Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (82 page)

ERRRRUUUUNNNGGG ERRRRUUUUNNNNGGGG
the sharp and shrill, deep and resonating tone, no longer makes me flinch. The moment the static hiss emanates in preparation for the alarm going off, adrenaline flood my veins. I’m already on my feet, bag thrown over my shoulder, ears seeking the code that pushes me towards my ambulance instead of another apparatus.

No matter what the call, the alarm is the same, but in the background is the information we seek- it only takes a few hours on our first day to acclimate us to the constant barrage of information
flowing from dispatch. But somehow, our minds always listen with one ear, until that alarm sounds, and then our ears pick up the subtle beeps signaling whether it is a medical, accident, fire, or mutual aid. This call is a medical, the most common one- a difficulty breathing, which could be just about anything.

Wil and I are up, since Cory and his partner are already on the scene of a fender bender. I slide into the driver’s seat, yank the handset to my mouth and give dispatch my call number, which is my station number and personnel position, apparatus number, and my current location and destination.

I pull out of the station, onto a busy street teeming with city traffic. I hit the siren, patiently waiting for them to get out of our way. With Wil at my side, it’s just another day in the life of the terminally bad trying their damnedest to save the good. Our only redemption from spiraling into the darkness is to become heroes…

~Chapter
Seventy-One~

“Marcus is campaigning for Assistant District Attorney,” Mitchell’s anticipatory voice floods my senses. The meeting hasn’t started yet. Everyone is in their assigned seats or taken position behind the ones they protect. But not me, I’m too anxious.

“Oh, he will be a joy in the game,” Pierre Fontaine purrs. “He is a shoe-in for District Attorney, no need for assistant anything,” he conspiratorially says.

“Ezra,” Mitchell barks, gaining Ez’s attention. A flurry of emotions flash across Ez’s face, eyelashes fluttering
as he maintains control. When Ez first walked in and saw me, confusion and fear spread across his face. He whispered to me,
what have you done? I know something happened, but what? What did I do? Why can’t I remember?
Master Ez didn’t wake us until yesterday
. Hearing his voice break, I almost told him, but Master Ez flashed in his eyes, promising pain if I interfered. I know Ez, and all his incarnations, love me, but Master Ez is practical enough to hurt me to shut me up. Only Ez’s other parts and Cortez come before me- I shut up.

“Yes, sir,” Ez says, clearing his throat.

“Ezra, tell your adopted father that he should try for District Attorney instead, because we will make sure he obtains the position. Pearl, use your influence as well.”

I wander around the room, in
between the seated elders and heirs and their standing enforcers. The first few times I did this, I was snapped at by every enforcer I encountered. One does not get between the guard and their duty. After a half dozen times, Mitchell asked what my problem was. I told him that I couldn’t sit still. I knew a big change was coming and I needed to think- I walk and think. He giddily grinned over his big announcement and shrugged, so I maintained my stroll.

Ramblings of the game:
who made what play against whom, one member laughing at the one they defeated, strategizing to maneuver Regina and Marcus into position, and anticipation on what possible votes would happen during this meeting. This is how it always goes, an hour or so of gloating and posturing. When everyone is pissed or put through their paces, the meeting starts.

I listen to their babble as I round the room- now listing Regina’s accomplishments and what
that means for each of them- what can Regina do for
them
. Their conversation strengthens my resolve. I feel no fear or regret. With every pass, the enforcers relax, lessening their focus on their elders and heirs they were sworn to protect.

I project
I’m just a teenage girl, nothing to fear, here. Less than five feet and under a hundred pounds, I am harmless.

As I walk, the syringe slips from my sleeve and down into my palm. With my heart battering the inside my chest, I snap the protective cap
off of the deadly needle. With months’ worth of practice, I draw the plunger back- one-handed- filling the syringe with death-dealing air.

I affectionately pat Grant’s shoulder. Roman thinking nothing of it, leans against the wall and actually closes his eyes. I hug my sister from behind, and Kris actually kicks me in the butt. I snigger as I walk over to Stanton, and give him a kiss on the cheek. I d
o this for the majority of the elders and heirs. The enforcers relax to the point of not paying attention.

Raymond Hunter is lost somewhere in his own mind. I know that if Mitchell’s voice were to change pitch, Ray would come to life. I rest a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder, same as I did Grant’s. He freezes slightly, but continues to talk as if nothing is happening. I wait until Henry picks up the conversation before I act. With lightning fast precision, I stab the needle into my grandfather’s Carotid and press the plunger.

I swallow back my heartbeat as it fills my throat and deafens me to anything other than the sound pounding in my ears. Adrenaline infuses me as I step away from my grandfather, and rest my shaking hand on Pearl’s shoulder, much as I did with several other Elders- I go about my business as I had before I pushed the plunger.

Within two seconds of stepping away, air is coursing through Mitchell’
s veins- harmless air- oxygen that gives us life when breathed into our lungs and added to our bloodstream. But when added directly to the bloodstream without the help of our lungs, air is an imminent death.

By the time I reach my mother, Mitchell is silently dying. I’d counted on Henry and Pierre being loud and obnoxious as they boasted their wins. Their voices eclipse the death groans seeping from Mitchell’s chest.

Wil isn’t stupid, nor is Ez. Both look at me, not my target, trying to figure what the hell I’m up to. Why am I being affectionate to the people I despise- smoke and mirrors. The arrogant are always complacent in their superiority. I didn’t need to get Mitchell alone- all I needed was a well-placed attack.

“You’re welcome,” I whisper in my mother’s ear. “But I didn’t do it just for you. I did it for all of us… and for me. He was going to announce me as his heir- and we couldn’t have that, now could we,” I breathe.

As I speak to my mother, people notice Mitchell writhing in his wooden throne. “It’s too late,” I warn when several people pull out cell phones and Wil rushes to the aid of his elder. “He’s already dead.”

“He’s still breathing,” Henry shouts.

“Doesn’t matter,” I emotionlessly reply, “he’s as good as dead. There is nothing you can do. Natural causes can impact the elderly at any time,” I sigh, stepping away from my mother. “I see it every day.”

I turn and face the wall, not because I’m arrogant enough that I don’t think they will attack me, but because I cannot allow them to see my facial expression. A full-bodied shudder ripples up my spine and radiates throughout my body. A heady
moan silently slips from my parted lips. Emotions bombard me- emotions that I shouldn’t be feeling. I feel no remorse, no regret. What I feel is almost erotic. My body dampens. My skin tightens and turns red-hot. I whimper and pant as hormones and chemicals flood my bloodstream because my brain can’t handle the wealth of pleasure blanketing me.

“Breathe through it,” Stanton murmurs into my hair. His arms encircle me, protective and comforting. “Ride it out.”

On one level, I know that the world hasn’t stopped. I can hear the outpouring of outrage, and the cries of mourning as the twisted bastards lose another of their own. But all I feel, see, and hear is what is happen to me on the inside- I just took a life, a horrid man, but a life none-the-less. But I don’t feel shame- I feel proud and invigorated and enlivened and high.

“How do you know what I’m feeling?” I sluggishly ask the man who came up with this plan. I sound drunk or dr
ugged, like my tongue is too large for my mouth and the words come out slurred.

“I know you better than you realize,” Stanton whimpers, a tremor radiates down his arms and sparks along my body. “My father was my first, but he wasn’t the last. What you are feeling is pure power- the power of life and death. It makes you feel like a God. It’s heady… and it’s dangerous… and it’s highly addictive.”

I draw in a deep breath and step away from Stanton’s supportive embrace. I step to the center of the circle of chairs, and calmly and pleasantly say, “please have a seat.”

Dozens of eyes look at me like I’m insane, but since I just killed their leader in front of them, they are frightened of me. They all take a seat with
their enforcers literally fused to their backs. Raymond just stares down at his dead elder with a malicious grin on his face. I smile to myself as I snap the lid back on the disposable syringe. I then tuck the murder weapon into my bra.

“By the rules of the game, that was a no-fault killing. It was in my right, as his death positioned me higher in the game.
My mother is now The Meyers. Please respect her as such, because as you can see, I can kill you without batting an eyelash, and in front of witnesses, and no one would be the wiser. Heed this warning, and allow my mother to find her footing in her new position.”

Silence, I’m met with complete and total silence. The silence feeds the power coursing through my veins, giving me an impressive amount of courage. I pull my chai
r from beside Fate, my Simpson heir chair. I guess I now hold the Meyers heir chair as well.

I slam the chair into the center of the floor, pitting the wood with the feet. The gnashing sound reverberates around the room, causing a few game players to flinch. I stand on my seat, no longer
willing to be beneath them, as I give the speech of my life.

“Why you ask? Why did I kill my
grandfather… and why in such a ghastly manner? I wanted you all to see that I meant business. I’m not fucking around anymore. You all act like lunatic children that have the means to wipe out small nations, but no brains to accurately understand the consequences of your actions. You need a momma. This shit has gone too far. Why did I kill Mitchell, why now? He was going to announce me as his heir,” I stumble over the words when gasps are heard all around- except from Stanton. Ez even gasps because that knowledge wasn’t passed on from Master Ez to his other half.

“If he’d gotten the chance, I’d have been locked in. I wouldn’t have been able to assassinate him without becoming The Meyers, and I don’t want to be The Meyers. Yes, I am still the heir, either way, but the difference is that I don’t wish my mother’s demise… and Mitchell… he needed to die,” I seethingly hiss.

“I want a new position created in this game- Game Master. I want to be the judge, jury, and executioner. I want you to know that I will unemotionally police the game. I will not align or oppose allies or enemies.”

“I want us all to have a choice, even if it’s an impossible one. I want the game run as follows: big plays are voted on, smaller plays are run. At any time, anyone can contact me to settle a dispute. If you do not want to react to the play, come to me and I will tell you the consequence. As always, telling someone about the game is death
sentence- so no need to ask that. Like in my case, if someone would have given me a choice- fuck Ezra or death, I’d have chosen sex- which is exactly why I didn’t run screaming from this house last week. A choice puts power back into your hands. In the case of Stanton hiding me- I would have removed his voting privileges for the same amount of time he harbored me from the game- that would have been fair. Choices remove the feeling of powerlessness that leads to disastrous actions.”

I look around the room. My grandfather’s allies are furious and speechless. I see my death in Henry and Pierre’s eyes. The stench of death yanked Master Ez to the surface, and he is smiling proudly next to a stunned and pleased Pearl. My mother looks stronger than ever- pale skin rosy with health, blue eyes bright and glazed with clarity. Stanton isn’t smiling, but his eyes are. Fate is in shock, seeing her sister kill will do that to a fragile girl. Grant just keeps shaking his head back and forth, back and forth, smiling without humor.

I don’t look at Wil, and not because I feel guilty for lying to him all week and not trusting him. I don’t look at him because it shouldn’t matter what he thinks of me- Wil is the one that betrayed me one too many times. I don’t look at him because I so very badly want to.

“How can we know we can trust you?” Olivia asks.

“You can’t,” my voice is deep and earnest. “I can tell you to trust me, but I’m dealing with the likes of child molesters, rapists, criminals, and killers- I can’t trust you fuckers, either. Fear- fear is the great equalizer. I just proved that I am able to do the practical. But I can say this- My sister is The Simpson, my mother is The Meyers, my guardian is The Green, my brother is the future Spencer, my other brother is the future Whittenhower, my sister is marrying into the Fontaine family, and I am most likely caring a future Holden- who else are you going to trust for the future of your wellbeing? I am the only person who has a tie to each and every family. Even the three that are lying in wait- the Marconi family will be connected to my baby sister. Regina is my friend and my sister’s rock. I see Marcus as a father- if this ends how I think it will, he will be the grandfather to my child. Even then, I will be connected to each and every one of you… I ask again, who else are you going to trust?”