Page 45 of Deliverance

“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.”

---