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Pressing my lips together, I sped up. Trees whizzed by, their branches seeming to reach for the vehicle as if to say, ‘don’t go any farther.’ But I kept driving, heading closer and closer to New Eden.

In the distance, a snake slithered across the road. I eased the truck around it when I reached it, sparing its life. Most people had a great disdain for reptiles and acted as if they were evil, but I’d always liked them. They weren’t evil. They just wanted to be left the fuck alone. I could respect that.

I slowed the truck. I wasn’t far away from the Chastain ranch now. About a hundred yards ahead on the right was a high perimeter fence where regular farmland fences used to sit. It reminded me of a prison fence with all the curls of razor wire wrapped around the top.

I pulled my truck over on a shoulder and stepped out. As I drew closer to the gate, I saw a sign which stated that the fence was electrified. Jesus. They really wanted to keep people out.

Or did they want to keep their own people in?

There was a young man guarding the gate. I approached him with an amiable smile. “Hey. I’m here to see Jacob Chastain.”

The man regarded me warily. “We don’t accept visitors,” he said in a clipped, disdainful tone.

“I have an appointment.”

“I sincerely doubt that. As I said, we don’t accept visitors.”

I furrowed my brows. “I’m not lying. I have an appointment with Prophet Chastain.”

He looked me up and down for a full thirty seconds before replying. “Name?”

“Mason Ashwood.”

He nodded and stepped away, muttering into some sort of two-way radio. A moment later he returned and waved toward my truck. “I’m opening the gate. You can drive in.”

“Thanks.”

Although the perimeter fence was new and unfamiliar, the driveway stretching up to the restored plantation mansion was exactly as I remembered it. A wave of nostalgia hit me as I slowly made my way down the dusty road. It was lined by live oak trees with long gnarled branches that reached toward each other across the road to form a twisted canopy.

I parked at the end of the driveway and got out, staring up at the enormous white mansion pillars with apprehension. The place was beautiful, but even so, it had a weird vibe to it. I couldn’t put my finger on why, though.

Perhaps it was haunted from the shooting. After all, if ghosts were actually real, this would be the most likely spot for them to lurk.

“Mason Ashwood!”

I looked to the left to see Jacob Chastain heading toward me from the side of the mansion. He was wearing black pants with a buckled belt, a black button-down and a gray herringbone sport jacket. He smiled as he drew closer. I almost winced at the sight. His teeth were the whitest and brightest I’d ever seen, and I remembered thinking how fucking creepy and fake he seemed when he grinned at me all those years ago when I first met him. None of the smiles I saw on him that day ever reached his eyes.

“Mr. Chastain,” I replied, flashing him a big fake smile of my own. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.”

It hadn’t been easy to get an appointment with him. I knew it wouldn’t be when I first started this endeavor. He very rarely met with outsiders, and letting one in to visit the property was so rare that I was probably only one of ten people who’d been allowed past the gate in the last decade.

I wasn’t a quitter, though. I knew I’d figure out a way in eventually, and I did.

I’d done a shit-ton of research into his finances over the last couple of months, because I remembered my parents mentioning his enormous property portfolio, and I knew the best place to get people was right in the wallet. The Global Financial Crisis was only two years ago, and even the crème de la crème of society had lost out when the real estate markets crashed along with everything else.

Jacob was no different. While he was still worth many millions, it appeared that he’d taken a substantial hit in the GFC, and he was probably still reeling from it.

I had a feeling the commune mostly ran on his dime, because the sugarcane they farmed surely wasn’t enough to sustain the hundreds of people who lived here. No, they needed serious money, and I figured Chastain might be worried that his hoard may eventually run out. As such, I’d asked to meet with him in regards to buying a chunk of his land.

In the end, though, I was pretty sure the only reason he’d finally agreed to let me meet with him was because of my last name.

“Lord, it must be twelve years since I last saw you,” Jacob said, still smiling as he looked me up and down. His voice was a soft Southern drawl.

“Eleven,” I said.

Something flashed in his deep green eyes. “That’s right.” He nodded slowly. “You were here that day, weren’t you?”

He didn’t need to specify which day he was talking about.

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