Queen (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (111 page)

Roman immediately relaxes under his Master’s touch. “Bad or bad news,” Roman says sarcastically.

“Um… bad news,” Marc drawls out like he’s contemplating the choice.

“Restraint is covered with Paparazzi,” Roman audibly swallows.
“That’s nothing new,” I say with a shrug.

“Yeah, well so are a bunch of places,” he says cryptically and sighs. “The addresses to all the members were released. The Brownstone is the only one that no one knows about because we’ve kept it a secret. ShadowHaven is swarmed at the gates, but they can’t get passed. They’re at the front doors of Whittenhower Estates. I’m sorry, Regina, but your family is on lockd
own until we can remove them.”

“When you say swarmed, what do you mean?” Marcu
s goes into battle mode.

“Get dressed,” Roman orders and I flinch. I’ve never heard that commanding tone in his voice before. Even Ma
rc takes a step back in shock.

“Sorry, no disrespect meant. You need to be dressed. The girls are waiting in the living room. I’m glad we stayed up and watched movies all night o
r this could have been worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Get dressed first and… um… pack an overnight bag.”

I listen for a minute as voices drift do
wn the hall. “Is that Roarke?”

“Yeah, and Dane, Sam, Brent, the new guy G
unner, and your new BFF Levi.”

“Why
is my security team and my torture victim in my living room?”

“Get dressed, Regina,” he says my name out of frustration. I’m not Sweetheart if I’m annoying him.

Roman’s surreptitiously watching Marcus get dressed from the corner of his eye. He nervously bites his bottom lip and then strides to my closet. “Get dressed!” He points in the smaller room and starts shoving stuff into a duffle bag.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I demand as I yank on a pa
ir of jeans.

“Put on a nice shirt and slacks. I’ll pack your favorite hoodie, yoga pants, and t-shirt in the bag. You can put them on when we get to the Brownstone. Pull your hair up, too.”

Marc’s voice cuts off my retort. “Diane, did you do this? Why would you put our families at risk.” A moment’s pause. “Your demon slipped her leash. No shock there. Why?” He nods his head and umm-hmms as his wife speaks. Her tinkling voice is rapidly speaking on the other end of the phone. The sound of her voice turns into a flat-line buzz.

“She tried to kill her son.” Pause. “Ah- you cut her off. I presume you’ll take care of my family since Cort and Azriel are with you.
Umm-hmm, good.”

“Olivia is here,” he sings and then scowls. “I assume that we’re in for a large su
rprise, Roman.”

“Yes, Master,” Roman calls from my bathroom where he’s t
ossing toiletries into my bag.

“Why are you doing this?” I say in a panic.

“Addresses, Regina, addresses. You either go to the Brownstone or Whittenhower Estates,” Roman bosses me around.

“H
ey,” I bitch. “What the fuck?”

“The shit-storm hit about an hour ago. We let you be while we tried to fix it. When we couldn’t, we came up with a plan. Whitt wanted you with him and Jamie wanted you with him. Jamie won because it would be odd if Marcus was sleeping at Whittenhower. You’ll be safer at the Brownstone with me, Jamie, and Marc. Plus the girls refused to go to Whittenhower unless we all went, and I mean everyone. It’s best
if we’re split up right now.”

“Why do I have to go anywhere?”
I whine in confusion.

“Sweetheart, you’re so fucking daft sometimes it astounds me,
” Roman growls in frustration.

“Huh?” Marc grunts. “You and Cort are the only ones she allows to boss her around. Interesting…” His eyes narrow at us. “No solo-Cort-time either,” he growls. 

Roman tosses the duffle to Marc, and then yanks me through the house. He takes me to the back wall that is lined with French doors. My view is of the back lawn and the pool house.

“No,” I whimper and cover my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Boss, we’ll be ready in five if you’ll get your things for work,” Roarke says to me and pats my shoulder.

“Thank you,” I whisper and touch his hand.

I walk to my office like a zombie. I can barely stand on my jittery legs. The bulletproof security box with all of our confidential stuff is tossed to the center of my office. Dane collects it and leaves for the living room. I hand over laptops and file boxes filled with my life’s work to my security team, and everything is collected within two minutes.

“I’m sorry,” my voice quivers as I make my apology to Marcus. “There’s no way aro
und this. They will find out.”

“That was the point, Regina,” he tightly replies.

“Your campaign,” I say in shame.

“Doesn’t matter; I stopped running last week. My advisors said I had no hope of winning the judge’s seat with all this publicity. This is the final nail in the coffin,” he says flatly.

“My fault,” I run from the office in tears.

“Regina, dammit!”
He chases me down the hallway.
I run into the living room and look at a forlorn Fate and a pissed off Kristal. Each girl has their own escort.

“Regina!” Marc bellows at me. “We don’t have time for you to fall apart and
let your insecurities loose.”

“I ruined you!” I stomp.

“Bullshit! I was going to go public with it anyway. I owe the demon a great of gratitude. Diane surely wasn’t behind this since it will affect her and Daniel. If they look close enough your marriage will be exposed. The bitch got us good this time.”

“Wha
t do we do?” My voice quivers.

“We leave here as a united front. I make a statement, and then we drive around until we can go to the Brownstone undetected. Jamie’s identity must be kept private.”

I watch in shock as our security loads our belongings into a van. With a fortifying breath I step out of my home for the last time. I won’t be coming back.

“Mrs. Whittenhower,” a microphone is shoved into my face. Well so much for that secret. I turn my face to the side and whisper in Marc’s ear, “This seems like a lot of paparazzi?” I ask of the hundreds of people who surround my property like a prison wall.

Aaron and Kayla’s wedding had a helicopter- I have two.

“There is only a handful at all the other homes. You and I were of the most interest. You worry about ruining me. This, my love, is a double-fucked. We are both high-profile professionals who
are married to other people.”

“Fuck,” I breathe and he smirks at me.

“Mrs. Whittenhower, are you the brains behind Empowerment?” A small blonde with the personality of a pitbull screams at my face. I scowl at the disrespect and she backs up a step.

“I will answer questions on one condition,” I say loudly and glare at the spectators. “Back away from the house. I will answer f
rom the head of the sidewalk.”

The tide moves as a unit and eagerly
awaits with bated breath.

“Gunner, help t
he girls to the SUV,” I order.

“Ms. Harris… Ms. Thompson…” The crowd screams, and raises microphones above their heads like eager school student’s raising
their hands to ask a question.

I point and glare, and all attention returns to me. “I will answer
questions. My friends won’t.”

“Roman,” I call over my shoulder. “Go with them. Leave us here. Get to the destination.” 
“No!” He says defiantly and I grit my teeth.

“Who is the Master?” I
seethe deadly quiet and he stomps off cursing under his breath, and Gunner replaces him at my back.

Marcus and I stand at the top of the sidewalk with security spread in an arc at our backs.

“Yes, I created Empowerment,” I answer to get this over with.

A thousand questions are fired in the next five seconds. Some reporters ask a dozen, spewing words like auctioneers. I point at the lady pitbull and everyone shuts up.

“Are you money hungry,” she rapidly asks.

“Huh?” I point behind me at the sprawling ranch house. It’s modest in comparison to most homes. I could afford to buy the entire city. Is this chick fucking nuts?

“You started out an orphan in the worst of our neighborhoods. We have proof that you are the mother to Daniel and Ella Whittenhower. You married into the family, and now you’re having an affair with the richest man in the state.”

“Was that a question?” I snidely ask and shrug. “Everything I have I earned. If you don’t have any actual questions, then it’s time for me to say goodbye to my home of fourteen years.”

I start to walk away and she speaks, “How long have you and Mr. Marcus Zeitler been having an affair?”
“Six years,” Marcus says proudly and I freeze in shock.

“She’s only been married for four years to Daniel Whittenhower II.” The reports states in confusion.

“Was that a question,” Marcus smoothly teases. He turns on the charm, but there is a cunning glint in his eyes.

“Are you having an affair with your son and his spouses? Is the allegation of impending conception accurate?”

“Fallacy,” is his answer with no elaboration, and then he gives his infamous long-suffering sigh.

“Do you believe it’s ethical for someone of your pastimes to hold an elected o
ffice that is built on honor?”

“My pastime is known as the lifestyle, and it’s built on stringent rules, and respect is our highest order. My relationship with Regina is not an affair. We are not sneaking around. You’d be surprised to know that the lifestyles of the rich and famous are quite scandalous. Regina is my partner, and our spouses have known from the beginning. That is more ethical than having affairs with your coworkers or paying for whores as the rest of our great nation resorts to. We negotiated terms, just as I do on a daily basis in my profession. Bear in mind that I do not need to work; I chose to do so for the greater good.”

The reporter attempts to debate Marcus and he holds a hand to still her.

“I have an announcement: As of last night our establishment of hedonistic delight,” Marcus clears his throat when our security team snickers and coughs. “Restraint is closed until farther notice. We are doing an extensive renovation to accommodate our growing clientele. Th
at is all,” is his last words.

Marc clasps my hand and walks me to a SUV that is waiting in my driveway. Camera flashes blind me as we walk. The helicopters hovering overhead broadcast us live to their news station affiliates. The sounds of the shutters clicking, screams of questions barraging us, and the whoop of the rotors is deafening. I climb in the car and I’m thankful to shut out the noise, intense helicopter-made wi
nd, and the scrutinizing eyes.

Marcus pulls me into his arms and I bury my face into his chest. Flashes illuminate the interior as the paparazzi snap photo after photo through the windows of the car. I don’t find out until later, but this picture will spread across the globe like wildfire.

We leave the home I created in the Regal name and I don’t look back- never look back.

Four hours later we finally exit the vehicle three miles away at the Brownstone. The car was nearly empty from Roarke’s attempt to lose the paparazzi in their vans and old beater cars as they fo
llowed us street after street.

I’m thankful I sent Roman and the girls away while we were being interviewed. They were at their destination in under five minutes. Bless my girls’ hearts; they had all of our bags unpacked and my office set up b
efore I got to the Brownstone.

Chapter Forty-Three

“Another one bites the dust,” Fate says dramatically and makes a bombing noise. I stifle a s
nicker because it’s not funny.

“Jesus,” I hiss in annoyance. “We’v
e picked up some new clients.”

The past forty-eight hours have been interesting to say the least. We got settled at the Brownstone, and we decided the ‘divide and conquer’ would work in our favor. Daniel is angry with Diane for failing to keep Olivia in Vegas. Our enemies are divided, and we became a solid unit.

With Restraint closed for renovations, we had a show and tell for all the members, and it was epic. By the time the night was over everyone was an emotional stew- love, loathe, shame, lust.

I can finally breathe freely. It’s nighttime, and I’m not patrolling a club or smashing skulls. Fate and I are safely, and happily I might add, sitting at Roman’s dining table working. All the other boys and girls are training with Dexter. Ezra and Cortez are on renovation duty. They sat with me this afternoon asking what my grievances were and what I wanted changed.  Marcus is playing spokesperson, trying to do his job, and checking in
on all of us.

My whore status was confirmed and smeared across the globe. This time I’m not regulated behind closed doors. Marc has been singing my praises in interview after interview.
We sent Roarke to get a few things at my house, and it was still surrounded. We called him back in fear that he would pick up a tail and bring them to the Brownstone.

Empowerment and Marcus have been hit the hardest. We’ve lost a quarter of our shareholders for morality reasons, and the city is determining if Marcus is fit to be our DA. Even Dexter is having issues with his job as an IRS agent. I give the sociopathic bitches props for fucking up our lives so thoroughly.