“I’m sorry I wasn’t better for you. I know I was all you had, and I apologize.” She stretches her hand out for mine, but I pull back.
“I don’t need you to be sorry. I’m fine.”
“Are you?” she asks, raising a brow.
“What did my father tell you?”
She leans back in her seat, and I see a look of disappointment flash across her face before she says, “You have the same desires as him.”
“Why would he tell you that?” I shake my head, not caring about the answer. “I came for my birth certificate,” I tell her.
She gets up and goes into another room. I hear a few things rattle before she returns and places it in front of me. I look it over and, sure enough, my father is not listed. Lilith Hackleburg. Hackleburg is my maiden name. I wasn’t given my father’s name at birth; I always assumed it was because my mother insisted I have hers.
To be honest, I never asked.
“Is he even my father?” I already know the answer; we have so many similarities, but I have to ask.
“Of course he is. You are his spitting image. He just wanted to protect you from that world and did a good job.” She smiles.
“And my money?” I ask. “Was there any left?”
“He couldn’t leave it in your name for obvious reasons. There couldn’t be any traces back to you. To the outside world, you were my kid.”
“That makes no sense,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“I was great friends with your mother, so it did, actually.” She rises once again and leaves the kitchen. When she comes back, she has a duffel bag.
“I didn’t spend it all, but I used some.” She pulls open the bag. “I have been topping it off from what I used, so you should have most of it.”
I stand and open the bag wider, revealing stacks and stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
My mouth hangs open.
“I do hope you will visit again,” she says, and I can hear the hopefulness in her voice. It is weird because growing up, I only remember her secluding herself and never wanting me around.
I take the bag and walk out without another word.
SEVENTEEN
REON
We’re having dinner at one of Arlo’s restaurants. Although he is a businessman like the rest of us, he specializes in therapy. He is one of the most sought-after therapists in the country. having worked with some of the biggest criminals in the world and even the president. In addition to that, he owns restaurants—this being one of them. A few of us sit around the table: Soren with no date, Arlo with a redhead who hardly speaks, and me with Maya.
“When are you going to meet someone?” Maya asks Soren. He gives me a look as Maya leans in and places her hand on my shoulder. She’s been living with me all week, walking around wearing next to nothing, trying her hardest to get me to give in.
I can’t, though.
I don’t want her.
However, according to the Society’s rules, which we all agreed to, we are to respect the Lord and take orders from him when necessary.
“When I’m ready,” Soren replies as Arlo’s date, and Maya stand to go to the bathroom.
“Some of us aren’t ready yet and are forced to,” I say, and Maya’s hand squeezes my shoulder before she drops it and walks off with Arlo’s date.
Soren grits out, “It minimizes the risk of trouble when you’re married, Reon.” In other words, shut the fuck up and marry my sister. When we all pledge our fucking allegiance to the Society, we know what we’re getting into. We aren’t dumb. We’re all successful in our own right. “And you like to cause a lot of trouble.”
“I haven’t caused trouble for over a year,” I point out.
