Not as nice as this place? This was . . . hell. She met Graham’s gaze across the square. He looked taller, somehow. More grown up. And grimly determined.

As the crowd dispersed, Tamar darted back to her own hut without giving Hayley a chance to ask her a single question. She began to walk back to the hut she shared with Joshua and his three other wives and their seven children, trying to control the panic in her gut.

They were leaving. Cameron would get here with the cops and they’d be gone. She’d have to have her baby in a place even worse than this. And then Sister Rebecca would steal her.

Graham came to her side, taking her arm as if to guide her across the uneven ground. “You shouldn’t fall in your condition,” he said, loudly enough that anyone around them would hear. Then he whispered, “It’ll be okay. We’ll get away.”

Hayley nodded, her heart in her throat. Her twelve-year-old brother was telling her it would be okay, but it wouldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

They were leaving this place for somewhere even worse. She couldn’t imagine what that would be like.

I’ll find out soon enough. She smoothed her free hand over her stomach. Don’t worry, Jellybean. Your dad will find us. He has to.

ONE

EDEN, CALIFORNIA

ONE MONTH LATER

WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 5:30 A.M.

DJ Belmont looked over the list in his hand. “It’ll take me forever to get all this shit.”

Sister Coleen shrugged in apology, unconcerned about the swear word he’d let drop. They were alone in the clinic—he, Coleen, and Pastor—so Eden rules did not apply.

Rules he’d grown up with. Rules he intended to shred the moment he took over Eden. He was one step closer to his goal, having killed Brother Ephraim a month before. He’d have taken care of all of his problems had he not been shot himself. After a month, his left shoulder still ached and the arm remained basically useless.

The first shot to his shoulder had hurt like fire, and for that he planned to hunt down the bitch who’d pulled the trigger. Her name was Daisy Dawson and her death would serve a dual purpose—payback for the injury and heartbreak for the man who shared her bed.

Gideon Reynolds. The very name had DJ seething with rage. He banked it, unwilling to have to explain it to Coleen and Pastor. Because Gideon was supposed to be dead. Supposed to be dead at DJ’s father’s hand, in fact.

Except now he knew that Waylon Belmont—DJ’s own father—had let Gideon go. He’d set Gideon free from Eden. Lied to everyone when he returned, saying that Gideon had died for the sin of murdering the Founding Elder Edward McPhearson as he’d attempted to flee. Everyone had believed him.

Even me. The banked rage flared anew and he shoved it back. He hadn’t realized the extent of his father’s betrayal until last month when he’d learned that Gideon was still alive.