and, even if he would, the result would be the same. She didn’t want to go back. Ever.
She cursed the day she’d first climbed into the bed of this truck, all those years ago. How many? She struggled to remember. DJ’s father, Waylon, had been behind the wheel that night that she’d gathered her children in her lap, promising them that everything would be okay. That they were going to a new home where everything would be wonderful and they’d have toys and food and a warm bed to sleep in.
How stupid was I? Naive and stupid.
Mercy had only been a year old, so she’d never known the scary time before when they didn’t always have dinner because Rhoda hadn’t turned enough tricks the previous night. But Gideon had seen her come home from a night on the streets of San Francisco with bruises on her face and no breakfast for them because a john had refused to pay. When she’d promised her son a better life, he’d believed her, willingly – eagerly – climbing into the bed of the truck that would take them to paradise. To Eden.
To Eden. She’d spit, but her mouth was too dry. Eden had been no paradise. It had been hell.
Gideon had only been five years old that day, so precious and smart. Wise before his time. My beautiful boy. He’d be seventeen now. Well on his way to becoming a man. She hoped. Prayed.
Gideon. My beautiful son. She’d never see him again in this lifetime. She hoped he was well, that he’d survived. She’d cursed herself every night for the past four years for leaving him alone on his thirteenth birthday, injured, maybe even dying. Watching Waylon dump his limp body behind a dumpster, trying to catch one last glimpse of her son as Waylon tied her hands behind her, pushing her face-first into the truck bed, then taking his payment for Gideon’s escape from Eden, leaving her torn and bleeding . . . It had been the worst day of her life.
Until she’d climbed into the bed of this truck a third time, her daughter in her arms. This time it was being driven by Waylon’s son, DJ, who’d inherited it when Waylon died. DJ’s price for the ride out of Eden had been the same as when Waylon had driven her to this same bus station while she clutched at an injured Gideon.
And even though she’d been married to other men both times, she’d complied. She’d sold her body before Eden for a lot less. What was food and shelter when the lives of your children were in danger? Nothing. So she’d paid without complaint.
The day she’d gotten Gideon out, Brother Waylon had taken her back to Eden to pay for her crimes. She had a sick feeling that today’s outcome with DJ would not be the same.
She looked down at the trembling body she held too closely. Mercy was burning up. Eden’s healer hadn’t been able to help, but that hadn’t been too big a surprise. Sister Coleen dealt with colds and minor cuts.
Mercy had an infection. It was bad. Very bad. So progressed that it could be detected by scent alone. Coleen simply wasn’t equipped to deal with such things.
Which was why Rhoda had taken this drastic step. Why she’d bartered her own life to get Mercy out. To get her away. Hopefully to safety, although anywhere was better than the place they’d left behind.
Eden. Rhoda quelled what would have been a bitter laugh. She’d welcome death were it not for the small body she held. Lovingly, she brushed a lock of black hair from Mercy’s sweat-covered forehead. How I wanted to see you grow up!
Although Mercy was already grown up. She’d had her twelfth birthday nearly a year ago. Rhoda remembered turning twelve. Remembered playing games with her friends. Mercy’s birthday had been nothing like that.
Mercy’s birthday had been filled with tears and pain. And fear. So much fear. It’s all my fault. I agreed to go to Eden. To blindly take my children with me. I believed a stranger. He’d promised her food and shelter and a safe place to raise her children. And Rhoda had believed him, her children paying the price for her stupidity.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rhoda whispered. ‘So very sorry.’
Mercy’s eyelids fluttered, her lashes lifting to reveal bright green eyes so like those of her brother. ‘Mama?’ Her murmur was hoarse and harsh. ‘It hurts.’
‘I know, baby. It’ll be better soon.’ Rhoda had no