Chapter Fourteen
Maggie
Pulling on the lilac lace fabric, my body physically shudders. Seriously, it’s not enough that my mom is a horrible bitch. She has to make me dress like a prima ballerina? No, I’m sorry. That’s an insult to ballerinas everywhere. This dress is hideous. Then again, I’m sure that’s the point. My mother always prefers to be the best dressed in the room. If she’s not…women’s dresses have been known to be ‘accidentally’ ripped, wine spilled on them, or disappear altogether from the dry cleaner. She’s egotistical and competitive with a nasty jealousy streak.
What a prize Harry won.
The fabric of the dress wraps around my neck, choking the life out of me and my spirit. Okay, that’s dramatic, but seriously. It’s both uncomfortable and hideous. You’d think I’d get a say in what I wear to parties and events like this, right? Wrong. Clearly you haven’t lived in Salem, you haven’t been raised as a part of the Brethren. Let me enlighten you. It’s like a cult that no one is allowed to call a cult. So everyone refers to it as an order or a society, so they feel less culty. There are certain ways that things are done. There is a hierarchy, and my family, and Bridgette’s for that matter, are far from the top. In fact, we are quite near the bottom.
Does that matter to people like Harry Brenton or my mother, though?
No.
At the end of the day, they are a part of this ‘grand’ society which offers and promises all the riches and success that life has to offer you. Always at a price, though. You’re born into the Brethren; you die in the Brethren. If you try to leave, you die anyway. No loopholes, no get out of jail free cards. A lifetime of servitude is the price we all pay. For what? Some nice homes? Good jobs? Free education? It all sounds great on paper, but nothing can take the place of free will. Right now, I wish I had any scrap of it just to pry myself out of this fucking dress.
The plus side is that classes begin at Gallows Hill University in three weeks. That means in less than twenty-one days, I will be living in a dorm room, free of my mother’s constant watchful eye. I literally couldn’t be more excited to get the fuck away from her and out of here.
Tossing my phone into my clutch, I open my bedroom door and step into the hallway, slamming into Brad. He catches me easily and laughs.
“Easy there, Mags. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were throwing yourself at me. Which couldn’t be true since you’re fucking my sister.”
My eyes widen, and I slap my hand over his mouth.
“Are you fucking stupid? Keep your voice down!” I hiss.
He shakes his head, laughing harder as he pushes my hand away.
“Relax. Everyone is already in the limo. I was sent to collect you.”
I lift an eyebrow.
“Why the fuck are we taking a limo? It’s a dinner party, not the fucking prom.”
Brad shrugs his shoulders as he adjusts the bow tie on his tux.
“You don’t know my father well enough yet, but image is more important to him than it is to others. He wants to be perceived like he’s higher up in the Brethren than he actually is.”
I don’t even try to suppress my eyeroll as we make our way downstairs and out to the car. Brad opens the door for me and I nod in thanks before sliding in. Harry is sitting in the seat facing forward, my mother snuggled up on his arm while Bridgette took the sideways seat across from me. I nod in greeting as Brad slides into the seat opposite of his dad. As soon as the door is shut, the car takes off.
“Because of you, we are now late,” my mother spits at me as Harry types away on his phone.
“Sorry,” I say, sounding anything but as I look out the window.
“You will be!” she seethes. “I can’t believe my own daughter would be so disrespectful that?—”
“Enough.” Harry chimes in, not taking his eyes off the phone.
My mom looks at him like he’s slapped her.
“But baby. I’m just trying to reprimand her. It’s not fair that she makes you late for your party with no?—”
“I said enough,” he snaps, making eye contact with her before his gaze drags over to me. “She said she’s sorry and it won’t happen again. Right, Margret?”
I nod softly, extremely uncomfortable with the instant change in the air. Harry nods like that settles it before he’s back to his phone, ignoring my mother’s pout. I’m fighting off every urge not to flip her off because honestly, fuck her. I know most people hold some kind of familial bond with their parents, no matter how terrible they are, but that is not the case for Calista and I. She couldn’t even be bothered to carry me herself. She chose to use a surrogate because she ‘didn’t want to risk stretch marks for some snot nosed baby.’ A lovely story she tells all her friends when encouraging them to do the same.
I think surrogacy is a beautiful and selfless thing, but not the way my mother used and advertises it. She takes something pure and turns it into something selfish and vain. I swear I don’t know what my father ever saw in her.
Well, nothing, really. His father chose her for him and that was it. Another lovely perk of being a part of the Brethren. Not only do you have little to no control over your day-to-day life, you don’t even get to select your husband or wife. Nine times out of ten, it’s arranged by the families drawing up some kind of agreements or incentives to the other.
The drive to Putnam Manor, the home of our…leader for lack of a better word, is quick, and before I know it, the driver is stopping at the valet. Yeah, this guy literally has a valet at his own home. Tell me you’re a pretentious prick without telling me.
We all file out of the car, Harry and my mother leading the way as she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow before Bridgette, Brad, and I exit. Brad holds out both elbows for us and we loop our arms through his. I feel myself physically straighten my back as we begin climbing the steps to this ginormous mansion. I grew up in a nice home; Bridgette’s house is practically a mansion, but this place…nothing in all of Salem compares.
Just the way Christopher Putnam prefers it.
When we step inside, dozens of staff members are there to greet us. Butlers and maids crisply dressed all bow and curtsy as we walk past them like they aren’t even there because that’s the etiquette that is expected. You show the ‘help’ any amount of empathy or treat them like a decent fucking human and you can be accused of consorting with commoners. Yeah, you read that right. Fucking commoners. I know the Brethren like to follow rules that were created in the 1600s, but Jesus Christ, can we have a little evolution of human rights? No? Okay, fuck me.
Almost immediately, our parents split off, rushing over to Elder members, attempting to lick and suck their assholes just for a morsel of attention. I can’t help but scoff and shake my head as I make eye contact with Bridgette, who is judging them just as hard. There is something special about finding someone you can shamelessly judge others with. Especially others that fucking deserve it.
A group of girls a few years older than Bridgette and I are gathered next to the grand staircase, all batting their eyes and giggling as they stare at Brad. I look up at him as he grins down at me before hightailing it over to them, effectively ditching Bridgette and me.
“I need a drink,” I say as Bridgette nods.
“Or two.”
We move into the parlor room, where two bar tops are set up before we get in line. Discreetly, I look out of the corner of my eye to truly admire Bridgette. She’s wearing a deep blue gown that is dripping with sparkles as the sleeves hang off her shoulders. Her cleavage is showing just enough without being too revealing for a Brethren party. Her sleek black hair is pulled over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. I want nothing more than to latch my mouth onto that smooth, buttery skin.
“You look so beautiful,” I whisper into her ear as I take a step towards her to keep our conversation private.
Her cheeks pink up as she looks at me, doing her best to conceal her smile before she whispers back.
“So do you. Wanted to claw my brother’s eyes out just for looking at you.”
I laugh at that.
“He was not looking at me.”
She gives me a deadpan stare.
“When you slid into the limo, he openly stared at your ass,” she says as she mimics his face.
Laughing, I shake my head while she sulks as we move up in the line.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d sense a hint of jealousy, Brenton.”
Bridgette narrows her eyes at me as we step up to the bartender, but doesn’t respond.
“I’ll have a lemon drop,” she says.
“I’ll take an old fashioned,” I order.
The bartender nods, whipping up our drinks while Bridgette wrinkles her nose.
“No one actually likes old fashioneds. They just pretend to because it makes them look dignified or some shit.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I do, probably because I’m dignified as fuck.”
A laugh escapes Bridgette. A sound that is quickly becoming one of my favorites.
“You’re too much, Bartlett.”
The bartender hands us our drinks, and I drop a tip in the jar for him before we step away. Lowering my voice, I walk behind her and lean into her ear.
“Too much or not enough?”
She smirks at me as she looks over her shoulder.
“Both.”
I grin at that as we make our way through the party. Hundreds of people are scattered all around, dressed to the nines, dripping in diamonds and crisp black tuxes and suits. It’s one big obnoxious cattle show where everyone attempts to gain some kind of status points based on their appearance here tonight. Or any night that the Elders are present, really.
As if this was the Oscars, Christopher Putnam appears at the top of his staircase, staring down at everyone. Just his presence in the room has the mundane chatter and shmoozing stopping on a dime as all eyes turn to him. A hush settles over the room as the string quartet in the corner gently fades their music until it’s silent.
“My brothers, welcome. It is my great honor and privilege to welcome you into my home in celebration of our anniversary. Three hundred and thirty-two years ago, our forefathers came together for one goal. In an effort to defeat a common enemy and protect the good folks of Salem and this country, a society was born. For three hundred and thirty-two years, we have lived in honor of those brave men who took a stand, who built protection and took measures to prevent evil from taking hold of our beloved town once more. Today, we honor them. Their bravery, sacrifice and loyalty. To the Brethren,” he says, lifting a dark colored drink in the air.
Everyone raises their glass, including Bridgette and I, as we echo his words.
“To the Brethren.”
Christopher nods at that, and the music begins again as chatter quietly picks up. I watch as Christopher makes his way down the stairs, shaking hands with his bond brother, Henry Parris. Rumor has it his daughter is coming to the States to start at Gallows Hill University. Everyone is talking about it and what it will mean. There hasn’t been a female born into any of the Elder families since 1693. Ever. The closest thing is Jeremy Stroughton’s half-sister, Angela, though since she came from his mother’s affair, she definitely doesn’t count. I’m honestly surprised his father keeps her around. He was all too eager to get rid of Jeremy’s mom as soon as he found out she was fucking around on him. Despite everyone telling us it was an unfortunate accident, we all know she didn’t go through that window by herself.
In the next moment, Bridgette and I are flanked by two of her bitchy friends. Mercy Lewis and Angela Stroughton. They are both wearing designer gowns and heels that look like they pinch their feet in the worst way. Subtly, Bridgette takes half of a step away from me. I pretend I don’t notice, but I do, and the twisting that occurs in my stomach because of it makes me clench my drink in anger.
“Bridgette, we weren’t sure we would see you here,” Mercy says.
She frowns at that. “Why?”
“Well, it’s just that you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth. We weren’t sure what was happening since you never return our texts,” Angela says.
Bridgette shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”
“Slumming it with your new sister ,” Mercy guesses, putting a nasty emphasis on sister.
I give her a bored look and shake my head.
“Mercy, if you want me to lick your pussy, all you have to do is ask nicely.”
A look of horror passes across her face, and I swear to god, she clutches her nonexistent pearls.
“That’s disgusting!” she sputters. “In your dreams!”
“Typically, my dreams don’t involve going down on passed around slop. You’re not wrong on the disgusting part, though. I thought it was just the cheese appetizers being passed around, but…” I pause, wrinkling my nose in revulsion. “You should probably get that looked into,” I say as I gesture to her pussy before walking off.
I catch Bridgette’s eyes as she attempts and fails to hold in her laughter. Meanwhile, Angela and Mercy are shell-shocked, staring as I walk off towards the bathrooms. I don’t actually have to go; I just don’t want to be around those bitches. I’m not sure why Bridgette chose them, of all people, to surround herself with. Maybe because they are good yes men, or maybe because she never tried to have decent friends. I don’t really know, but I’ve gotten to know Bridgette, inside and out, and she deserves better people in her corner.
Before I’m able to make it to the bathroom, my mother calls out to me, urging me to come over. Stifling my internal groan, I paste on a smile and make my way over to her and Harry. Beside them is another older couple and a guy who looks to be a few years older than me.
“Here she is.” My mother beams proudly, like she’s ever been proud of me a day in her goddamn life. “Margret, this is Nicholas Reynolds, a business partner of Harry’s.”
I nod and shake the older man’s hand.
“This is his wife Bethany and their son Miles ,” my mother continues, putting an emphasis on Miles’ name.
I nod politely as I shake hands with Bethany before coming to Miles. He stares at me like I’m his favorite kind of dessert, all packaged and ready to be served to him.
“I love your hair,” he says, reaching out and wrapping a curl around his finger.
I smack his hand away, causing gasps to escape both mothers before a darkness fills his gaze. I chance a look at Harry and Nicholas, both watching me with disapproval. Quickly, I paste on a sorrowful smile.
“I’m sorry. My hair gets tangled so easily, my deepest apologies.”
The men seem to be pacified enough with that, while the mothers still purse their lips in disapproval. The look my mom is giving me promises I will be paying for that later.
“No apologies needed. Forgive me, I couldn’t help myself. You are…so much more beautiful than I expected.”
I lift a brow at that. “Oh, you were expecting me?”
Miles nods. “Our parents have been in discussions for a few weeks now. I look forward to getting to know you better.”
“Me too,” I say as demurely as possible. “If you will all excuse me, I need to find the restroom.”
I step away before they can stop me and practically sprint in the direction of the bathrooms. When I push the door open, I see there is a line, despite there being five stalls. Yeah, stalls. In a home. Because Christopher Putnam puts on so many gatherings and parties, there would be no other solution.
By the time it’s my turn, I actually have to pee, so I step into the stall, taking an obnoxious amount of time in hopes that Miles and his family fuck off somewhere else. It’s great to know my mother and Harry have been plotting to set me up for weeks now and this is the first I’m hearing about it.
When I’m finished and wash my hands, I slip out of the bathroom discreetly, heading towards the back of the house. The back patio should be a perfect place to hide out until we’re able to leave. Patio is putting it mildly. It’s a seventy-five foot by thirty foot concrete promenade overlooking the gardens and a maze.
I step out back, the mid-summer night air pricking at my skin when I hear the sound of a man moaning. Looking around from side to side, I realize that I’m alone. That is until I focus on the heavily shadowed area to my left. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust before I recognize Asher Putnam; his dark brown hair pushed to the side, and his hands wrapped in a woman’s hair as he pushes her down his cock.
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. The guy is easily the biggest whore in all of Salem. Why shouldn’t he be, I guess? He literally has the world at his feet. One day, Asher will take over for his father and he will rule all. Why shouldn’t the slutty little prince get his dick wet while he still can? It’s the girls that throw themselves at him that are pathetic. They can’t possibly think that any of them would be Christopher’s pick for him, can they?
Because I’m nosy as hell and enjoy a good exhibition, I wait until he’s finished to see who his lady of the night is. He practically growls as he forces himself down her throat as he comes. She chokes and sputters around him before swallowing his release and pulling back.
God, I’m so glad I don’t have to suck cock. It honestly looks repulsive.
A small smile plays at my mouth until the girl pulls away fully, the moonlight shining on her face. My smile drops as fast as my heart does before smashing into the floor. What the actual fuck? Bridgette?
I can’t help it. I don’t even mean to speak until I’m already spewing venom at her.
“Are you fucking serious? On your knees for Putnam again? Just like that?” I shout.
Both of them turn to face me. Asher gives a half dazed look as he casually stuffs his cock back in his pants, while Bridgette looks panicked.
“Maggie!” she says before taking a breath of composure as she stands. “What are you doing here?”
I laugh bitterly. “Not much. Just watching my stepsister fulfill her role as the Gallows Hill slut. You’re holding your title remarkably.” I make it a point to look from her freshly fucked hair to the smudged lipstick before I turn on my heel and walk away.
I hear her heels click as she chases after me, her hand wrapping around my arm as she speaks quietly.
“Please, give me a chance to explain, Mags. Please.”
“Get the fuck off me!” I snarl, not giving a fuck what kind of scene I’m making in front of Putnam right now.
Bridgette flinches like I’ve hit her before her expression falls. Am I supposed to feel sorry for her? Seriously? I know we weren’t together, or at least there were no labels or any of that shit, but come on. We were together enough for this to sting like the worst kind of betrayal. Just because she’s struggling with accepting it, wanting me or whatever, doesn’t mean she can fucking toss my heart in the trash and jump on Asher’s dick all in one breath, right? Right. Fuck her.
I storm back inside, pushing and shoving my way through people before making it to the front door. Bridgette doesn’t try to follow me, and I’m glad because I don’t know what I’d do if she tried to get in my face right now.
When I reach the valet, I pop open my rideshare app and order a ride. I pay extra so it gets here in record time and before anyone can stop me, I’m sliding into the back of a Camry and getting as far away from that bitch as I can.