“To have a relationship with me,” Gideon said, his voice gone deep and gravelly.

Mercy fought the urge to shiver. She wasn’t afraid of Gideon. Not physically. But she was afraid of what he’d say.

Because she wanted him to keep loving her. It was a hard thing to admit after so many years of pent-up rage. Wrongly placed rage.

Why hadn’t her mother told her earlier why Gideon had fled? Why hadn’t she told Mercy privately where he’d really gone?

Because I might have corrected one of the Eden leaders when they continued repeating the vicious lie. She’d been an impulsive child, quick to speak her mind.

Ephraim Burton had changed that. Now she was ultra careful to the point of obsession.

And none of this was Gideon’s fault.

“You kept them to yourself,” he said, accusation now clear as a bell.

“Yes,” she said, forcing herself to meet his hard gaze. “I kept them to myself.”

“Because you hated me.”

She nodded once, because that was also true. “When I got out of Eden and saw you so happy and healthy and living your life as if Mama hadn’t sacrificed for you . . .” As if I hadn’t sacrificed for you, she left unsaid, because it felt petty and wrong. Because it was petty and wrong. “I hated you. You had a life and I was this wraith, just . . . existing. So I hated you. And once I found the others, I kept them to myself.”

“For six years.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. For six years. I’m sorry, Gideon.”

He smiled, but it was devoid of any warmth. “For which thing, Mercy?”

“For all of it. For hating you. For pushing you away all this time. For keeping you from knowing our brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. They really want to know you.”

Gideon’s stare became a glare before he looked away. “Which two are legit?”

“John and Angela. I’m closest to John. I think most of us are.”

“And their last name?”

Because neither she nor Gideon had known their father’s name. Mama had clearly known, but she’d never mentioned it. “Benz. Our father was John Benz Sr.”

Gideon’s gaze jerked to meet hers, his eyes wide. “Mama named you Mercedes when our father’s name was Benz?”

Mercy could only nod, hoping her brother was seeing the humor in that and not the treachery of her betrayal.

He looked away again, his gaze fixed on Karl’s desk. “What did you tell him?”

“Who?”

“John.” A muscle in his cheek bulged as he ground his teeth. “John and Angela and the others. If they asked you to tell me about them for six fucking years and you obviously didn’t, what did you tell them about me? About why I wasn’t meeting them?”

Mercy kept her chin level, not giving in to the urge to run. “I told them that you weren’t interested in meeting them.”

Gideon’s throat worked as he struggled to speak. “You lied to them, too? To all of them?”