Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (91 page)

I listen to the sound of metal grinding. Must be the boy has a hiding spot in his desk. When he’s older, Wil will find it for us. Teenagers hide bad shit.  

“Here,” he hands me a notebook filled with his perfect handwriting. “You can’t keep it. Read some, and then give it back.” Zane stands over me, like I’m going to jack his journal.

I read the entries over the pa
st six months. The six months Master Ez stopped calling me and setting up visitation. The six months that he’s been wandering around with an integrated personality. The six months Ez has known about our son.

Nov. 3
rd
: Called me son when he kissed me goodbye.
Nov. 6
th
: sang to me. I’ve never heard that song before.
Nov. 7
th
: talked about his childhood. When he talked about Cortez, he felt hot in my head.

I quickly scan to Christmas- Zane’s tenth birthday.

Dec. 25
th
: stayed for six hours. I know he knows that I wake up when he visits, and that I fall asleep while he is still here. This time Dad woke me up and turned a light on. We played chess and talked. It was the first time he told me he loved me. Dad gave me a silver chain with ZTH, Zane Thomas Holden, on the charm for my birthday.

Zane gave me exactly three minutes before he pulled the notebook from my hands
without asking for it. He told me to shut my eyes, and then he put it back in its hidey-hole.

Zane Thomas Wilson is the na
me on Zane’s birth certificate. Master Ez wouldn’t acknowledge Zane in name or in the game. He said he feared what Ezra would do, but I seriously suspected that he feared what Cortez would do.

The first meeting that Zane and Torian attended, Cort took one look at my son
and turned feral. His face blazed red, his eyes darkened, and his chest rose rapidly from breathing hard. Cort had charged over to me, shoulder bumping anyone that got into his way. That slap was heard around the room. I was stunned. I stood there with my hand on my flaming cheek and just stared in awe as Cort lunged at Ez. He slugged Ez in the face with a right-hook, splitting Ez’s lip- blood trickled down his chin.

“Is he your son?” Cort had hissed
, spittle flying as he spoke.

“What are you talking about?” Ez acted offended and confused.

“Is. He. Your. Son?” Cort screamed into his face. The emotion of it was suffocating- the betrayal.

“No,” Ez said, and I simultaneously saw red and felt tears sting my eyes.
I knew that Ez didn’t know, Master Ez said he wouldn’t tell his other half. But hearing it out loud was devastating, having my son hear it out loud was worse. It made it real- Ez denouncing Zane in front of every member of the game.

My son walked
with his head held high, past his rightful chair at Ez’s side, and took his seat as the Meyers’ heir, next to his grandmother. He unemotionally watched Cort walk over to him. Wil was between them in the blink of an eye, even though it is Cort’s duty to protect the Meyers’ heir.

Cort peered around Wil
, eyes noting every similarity between Ezra and my son, and calmly asked Zane, “who is your father?”

Zane,
being literal, had quietly answered, “My birth certificate says Leviticus Wilson,” and he touched his daddy’s hand, because Wil was gearing up to beat his partner.

Cort then asked all the members
, and they laughed at him, too afraid to contradict Ez, or Wil, or me.

That was the day that Cortez Abernathy started to hate me.

But I’m no better than Ez. I live a triple-life: I am only Faith Simpson with my family, I am Captain Cynthia Brooks to my colleagues, and I am Syn to all others. I fear getting to know anyone. Fearing they will be pulled into the game, and I will have to make hard choices. Choices that I’ve made for the few friends I’ve had, not only in the game, but in life. I’ve lost myself, and I regret a lot of the judgment calls I’ve made in the past, even if they were just.

Faith Simpson is the one that acknowledges Zane as her son, even though it lists Cynthia Brooks on his birth certificate. Only my immediate family and the members of the game know I have a child. It is for his safety.

Neither of Zane’s parents claim him in all ways. Yet, a man that doesn’t even share a single drop of blood with my son, eagerly and happily claimed him as his own.

~Chapter Eighty-One~

“Bedtime,” I pleasantly say to Torian. Without fail, the kid makes me grin. Torian looks so much like my daddy that it just feels like he is still with us. If I believed in reincarnation, I could imagine that my daddy’s spirit is in Torian- there is a sense of strong intelligence mixed with the charm that exudes from Torian’s pores. It always felt good to be around daddy. People flocked to him, and that’s what made him such a good con-artist. I’m trying my damnedest that Torian doesn’t go down that path.

“Kisses… gimme
my hugs and kisses,” I tease, yanking him from the sofa.

“Aunt Faith, I am too old for this,” the words are hesitant but he hugs me back tightly.

“Somebody needs to cuddle with me. You know Zane would run from the room if I hugged him,” I pout. “Be nice to me, Tori. I’m keeping you until your parents can behave.”

“Hug on Uncle Wil. He’ll let you do whatever you want,” Torian says with a laugh. I snort- if only. “Do I get Bianca’s room? ‘
Cuz you know how Zane is… I’m a hog.”

“The room’s yours. Get some sleep. I don’t have to work tomorrow, so I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“G’night,” he says with a grin, and disappears down the hall towards the bedrooms.

I fall onto the loveseat and sigh in relief. I’m exhausted. “What?” I ask because both guys are silently laughing at me.

“Leave the kid alone- quit hugging all over him,” Wil cautions.

“Why? He’s my nephew. I’m not hurting him, and he just pretends. You know he likes it,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“He’s twelve,” Wil says as if it should mean something to me. “Almost thirteen.”

“So,” I say with a shrug. “Is there a time limit I’m unaware of, or am I missing something? And just so ya know, I hate that the two of you,” I point at Wil and Stanton, “have some secret language going on. Neither of you will talk to me, but the two of you are up in each other’s shit constantly. I’m… annoyed… and lonely.”

“I… I really don’t know how to say this without starting something,” Wil grumbles.

“I’ve got it,” Stanton says with a laugh. “Yeah, Tori likes to cuddle. The problem with cuddling is that he is going through puberty and it makes him too happy. I was a boy… and it has nothing to do with the person. It just happens. So you hugging and kissing on him makes him uncomfortable, because you’ll notice.”

“That’s dumb,” I snort. “I wouldn’t notice… like ever.”

“When you’re full-on hugging someone and the kid is trying to turn his hips away… us spectators take notice,” Stanton says, a blush pinking his cheeks. “We just had a chat with the kid while you were with Zane.”

“Oh, God, Zane…it won’t be long and… I’m not going there,” I growl.

“We’ve already talked about it,” Wil says- he’s the good parent. “But since he avoids touching people, it will never be an issue. I think he will be like Stanton and me… skittish.”

“Oh, and here I was going to say dissatisfied, fucked in the head, and lonely,” I grumble, and instantly regret it. Stanton still isn’t dating. The man is forty-one and afraid of girls. I don’t want that for my son. “Sorry, I apologize for being a bitch.”

“I think you forgot to tack on frustrated.” Stanton chuckles. “And cranky-”

Wil’s cell phone ringing breaks into our conversation. “I gotta take this in the other room. I’ll see you in bed.”

“Still not talking?” Stanton asks the second Wil is out of earshot.

“You tell me,” I snidely say. “You’re the one he talks to. You know what he isn’t telling me.”

“I try to get him to talk to you, but he’s as bullheaded as you are,” Stanton defends, aggravation strong in his tone.

“Thirteen years later… and I still only know what everyone else knows. I’m not Wil’s nearest and dearest. I don’t need details. But I’m the one who takes the brunt of his shit, while he lets you in. It’s not fair. I’m an open book to him, and he’s an enigma to me,” even to me, I sound lost.

“Wil’s trying,” Stanton sadly says.

“I know… I just wish he would talk to me instead of trying all that other shit.” I fight the need to cry. I feel a real crying jag coming on. It’s the only release I can afford. I spread out on the loveseat and close my eyes.

“I’m sorry about all that other shit he does- It’s not about you, you know that, right?”

“Right,” I agree. “But you can tell yourself that a billion times, and on the billionth and one, you bawl like a baby and want to curl up and die. It’s not about me, but it’s affecting me almost as much as Wil. So if it’s not about me, why do I have to feel the agony of it… Stanton, don’t ever say it isn’t about me again,” I threaten.

“You’re right,” Stanton says, sounding as exhausted as I feel. “Maybe you should talk to someone.”

“Or something…” I have other ideas on what I should do. “Now tell me about Bianca. I know it’s a sore subject. But put me out of my misery. I’ve raised that girl almost as long as you have. I need some details or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

Tears glisten in Stanton’s eyes and it makes me wish I could take the words back. If I feel lost… that poor man. His brother refuses to return to us, no matter how much we beg. Letters, phone calls, and
Skype
are not the same and hugging someone, feeling their warmth and solid weight in your arms. You need them in physical form to know they are real, not a product of your imagination.

Caleb reached his goal three years ago by becoming a Gunnery Sergeant in the United States Marine Corp. He’s on his forth tour in the Middle East. Refusing to come home to visit, he immediately signs up again. Once, during a private conversation between just the two of us, he told me why he won’t take leave. He said if he saw us, he’d never leave us.

We know there are only three ways Caleb is coming home to us: if the conflict ends, if he is shipped to Germany after an injury and removed from active duty, or in a box.

The stress of worrying over Caleb has put fine line at the corners of Stanton’s eyes, but it’s Bianca that put the hint of gray along Stanton’s temples.

“It went as expected,” Stanton reluctantly begins. “They were married, and Dalton didn’t know what was going on, just as I’d feared. The young man knows nothing of the game, or of why he was marrying my daughter. He didn’t even know that he was married. Anthony had to tell him.”

“Jesus,” I hiss. “I wish there was some rule about that. But my hands were tied.”

“I know- Anthony knows. There was nothing we could do. Pierre was in rare form. He and Jon were as vicious as always. They’ve abused the boy so much that just having them in the room scared him half to death. When it came time to… he wasn’t able.”

“So it wasn’t consummated?” I say in shock. That was a part of the agreement.

“Do you remember Anthony’s Enforcer, Victor Vance?”

“Yeah, didn’t he die last year in a car accident? Please tell me it was a car accident, not Pierre tormenting Anthony more than he already has.”

“Yes, that was an accident. Victor Vance had a son with one of Olivia’s women. He grew up with Dalton. They brought the young man in to entice Dalton.”

“You mean they gave the kid a fluffer?” I wince using the word Wil taught me so long ago.

“Sebastian is his name. He was used to arouse Dalton. I hated watching it. They are friends, and not
that
kind of friends. I didn’t want Bianca seeing it either. It was just… torturous. Of course Pierre and Jon loved it. But eventually…”

“Was Bianca okay?” I ask in a small voice.

“A father shouldn’t see his daughter… do that, ever. But I’m glad that I was there to make sure she wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t mean to her like I’d feared. It was rather fast… and both enjoyed it,” he says with a wince, face tinged a sick green color. “I left the second they were finished. I couldn’t stand the thought of my daughter looking at me after… I drove straight to the airport and flew home. I haven’t heard from her since… since I left.”

I crawl off my loveseat and embrace him. “I’m so sorry, Stanton. That must have been horrific for you to witness. I don’t have the words to express how I feel.”

Stanton buries his face in the side of my neck. His tears run hotly down the column of my throat. I hold him while he silently cries, his body quivering.

“It’s done. It was something I’ve been preparing for since Bianca was four years old. I’d worried about it every waking moment. Now I have new sets of worries. She is right there… those perverse bastards are near her. Olivia and Dalton, and even, Anthony, have been so abused by Pierre and Jon, that I doubt they can protect Bianca.”