began feeling the stirrings of need grow in my belly, and it makes me feel sick inside. The negative emotions and the painful feelings have kept me from jumping the nearest hottie… and Stanton and his abstinence until marriage, old school, sexist view on woman and sex has been my biggest deterrent. 

I assume that birth control is against whatever vote was place
d on Ezra and me. As soon as Ez turns eighteen and that gameplay evaporates, I’m using one of these options and mixing it with abstinence.

I won’t break the rules, no matter how badly I
may want to. I will be an example. If you don’t like the vote, change it or block it. If it passes, deal with it, or have the smarts to find a loophole or a go-around. I
need
to be the judge, jury, and executioner of this game to gain some control back- control over my own life. As such, I can never break the rules- even if that means killing my momma or spreading my legs. I’ll deserve the indignity of being a whore if I wasn’t smart enough to find a real way out. Hiding isn’t breaking the rules- why should I make it easy on them. Let those sick fucks catch me!

Regina Regal running by like there is fire coming out her ass freaks me out. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t see her until after she ran by and was skidding into Roman’s private room. Grant has red-rimmed eyes and a shaky demeanor as he walks by like a zombie.

Stan and I share an
oh shit!
look. It wouldn’t make any sense to Regina if she saw me sitting outside of Roman’s room. She would wonder how I knew her old friend. I quickly slip from my chair, handing my pamphlets to Stanton for safe keeping. He quickly starts reading them as if the answers to the universe lie within their glossy, colorful printed words.

I go down to the lobby,
find a seat, and pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. I tuck my knees to my chin and wrap my arms around my legs. I’m in position to see Regina and Grant leave, but they will never recognize my folded and covered body.

“NO!” I sharply bark when I sense
his
presence before he materializes in the seat next to me. I hide my face against my knees, not even wanting to look at him.

“I didn’
t do it, if that’s why you’re angry,” Wil calmly says. “Raymond didn’t either. Ray had just left to go wherever he goes in Pennsylvania as soon as the meeting broke up and I was at The Meyers’ house. Mitchell disappeared into his office and…”

Wil being chatty means he’s feeling
guilty… and I could give a fuck less. I sigh heavily when I realize I’m being a bitch. Wil has valuable information he could give me. My woman scorned routine is my own fault. Roman is fighting for his life and Mitchell is doing anything he wants to like a demented, spoiled child. My love life means jack-shit at the moment.

“I’d ask you to promise that you had nothing to do with it, but why bother,” I mumble against my knee.