Page 55 of Take Me Under

“The Bible is a man-made book, and like man, there are flaws. The stories in it seem to have been chosen to fit a narrative.”

I raised a brow and peered over at her, suddenly more curious about her than ever before. Religion was a complex mix of personal, cultural, and family influences. I’d never practiced any religion, but I was intrigued by what her beliefs might be.

“And what do you think that narrative is?” I asked.

“One of the most obvious flaws is the number of gospels. The Bible tells us that Jesus had twelve disciples. Have you ever wondered why there are only four gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John? Some believe that the other eight gospels weren’t included because they portray the faults of Jesus Christ.”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever thought about it. I didn’t have a religious upbringing.”

She sighed. “Some might say you’re fortunate in that regard.The Catholic faith has a long, bloody history. Regardless of what I believe or don’t believe, Catholic guilt is a very real thing.”

I smiled, amused by the concept. I’d long fallen short of any divine expectation. My immorality ran deep, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Tell me more about this guilt,” I prodded.

Angling her body, she turned toward me. “I think you’re changing the subject. I’m supposed to be getting to know you better, remember?”

I glanced over and met her pointed gaze.

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” she replied without hesitation. “Like, where did you go to college?”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh, it was wrong of me to assume. I just…” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m not ashamed about not receiving higher education, nor should you feel awkward about asking. I had an interest in going, but simply didn’t need it. I’m good at spotting trends and used that to my advantage. I taught myself everything I needed to know to get to where I am today without the need of a classroom.”

“And clearly, you excelled at it. How about your family? You haven’t talked about them.”

I exhaled through my nose, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “That’s because there’s not much to talk about.”

She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she was determined to solve.

“Tell me about your parents.”

“I don’t know who my father is, and I already told you my mother died. She passed when I was young. That’s all there is to it.” I kept my tone measured, even as a knot formed in my chest. It was the kind of ache that came from buried memories clawingtheir way to the surface. Images of my mother’s lifeless body, a needle protruding from her arm, filled my mind.

My hands tightened on the wheel.

Don’t think about it.

“That’s not all there is to it,” Serena persisted. “Everyone comes from somewhere, Anton. You have a past—a story. You didn’t just appear out of thin air as a billionaire with a penthouse and a penchant for secrecy.”

I clenched my jaw. She didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. My past wasn’t something I shared. Not with anyone. Zeke was the only person alive who knew everything, and that was how it would stay. It was better to not answer her questions—especially now that I knew about this so-called Catholic guilt.

What the hell is that all about anyway?

And here I’d worried about what she’d think if she ever learned I owned a sex club. How could I tell her that I was raised by a prostitute? Hearing the truth about my upbringing would lead to too many questions that I couldn’t answer. Serena was as worldly as she was innocent, and I’d be damned before I corrupted her with my sordid past.

She was quiet, so I glanced her way again. Her brows knitted together, her lips pressing into a tight line.

“My mother died of a drug overdose,” I said finally, the words bitter on my tongue. It was the only truth I could offer, the piece that was already public record. Anything more would be stepping into dangerous territory.

She blinked, clearly surprised by my admission.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That must’ve been...difficult.”

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