Jonathan got clever. He played the long game and built a community where children are born, but never registered. If no one knows they exist, then no one knows they are missing. By restricting education and creating a tightly controlled environment, Jonathan kept the women in line. In one generation, he built a community that knew no different. My mother was one of the few left with knowledge of the world beyond our walls.
My heart clenches. I won’t let her sacrifice be in vain. I lived. I thrived. And now I’m fighting the best way I know how—with data and technology. That doesn’t mean I’m physically defenseless. Uncle Steven taught me how to throw a punch and how to get myself out of ninety-nine percent of situations. Not win, but escape. I can pick a lock, lay someone out with well-placed pressure points or a specific hit to the base of the neck, and I can run. I’ve been running for years, and nothing has slowed me down yet.
“Are you visiting or going home?” a deep, rumbling voice asks.
My gaze flicks to the occupant of the seat across from me. Sun-kissed blond hair is swept behind his ears, while sharp cheekbones jut out from tanned skin and his eyes swim like a startling blue ocean. He’s the embodiment of the state we are leaving.
“Home,” I utter as my eyes slide back to my tablet. Wait. Does that count as one out of the two things Gail said I hadto reveal? Would I have answered that question honestly if it wasn’t for the challenge she’d given me? Probably. I never cheat, so I guess I still have two things to tell someone. She said old, married, and unattractive. I scan his hands. No ring. Damn it. I click on the settings and connect my iPad to the Wi-Fi.
“This will be my first time in Chicago. Any recommendations on what I should visit?”
“Depends on what you enjoy.”
“Good company, good food, finding little nuggets only locals know.”
“Good food is part of the soul of Chicago,” I tell him as I pull up my emails. “It’s hard to go wrong. Use Trip Advisor. People are honest, if not a little brutal.”
He falls silent as the last of the passengers take their seats and the doors close. We begin moving, and I glance at the time. Pilot is on it today, five minutes early. The engine revs, then we hurtle down the runway. I’m vaguely aware of a passenger on the other side of the plane gripping the handrest like it would save her from a plane disaster. Statistically, there is less than a one in eleven million chance of being in an airplane crash, and even then, ninety-five point seven percent of passengers actually survive. Food poisoning, falling ladders, fireworks, and lightning all pose a bigger risk than flying. I contemplate relaying these facts to help ease the poor soul but decide against it. She clearly accepted the risk by getting on the flight.
I turn my attention back to my iPad. There’s an email from Honor explaining a woman needs a false identity built. Add that to my urgent to-do list as soon as I’m home. I swap to my facial recognition program. No new alerts.Come on, Jonathan. Be a good boy and show your damn face.He hasn’t surfaced in months, which isn’t unusual. It means they’ve either recently relocated, or he’s busy brainwashing the newcomers. In addition to the asshole himself, I have a few of his men entered intothe program since he rarely does his own dirty work. When he appears, he recruits a fresh wave of vulnerable women into the organization, and they are never seen again.
Jonathan can manipulate, seduce, and command as easily as he can breathe. He holds intangible power over a room, subtly influencing smart people in times of weakness, whether that’s financial, personal, or professional. He knows how and where to hit. In today’s world of increasing costs and job losses, he has a wealth of people who hang on his promises of Eden. He takes the weight of responsibility and decision making from them, offering a life free of pressure and a dependable world he dominates. One day soon, I’ll be the last face he sees before he takes his final breath and is judged unworthy of a peaceful afterlife. I hope there’s a God, and I hope His wrath knows no bounds for a man who has dedicated his life to the pain and misery of too many people to count.
We reach cruising altitude, and the seatbelt sign flicks off. The typical shuffle of people using the tiny toilet begins, which I never understand. We left the airport minutes ago with far more space than a toilet cubicle. Grabbing my bag from beneath my seat, I place it on the table in front of me and hunt for my phone charger.
“Were you visiting Cali for business or pleasure?” the guy asks.
Ugh, okay. I guess we are doing this. I turn to face him. “Psychological development.”
He blinks. “Therapist? You don’t have those in Chicago?”
“No. I have homework from my therapist to be intimate with someone.”
His lips twitch. “Your therapist told you to have sex?”
I’m not the only one who misinterpreted the instruction.Eat that, Gail.
I turn toward him, inhaling sharply. Here goes. “See, that’s how I understood it, but apparently, she meant for me to spend some time with someone by having an honest conversation with them. Let them in a little.”
He twists his body toward mine. I must be more entertaining than his phone. “And having sex isn’t intimate?”
I throw my hands in the air. “That’s what I said.”
He chuckles. “The more prudent question is, was it good sex?” I screw my face up. “That bad, huh?”
“He wasn’t bad exactly, it was okay.” This is honesty. Not too bad.I can do this.
“Okay is not something that should describe sex, ever. Your first time together might not be perfect, but there is something special about it. Hot, sweaty, a tangle of limbs. Desire, lust, fire in your veins, an urgency to connect, excitement, and heart-pounding, blood-pumping need.”
“Your description excited me more than last night’s endeavors, indicating the actual act is overrated.”
“Did you get off at least?”
Who is this man? “No. Well, technically yes. After he left.”
His eyes widen. “Self care?”
“Yes.”
