Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (75 page)

Jon had disappeared in a crack he made in t
he double doors to the living room. My living room had no door, nor did The Spencer house. This suggests it’s not a living room at all. The heavy lock drives the point home.

“Faith,” a feminine voice stuns me, and since I’m standing in
the foyer in enemy territory, that’s not a good sign.

Gretchen walks in, a squirming
creature with mocha flesh in her arms. Gretchen is barely sixteen and a mother of a five month old son. If this sight doesn’t drive home why I’m here, nothing will.

I
hungrily stare at my nephew for the very first time. Gretchen’s worried expression relaxes when she sees Devlin.

“Greta and little Torian,” Devlin purrs, a glazed look of affection on his face. I’d say it’s a look that most get when confronted with an adorable, chubby baby
, but there is a possessive glint in the man’s eye. I don’t know if it’s the skin color or what. But I see the resemblance to the grown man, the teenager mother, and the baby boy.

Their
shared hug gives me courage. “How the hell are you guys related?”

“He didn’t tell you?”
she says, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

“He being Wil?” I challenge. “Until today I didn’t even know his birth name. He said he had a large family that he sees all the time, but that they don’t acknowledge
him. I don’t have the patience for riddles,” I sigh, “just explain and let me meet my nephew.”

A cooing, squeezable baby boy is placed in my hands. I
slide to the marble floor and rest his tiny feet on my thighs. My hands cup underneath his armpits so I can stand him up. Torian and I stare at each other. A sense of understanding and intelligence shines from his hazel eyes.

“Hey, Torian, I’m your Aunt Faith. But you can call me Syn. I’m not old enough to be an auntie- kinda like your parents aren’t old enough to be parents,” I say, eyes flicking to Gretchen. “I’ve never been an aunt before. But
, I guess with all my siblings, I’ll probably have lots of you guys to keep track of,” I ramble as the little fella stares at my mouth. “You sure are a cutie. I could just squish you,” I coo at him, bouncing him a bit on my thighs.

“You’re so soft,” I say in amazement. I know my eyes have that stupid glazed look that Devlin has on his face. Gretchen is
positively beaming at me. “You have my mouth,” I say with a giggle. “That little cupid-bow is going to get you into trouble, same with the button nose. I’m jealous of your creamy skin. I look like a vampire no matter how much sun I get. You’re such a delicious milky-coffee color.”

Torian settles against my chest, deciding
I’m trustworthy enough to snuggle up to. I give the chubby fella a squeeze and rock a bit. “The game sucks,” I say in a soft voice as not to spook the baby, when what I really want to do is snarl. “But now that Torian is here, I wouldn’t trade him away, even if it meant the game didn’t exist.”

Gretchen slides to the floor next to me, as if all her energy fled at once. “It’s the only thought that keeps me sane. I couldn’t live without him,” she says, longing and adoration strong in her voice as she gazes at her son. One thought dominates my mind,
how the hell did Gwen give five of us away when I don’t even want to hand Torian back to his Momma
.

“Devlin is my uncle,” Gretchen begins. “You can trust him.”

“How?” I stare between them, trying to rationalize the familial connection. Her momma’s name was Tori and she was dark-skinned, but the common link between them all is those eyes. The branch is on the wrong side of the family tree.

Devlin convulsively swallows, as if it’s difficult to say the words. “Jon is my father,” he hisses in disgust. “JJ and I had different mothers. Later in my father’s life, he decided he wanted another child in his image- JJ wasn’t ruthless enough- and then I was created. My apologies, but I do not speak of this, and I do not acknowledge my lineage, save for my nephews and niece.”

“Who is Wil’s momma?” I ask.

“That I can’t tell you,” Devlin says
, as Gretchen says, “I don’t know.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I demand, holding his
familiar gaze in challenge.

“You can look at it either way, but the answer is still the same. I will not tell you for many reasons. If you want
to know, ask Levi,” Devlin gruffly says.

“But you do know, right?”

“Of course, but only a few know, and it will stay that way for everyone’s safety. Don’t poke a rattlesnake with a stick, for you may not like the venomous bite that strikes back,” and with that parting comment, he prowls over to the wall and ignores us- conversation ended. 

“Are you doing okay? Wil said you and Boyd weren’t getting along lately.”

Gretchen looks away from me, refusing to meet my eyes. “I’m fine. It is what it is. I’m studying from home and taking care of Torian while avoiding Henry at all costs. Boyd isn’t around very often. He’s going to college upstate and only comes home when summoned.”

“So?” I prompt.

“So… after I graduate and have a way to support myself, I’m done,” Gretchen says with a strength I didn’t know she was capable of- an inner-fire that reminds me of Wil.

“What about going home to Wil?”

“My brother doesn’t talk about this stuff because it makes him feel hopeless. But there is too much going on in the game right now. Not all the plays have to be voted on- only the major ones. You only see Wil at the station because he’s always doing for Mitchell and Henry and Pierre. It’s like they all use him now. He’s ashamed of the things he has to do for them. I only know because Henry likes to gloat. I can’t go home because the apartment is empty. Wil won’t let Tori and me stay alone without protection.”

“I-”

“There is nothing you can do,” she says, gently patting my leg. “Besides, you have your own shit to deal with. Torian and I are safe where we are… for now.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer lamely. I don’t really know my sister-in-law well, but it hurts to see someone younger than me in such pain and misery. Wil said he would protect her and failed, it’s no wonder he doesn’t want to talk about anything that means anything.

“I can’t be out here when they open that door. I just can’t do it. I don’t have the stomach for what’s to come. I’ve been there before and…” Gretchen sobs. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Uncle Dev?” she calls.

“Yeah,” he sadly answers.

Baby Torian is slid from my arms and cradled to his momma’s chest. “Tell Boyd where we are. I don’t want him… I… never fucking mind. Just let someone know I didn’t slip my leash.”

“What’s going on with Boyd and her?” I ask as soon as she leaves the foyer.

“I don’t know,” Devlin murmurs in a deep voice. “But I do know your brother has the propensity to become a wife-beater. I wonder if he leaves so he won’t take out his frustrations on Greta and Tori.”

“That can’t be true,” I start to deny, but the door cracks open and I lose my voice. My grandfather, Mitchell Meyers stares at me with a look of deep hunger- it’s not a hunger for lust, but a hunger for pain.

“Time to meet your fate, Faith,” Mitchell menacingly purrs.

~Chapter Sixty-Four
~

I feel like I’m walking the Green Mile to my execution. Mitchell prances in front of me- there really is no other word to describe how he giddily enters his living room. Devlin is a wall of flesh behind me, cutting off my escape.

Not a living room- definitely not a living room. What greets me is how I imagined Stanton and his competitors during a cartel meeting. Organized by family, all of the game players are here. Every race and religion, whether criminal or businessman, they join together to ruin each other’s lives. Kings and Queens and Knights meet in this despicable room as they maneuver their pawns. Only two people are missing besides the minors, Marcus Zeitler and Regina Regal. The pair that doesn’t know they are playing the game of their lives as they watch their worlds crumble around them.

A bloody
Grant captures my attention. His aura of fury sucks the oxygen from the air. He sits in an arm chair with Roman at his back. Bruises bloom across his beautiful face. Never in all of my life have I seen Grant wear that look- not the wounds and bruises- a look that promises murder, if only he could get out of his chair. His blue eyes glow with barely leashed wrath. Grant is fighting the need to kill. His fingers violently dig into the arms of his chair- blood flows into the nap of the fabric because he’s torn his nails to the quick. Roman isn’t just standing behind his elder; he is holding Grant in the chair. 

My eyes seek specific people, fearful to light on Stanton and Fate. Pierre sits with a smug expression on his face, almost as if he wishes he were enjoying a cigarette after a gratifying fuck
. Pierre’s daughter, Olivia, sits at his side, as a hungry-looking Jon stands at his back. Olivia glares at her father, causing Devlin to hold her in the chair, similar to how Roman is holding Grant.

Tears rapidly flow down Pearl Hasting’s face. The Holden’
s enforcers are gagged and restrained to chairs that are placed behind their elder and her heir. Whatever the punishment, and maybe at Pearl’s command, Walden and Frost had tried to stop it. Ezra’s eyes meet mine and no one is home inside his mind. Ezra isn’t asleep; he is comatose, taking the possibility of a whole Ez with him. Usually that means Master Ez is firmly in control, but the horror that reflects in the mirrors of his eyes, screams that whatever he just witnessed was too much for even Master Ez to handle. Blank, numb, Ez sits in his own world- the world inside his mind.

Henry Spencer is radiantly glowing with a soul-deep sickness, as if whatever he just witnessed fed sweet evil into his veins. Beside him sits my brother. Boyd hates feeling helpless as much as I do, so in the absence of control is blinding rage. He nods at me and slowly growls, “Do whatever needs done and get it the fuck over with… and whatever else pleases you,” he snarls, eyes flicking to our grandfather. No one could mistake his comment for anything other than a threat against The Meyers. Boyd is begging me to off the bastard.

Mitchell Meyers sits in his wooden chair as if it’s a throne built for the king of the universe. Arrogant, haughty, patronizing, and insane, is my grandfather. Raymond Hunter stands behind him, off in a land of his own creation. Like father like son, no one is home in Raymond’s mind, either. Gwen, my mother, looks tiny, fragile. She is balled up in her chair, arms hugging her knees to her chest. If Ezra and Raymond could show her how to lose herself in her mind, she’d gladly take the sweet release. Gwen looks like she is praying for someone to remove her from this God forsaken life… and then there is Wil- broken, broken and looking irreparable. He stands with his chin tucked to his chest, tears dampening his FDNY t-shirt that is splattered with someone’s blood. His knuckles are raw and dripping blood onto the mahogany floor. Wil beat someone only minutes ago.

The sound of Kristal’s hyperventilation concerns me on several levels. The Paramedic in me wants to check on her wellbeing, the survivor in me knows that she makes that noise because something scared her half to death. My sister sits in front of Kris. Fate is lost. She doesn’t cry or make a sound. I only know she is alive because her chest rises with every breath she takes. Blue eyes stare into nothingness- a void where she doesn’t blink as she sits in shock.

Preparing for the worst, I turn to Stanton with the expression I’ve adopted when we’re called out on a MVA with multiple casualties. I flinch when I find him… okay. Stanton is bruised, but no worse than Grant’s bloodied face. Wil was forced to hit them into submission. Stanton is furious, more so than Grant, but he is also damaged. Something happened within these four walls and it ruined him. Aged decades since I saw him off to work this morning, he was tortured, as if the Devil himself sought him out and punished him.

“I don’t get it, what happened?” I say to Stanton, but it’s for my grandfather.

“Stanton Green was punished. He wasn’t blocking a play, he was stopping it. There is a distinction. How do you punish someone as crafty as Stanton? He’s protected his daughter from harm, his brother is in Afghanistan, and the rest of his family is exempt from the game. We can’t punish you for his behavior because you aren’t blood related. We couldn’t kill him,” Mitchell says with a shrug. “Fear, fear is how you punish an elder… and Stanton only fears one thing.”

“Don’t,” Stanton barks. “You sick fucks got to enjoy my punishment, but you promised that it wouldn’t leave this room. My impression of your word was that you wouldn’t speak of it again.”

“What happened?” I cry out, standing in the center of the room, the players all around me.

“Faith, remember we discussed boundaries. I don’t want you to know, and so you won’t find out,” Stanton numbly says. “I don’t want you to know.” He silently pleads with me to drop it. The horror in his eyes screams that I’m better off not knowing the truth.