Page 52 of Twisted Liars

“No.”

“You’ll love it. There’s so much to explore. If you want, you can even help out.”

“How?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Do you want me to drive a tractor around?”

She laughed. “No, we have workers for that sort of stuff,” she said, waving a hand. “But we make all sorts of organic preserves here. Jams, relishes, pickles. Some of the women like to help the staff make them. It’s quite fun. Very satisfying. And you can eat as much as you want.”

“Within reason, anyway,” Dr. Carmichael added as she removed the pressure cuff from my arm. “Gestational diabetes is always a concern, so we try our best to make sure everyone maintains a healthy diet.”

“Right.” I turned my attention back to Zara. “So is that the cover story for this place? You sell jam?”

“Among other things. We also make and sell wine, although you obviously can’t have any of that,” she said, waggling a finger at me like I was a naughty child.

“How do you stop the farm workers from telling the outside world about everything that happens here?” I asked. “I mean, don’t they get suspicious seeing pregnant women all over the place?”

“Let’s just say they’re all very well-paid farm workers,” she replied, eyes glimmering with amusement.

“Ah. Of course.” I rolled my eyes. “You can just throw money at any problem to make it go away, can’t you?”

“That’s right. And like we told you in the cave that night, most of the women are here willingly,” she said. “They don’t complain or attempt to leave. So even if the farm workers weren’t already aware of what goes on here, they wouldn’t suspect much. They’d probably just think this place is some sort of pregnancy retreat.”

I crossed my arms. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that most of the women are here willingly.”

“You’d be surprised. Even the ones who come here unwillingly—like you—usually end up loving it here. It’s a nice, easy life for them.” She reached over and patted me on the leg. “It’ll be nice and easy for you too, if you’re willing to be a good girl and settle in quietly.”

“Oh, sure,” I said, scowling. “It’ll be so nice and easy for me to be trapped here as a sex slave so I can grow babies for you.”

Zara laughed. “You really are a drama queen, aren’t you?” she said. “You aren’t a sex slave at all. Every woman here is artificially inseminated.”

“Of course,” Dr. Carmichael added with an offended sniff. “We aren’t monsters.”

Yes, you are! I wanted to scream, but I knew there was no point. I was on a farm in the middle of nowhere, so there was no one to hear my cries except for a group of equally-helpless pregnant women and a selection of workers who were paid to turn a blind eye to everything that happened in this place.

“Just give it some time, Amerie,” Zara said, patting my leg again. “You can get to know the other girls and women here. Make some new friends. If you’re good, I might even get Piper to come and visit you. I know she isn’t really your sister, but it’ll still be nice for you to see a familiar face, won’t it?”

Piper.

My heart leapt at the sound of her name. If she came to see me, I might be able to convince her to help me, considering everything Jensen and I had done to break her down recently.

“Amerie?” Zara leaned closer, brows rising. “How does that sound?”

I swallowed hard and let my shoulders slump, affecting a defeated expression. “That’d be nice,” I said softly. “I love Piper.”

“Great. I’ll speak to her about visiting you soon.” Zara smiled and rose to her feet. “For now, just try your best to settle in. We’ll talk again later.”

She left the room with Dr. Carmichael, making a point of leaving the door ajar to signal that I was allowed to leave and wander the house and grounds. Instead, I headed back over to the window and stared out at the horizon, thinking of Jensen.

Please, I silently begged, wishing my message would telepathically reach his mind. Find me.

Jensen

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying fall leaves as I made my way through the eerie cemetery. The only light came from the crescent moon that hung low in the sky, casting shadows that seemed to twist and flicker as the wind picked up.

The Rosmerta invitation had instructed me to arrive at St. Joseph’s at ten o’clock, but it wasn’t clear where I was supposed to go once I arrived. I assumed it was the usual underground spot in the cave system beneath the sycamore tree, so I quietly made my way to the far end of the cemetery, gliding past the rows of crumbling tombstones and towering mausoleums in my cloak and mask like a dark spirit.

As I drew closer to the church that stood before the sycamore, I noticed a tall figure standing in the shadows by the wrought iron gate. The man was cloaked in a dark robe with golden trim, giving him away as a third-degree Rosmerta member. His face was covered in a matching gold mask with a predatory beak.

I hesitated for a moment, pulse racing. The man in the shadows hadn’t spoken or signaled for me to follow him yet, so I wasn’t sure if I should approach him or continue on my way toward the sycamore. As a second-degree member, I wasn’t allowed to speak in the presence of fellow members, so I couldn’t ask.

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