Arrogant Playboy(57)

The crunch of gravel beneath the car as I turn onto another dark road brings a soft rumble. Sadie’s cries soften, morphing into whimpers.

“The vibration’s calming her down already,” Odessa says, twisting back to check on her. “She’s wearing out.”

My knuckles clench around the wheel, turning white even in the dark.

I hate that Uncle Leo is dying and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I hate what Eva did. I hate her for bringing an innocent baby into a fucked up situation. I hate the flood of warmth that wraps into tightness in my chest every time I think of Sadie, and I hate the dread that nauseates me at the thought of someone taking her away.

I hate that Odessa’s still being kind to me after what I said earlier.

Most of all, I hate the part of me that wants to run from it all. Push it all away. Shove it in a box, close the lid, and sink it to the bottom of the ocean with a cinderblock.

The headlights illuminate a green sign telling us Claxon is sixty-eight miles ahead. I never realized Golden Oak was that close to the Zion Ranch.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I had fifty-five brothers and sisters.” My statement fills the quiet space between us. Her emerald gaze carefully washes over me. “I grew up on a FLDS compound north of Claxon. It’s not too far from here actually.”

Odessa says nothing, but I suppose there’s nothing to say.

“Dane’s my half-brother,” I continue. “Different mothers. Same father. We were born somewhere in the middle. Last I knew there were fifty-six of us. I’m sure there are more now.”

“Were you close?”

I huff. “As close as you can be when there’s an entire village of people sharing your last name. So…no.”

“What about Dane? Were you close with him?”

I shake my head. “Not until we were exiled.”

“Exiled? Like kicked out of the community?”

“Yes. The elders like to control the population, ensuring there’s an overabundance of women at their disposal.”

She shifts her body toward me, folding her arms. “Horrific. And your father allowed this?”

“Our father gave us his last name and nothing else. He wasn’t even our father. Not biologically.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Prophet called them ‘seed bearers.’ Twelve worthy-blooded men hand selected by Mathias Moon to propagate the community.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“If a woman wanted to have a child,” I say. “She had to get permission from Mathias first. He’d send a seed-bearer to her home during her fertile peak. Husbands had to hold their hands and watch.”

“I’m going to be sick.” Odessa’s hand flies to her face, her words muffled through trembling fingers.

“It’s normal to them. They’re taught to believe it is. They know nothing else.” I exhale, my hands sliding down the wheel. I haven’t spoken about Zion Ranch in almost a decade. Talking about it brings a lightness I never anticipated.

“How old were you when they…?”

“Fifteen.” The pit of my stomach twists hard, the way it always does when memories of that day flood my mind. “Dane was sixteen. A group of us boys were carted a few miles outside the property line like a box full of puppies and set loose. A sack lunch. Twenty bucks. Not so much as a good luck.”

“Must’ve been terrifying for you.”

“It was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.” Back then I’d rather have been homeless than spend another night with those sick bastards.

From the corner of my eye, I see her wipe a tear on the back of her hand.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Odessa,” I huff. “Please. Fuck. Don’t.”

“It’s shitty what happened to you. Nobody deserves that. Certainly not an innocent child.”

“I’d say I came out ahead in the deal, wouldn’t you? Jesus, Odessa.” On what planet does a homeless kid with an eighth grade FLDS education grow up to be a billionaire playboy with the entire city of Manhattan for a playground?

“Do you miss your mother?” Her hand flies to her chest, her eyes laced with sadness despite my specific instructions not to feel sorry for me. I’m positive the mother she’s picturing in her head is nothing like the one I knew.

“Nope.” I don’t miss a beat. “Hardly knew her. Barely remember what she looked like.”

The memory of her face fades in and out of my memory. Every year that goes by makes it harder to remember if her eyes were blue or gray. She was going gray at the temples. I recall that much. And she always smelled like baked bread.