Say No More
Titles by Karen Rose
DIRTY SECRETS
(enovella)
Baltimore Novels
YOU BELONG TO ME
NO ONE LEFT TO TELL
DID YOU MISS ME?
BROKEN SILENCE
(enovella)
WATCH YOUR BACK
MONSTER IN THE CLOSET
DEATH IS NOT ENOUGH
Cincinnati Novels
CLOSER THAN YOU THINK
ALONE IN THE DARK
EVERY DARK CORNER
EDGE OF DARKNESS
INTO THE DARK
Sacramento Novels
SAY YOU’RE SORRY
SAY NO MORE
BERKLEY
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Copyright © 2020 by Karen Rose Books, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Rose, Karen, 1964- author.
Title: Say no more / Karen Rose.
Description: First edition. | New York: Berkley, 2020. | Series: Sacramento series; 2
Identifiers: LCCN 2020005185 (print) | LCCN 2020005186 (ebook) | ISBN 9781984805300 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781984805324 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Suspense fiction. | Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3618.O7844 S285 2020 (print) | LCC PS3618.O7844 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020005185
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020005186
Cover art by Elisabeth Ansley/Arcangel Images
Cover design by Faceout Studio/Lindy Martin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
Cover
Titles by Karen Rose
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To Farrah. Your books warm my heart and your characters make me wish for a place at their kitchen table. Your generosity inspires and your smile lights up the room. I hope you find Mercy’s Farrah to be as brave, intelligent, compassionate, and kick-ass as you are IRL.
To Deb. I won’t say your bravery humbles me (even though it does), because I know you’re getting through each day the best way you know how. I will say that I’m so glad to know you and that I can’t wait for us to have that tea together.
And to Martin, as always, I love you.
PROLOGUE
REDDING, CALIFORNIA
THIRTEEN YEARS AGO
TUESDAY, MAY 22, 4:30 A.M.
She was going to die. Rhoda knew it was true. There was no way Brother DJ would take her back to Eden, 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 idea if that was true or not. But the words seemed to soothe her precious daughter, who closed her eyes again. Hopefully she was asleep.
Or unconscious.
Rhoda hoped it was the latter, actually. She hoped that Mercy had been unaware when DJ Belmont had stopped the truck an hour into their trip, and then another hour after that. And yet another hour after that, taking his payment from Rhoda’s body.
But getting Mercy out of Eden would be worth anything Rhoda had to endure.
They were almost there. Almost to the bus stop where she’d left Gideon four years before. She leaned down to whisper in Mercy’s ear. “Mercy, honey. Are you awake?” Mercy’s chin dipped in a silent nod. “I need you to listen to me. This is important. Find Gideon. He’ll help you.”
Mercy’s eyes opened wide, her shock apparent. “He can’t. He’s dead.”
“No, baby. He’s not.” Please let that be true. “He escaped. I smuggled him out that night, just like I’m getting you out now. He is alive and you need to find him.”
Emotion flashed in her daughter’s green eyes. “He is alive? But you said—”
“I know what I said,” Rhoda hissed, prepared for Mercy’s disbelief. I played the part of a grieving mother too well. Except that she hadn’t been grieving his death. She’d grieved the fact that her actions had put both of her children in danger. She’d grieved that she’d left him alone, here, at this bus stop, while he bled and suffered. “But you need to believe me now. He is alive. And he will help you. Find him, Mercy.”
Mercy’s nostrils flared, her eyes narrowing in anger. “No.”
Rhoda blinked, stunned to hear the venom in her daughter’s voice. “What? Why not?”
“He’s selfish and I never want to see him again. He escaped. He lived. While we . . .” Tears welled in Mercy’s eyes. “We suffered, Mama. We suffered because he was selfish.”
“No, Mercy. He wasn’t selfish. Never that.”
“No. I’ll be fine without him. We’ll be fine, you and me.”
Rhoda’s eyes filled with tears. Not we, my sweet girl. Just you. She wouldn’t be allowed to go with her daughter, she was certain. “Mercy, baby. There’s something you need to know about Gideon.”
Mercy turned her face away, clenching her eyes closed. “No.”
“There was a reason he left.” A good reason. Good enough that she’d chosen to part with her child. Her only son. Leaving him here, hoping that someone would find him. Help him.
“I know. He didn’t want to be apprenticed. He didn’t want to work. He was lazy and selfish.” Mercy spat the words she’d been fed by the community. By Mercy’s own “husband.”
Words that Rhoda had been too terrified to call what they were: evil lies. Now she was going to lose both of her children, because she was never going to be allowed to live after this latest show of defiance.
How had she let this happen? How had it come to this?
“No, Mercy.” Rhoda shook her head. “He wasn’t lazy. He wasn’t selfish.” He was attacked. He was beaten. He was all but dead. “He was—”
The truck abruptly stopped, and Rhoda cursed herself for putting the truth off too long. It was too late. She had so much to tell her daughter and only seconds to do so.
“Mercedes,” she whispered hoarsely. “You are Mercedes Reynolds.”
Mercy’s eyes widened in confusion. “What?”
The driver’s door opened. DJ was coming. Seconds. You have only seconds. Choose your words wisely.
“You are Mercedes Reynolds. Not Terrill.”
Mercy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“My parents are Derrick and Ronnie Reynolds in Houston. Find them. They’ll take care of you.”
“Mama?” Mercy’s fingers clenched Rhoda’s handmade coat. “You’re not making sense.”
But she was making sense. For the first time since believing a stranger’s lies about paradise, she was making sense. She was making it right. No, she could never make it right. She could only tell the truth.
“Your brother is Gideon Reynolds. You need to find him. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him that I love him.” Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away, not caring where they fell. “I love you. Always and forever.”
Mercy’s lips trembled. “Mama?”
“Selena. My name is Selena Reynolds.” Then she hissed when the back of Brother DJ’s hand connected with her jaw.
“Silence!” DJ thundered.
Mercy recoiled, clenching her eyes closed as she stiffened, waiting for the next blow, but DJ didn’t have a problem with Mercy so the blow never came.
Touching the tip of her tongue to her bleeding lip, Rhoda met DJ’s dark eyes and said nothing. As she’d been taught.
DJ shot her a warning glare. “No more of your lies, Rhoda. You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”
Rhoda dropped her eyes to the terrified child in her arms. She’s a child. The community held that Mercy was a woman grown, but she was not. Rhoda’s daughter was an almost-thirteen-year-old girl, scared out of her mind, but too beaten down to fight back. Emotionally and physically. Mercy’s husband had beaten her, had taken her so roughly that she’d bled. Again and again.
My fault. All my fault. I should have stopped him.
But that was an impossibility. Rhoda had been unable to stop the man’s harsh treatment of her own body, much less Mercy’s.
They’d been possessions. Nothing more.
“You’ll keep your end of the bargain?” she asked.
DJ nodded once, his expression grim as he held out his arms.
Rhoda tightened her hold on Mercy. “I’ll carry her,” she insisted, then swallowed a yelp when DJ hit her again.
“Stop making trouble, Rhoda,” he growled, then grabbed Mercy from her arms.
Rhoda scrambled to the edge of the truck bed, managing to get one foot on the ground before DJ returned to shove her backward.
“Stay here,” he barked.
She crawled to one side of the truck so that she could look over the side. Mercy lay on the asphalt parking lot, curled into the fetal position, her body visibly trembling. What had he done to her?
“Mercy?” she called, hearing the fear in her own voice. “Mercy—”
But Rhoda’s cry was abruptly muted when DJ grabbed the chain around her neck and yanked it, cutting off her air supply. On reflex, she grabbed the locket at the base of the chain and pulled it away from her throat, trying to give herself room to breathe. But DJ yanked harder and she opened her mouth, gasping for breath.
She hated the chain. Hated the locket it held. Hated how the man who’d owned her had used it just as DJ did now. To control her. To show her who owned the very breaths she took. Not me. She hadn’t owned the breaths she took for twelve long years.
The chain wasn’t jewelry. It was a slave’s collar and she’d borne it for far too long.
Something sharp punctured her skin before sliding up the back of her neck, beneath the dreaded chain that dug deeper into her throat as black circles began to dance in front of her eyes.
She wondered if this was it. Is this how he’ll kill me?
But then a loud crunch filled her ears, and the chain went slack around her neck. She gasped in air that burned, one hand circling her throat protectively. The other still clutched the hated locket.
Until it was snatched from her hand.
“Stay here,” DJ growled. “I mean it, Rhoda.”
But Rhoda wasn’t listening anymore. She crawled to the truck’s open tailgate and slid to the ground. Grabbing the edge of the truck’s bed, she made her way to her daughter on unsteady legs.