ROMAN #2
“Hey,” Hazel says, wrapping her arms around Fae as they embrace one another.
“What are you doing here?” Fae asks, still holding onto her.
“Telling my story,” she smiles with pride, “for all the other girls who couldn’t.”
I inhale sharply.
It’s hard to truly comprehend just how many lives my own dad has destroyed with the help of Fisher.
I look at Hazel just as her gaze settles on Robyn and her face falls.
I can see the sympathy and longing etched into every line of her face.
Robyn is another sister she didn’t know she had, and one who is probably more broken than her and Emily combined.
Hazel tried when Robyn was first brought back, but Robyn wouldn’t meet her halfway.
Even now she barely glances at her. I know it’s getting to Fae.
She’s said it more than once that Robyn wasn’t like this in the warehouse, that she still had pieces of herself then.
Her laughter. Her kindness. Something that made her… her.
Now there’s nothing there. She’s not sad, or angry, she’s not even scared. She’s just fucking empty. A cough draws me out of my musings as I see Atlas stomping towards the building.
“Let’s go,” he barks and I raise an eyebrow.
Who’d have thought he had it in him.
We all follow and I grab Fae’s hand, giving her a warning look.
The building stands all stone and symmetry as if it was built from power.
Tall columns frame the entrance whilst the steps leading up are worn enough to remind you how many people have walked them.
There’s nothing inviting about it. Just structure, control, and the unspoken understanding that once you walk through those doors, you play by their rules whether you like it or not.
Atlas doesn’t wait. He pushes through the doors like he owns the place and the rest of us follow.
The inside is exactly what you’d expect.
High ceilings, dark wood, everything is polished within an inch of its life.
It smells faintly of something expensive and sterile at the same time.
It is the kind of room designed to remind you who holds the power before a word is even spoken.
They’re already seated when we walk in.
Todd Parson sits at the far end, his posture is straight and his hard eyes are already on Atlas.
Next to him, Leland Strickland leans back slightly with his fingers steepled, watching everything with quiet calculation.
He is the spitting image of Victor. So much so that it makes me do a double take every time.
Dominic Buckley, Riggs’ dad, looks bored, like this is an inconvenience to his day.
Harlan Snider and William Harding sit more rigid but no less observant.
Barnaby Lawson shifts slightly in his seat as we enter, Maxwell Bates barely looks up, and Phillip Simmons watches us with a thin, unimpressed line to his mouth.
Two seats are empty.
My dad’s and Ackworth’s.
This was always going to happen without my dad here, but I had expected Ackworth to show his face.
If not for Fae, then at least for Felix.
We tracked him to a safe house in Australia.
We could move on him if we wanted to, but neither of them has pushed for it.
For now, watching him is enough. Aside from what he did to Fae, he seems more removed from this than we first thought, and our focus has shifted.
We’re directed to sit opposite them, a long desk separating us like a line already drawn in the sand.
I take the middle seat, and Fae sits beside me.
Felix positions himself on her other side with Robyn next to him, and Atlas takes the end.
Victor, Riggs and Hazel settle on my other side.
The only sound in the room is the shifting of clothes as everyone falls into place.
The tension in the room is thick and I catch Robyn in my peripheral as she folds into herself.
No one speaks straight away. It’s deliberate.
A power play they drilled into us long before we ever sat at this table.
They’re waiting for a crack, a shift, anything they can use.
But they won’t get one. There are eight of us here, and six of us were raised by Founders, shaped by the same rules they’re trying to use against us.
If they think that gives them the upper hand, they’re wrong.
Parson leans forward, his gaze flicking briefly to his son, Atlas, before settling on me.
“Mr Longstaff,” he says, “you’ve called this meeting. Explain yourself.”
I lean back in my chair and cross my ankle over my knee, holding his gaze.
“I’m here to request permission to assume control of my family’s firm.”
Harding barks out a laugh, and I turn my glare on him. I’ve never been able to stand him. A few of the others shift as I hold his stare, letting it sit there long enough to make it clear I’m not backing off.
“Boy, do you even know what that means?” Harding sneers.
“I do,” I reply evenly. “Do you?”
A low chuckle comes from Buckley, and I flick a glance toward Riggs, trying to read it. Is it dismissal, or is he enjoying it? Riggs doesn’t give me anything back. His face is blank, almost bored, which is unusual for him even in situations like this.
Interesting.
“And why,” Strickland asks calmly, “would we even consider that?”
“Because we’ve uncovered a sex trafficking ring that will systematically destroy The Company if it comes to light.”
“Your father would never jeopardise The Company, Roman,” Bates snaps.
I grit my teeth as the image of my knife sliding across this prick’s throat flashes in my mind.
I didn’t come here just for clearance. I came to watch.
To listen. We’ve gathered enough intel over the last few weeks, but there are still gaps.
Names seem to have been redacted or completely removed like they are ghosts. My suspicion is other founders.
“What he’s trying to say,” Buckley cuts in before I can respond, “is that’s a strong claim for someone your age.”
“My age doesn’t change the facts, sir.”
Harding leans forward, his eyes narrowing directly on me as his lips curl. “You’re asking us to remove your father and hand you his position, Longstaff. Age certainly is a factor here.”
I shrug, looking past him to Simmons. Nothing hurts someone’s ego more than being ignored. It’s a power play Dad taught me. Harding looks like he’s ready to burst and if I can rile him up, I can gain more information. Simmons scoffs as my eyes connect with his.
“Before we even entertain that, I want to understand something.” Simmons’ gaze flicks to Fae before returning to me. “You expect us to trust your judgement when you’ve brought a suspected murderer into this room?”
“It was self-defence,” Fae responds as I swing my head to look at her.
I grit my teeth. This wasn’t what we agreed. Not even close.
They don’t have proof she killed him. They never did. All they had was her DNA at the scene, but it wasn’t concrete enough to hold. So, what is she doing? What does she think she gains from stepping into it like this?
“Fae—”
“No, Roman,” she cuts me off, lifting her chin. “They deserve to know.”
“Well go on… please do try and justify an unsanctioned killing, Ms Ackworth,” Strickland says, raising a brow as he folds his arms. Victor looks like he’s ready to tear his own father apart from the tone alone, and I swallow hard, already knowing where she’s going with this.
“I’m sure it’s not a surprise to learn that at the age of twelve when my first cycle came in my father bled me for the rituals,” a few of the men murmur at that.
“At that time, Fisher was the doctor that oversaw my care. By the age of fourteen, I was performing sexual acts on him. I was isolated and alone and I had no idea that what happened to me was wrong.”
She swallows, and it takes everything in me not to reach for her as I watch the reaction of every man in this room.
“Fisher raped me for the first time when I was seventeen. At the time, I was told it was still okay to donate my cycle because it was anally. A year later, I started at university as a swallow. From there onwards, he didn’t touch me again until just before the initiation.
By that time, I knew what Fisher had done and I was not receptive to it.
I think this made him angry,” her voice catches.
I can see Robyn shaking beside me, hard enough that the chair rattles beneath her. A broken sob slips from her mouth and all eight men turn toward her at once. Fae’s expression shifts as she looks at her best friend, but she pulls it back just as quickly and straightens her shoulders.
“He kidnapped me 11 weeks ago, locked me in a warehouse where I was raped, beaten and starved. During a very brutal assault, a knife fell from his pocket. I picked it up and asked him to stop. I begged him to stop. He refused. I told him I’d stab him if he didn’t, but he continued and laughed at me. ”
As she speaks, I watch the men across from me.
Snider, Buckley, Parson and Lawson all look like they’re trying not to be sick.
The others hold their composure, with blank faces but there’s no flicker of doubt there, no sign they think she’s lying.
I swallow as the sound of my own pulse thuds in my ears and the room closes in.
“I blacked out…” Fae continues, “when I came round, he was dead and I escaped.”
Strickland’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers still slightly, “that’s a serious allegation.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Do you have anything to support that?”
Hazel shifts forward, “I do.”
Every head turns to her, and my mouth drops open at her confidence. Gone is the girl we found shivering in the warehouse. Now Hazel wears her anger like a shield.
“I was there,” she continues, her voice calm but firm. “Not for that specific moment, but I was one of them. Longstaff and Fisher were working together. What she’s saying isn’t an isolated incident.”
Snider’s gaze sharpens, “and you are?”
“Hazel,” she says simply. “Fisher’s daughter.”