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Reeva wiped her runny nose and turned her face to the cool concrete wall again. “I don’t want her,” she whispered, fear and guilt mingled with panic. How would she care for this baby? Why should she? She hadn’t even looked at her once since she’d birthed her only an hour ago with the help of Eve.
Eve huffed and carefully lifted the swaddled babe in her arms, but she continued to bleat. Reeva covered her ears to avoid the urge to take the baby. Deep within, a sense of duty to the child swelled. Told her she was a part of her. She needed to be protected and loved and...fed.
“You are a pretty little girl, aren’t you?” Eve stroked her cheek. “I hope my baby is as lovely as yours.” Eve had been here longest—at least since Reeva had arrived—and yet she hadn’t produced. Why would Adam care so much about a girl who couldn’t produce quickly? “Ann’s little boy is precious. They leave tomorrow. Adam told me.”
Freedom. But was there freedom after this? Would he come for the children at some point? Come back and take her for more babies?
Footsteps clunked on the wooden stairs.
Adam.
“What is going on down here?” he asked as the baby continued to wail. His voice was quiet and tender; she’d never heard him raise it. But there was no need. The evil that pulsed in his eyes kept them under control. Kept them quiet.
“Reeva was about to feed Baby Girl. She’s strong. Over seven pounds.” Eve beamed as if she had been the one who’d endured hours of labor and pain with nothing to dull it. She forced the crying infant into Reeva’s arms, but she felt nothing until she finally looked upon her face.
It was a beautiful face. Heart-shaped lips and a button nose.
Another wave of maternal instinct crashed over her. Stronger. Greater.
But no matter what she tried, the baby fussed and screeched—as if she knew she’d been imprisoned too. Felt the hopelessness and pain. The shame.
Reeva ran her hands along her thick dark cap of hair, and a glimpse of promise rushed through her. Tears sprang to her eyes but not of desperation and helplessness.
Tears of new life. New hope. This was the one good thing from the nightmare she’d been living. Baby was hers. Needed her. Depended on her. She would keep her safe. Feed her and make sure she was healthy so they could flee this place. Go somewhere far away.
“Hush now,” she cooed and snuggled the baby to her breast. But she wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t stop wailing. Until her face turned purplish blue. What was she doing wrong? Why didn’t her daughter feel secure in her arms? “There there, little one. Mama is here. I won’t let him hurt you. It’ll be okay now.”
Except it wasn’t. Frustration and despair sank her heart as she felt powerless and helpless to even comfort her own daughter.
Adam cocked his head and frowned. “Let me have her.”
Reeva hesitated. She didn’t want her baby to be stained by his touch.
“Reeva,” he demanded softly. “Give me my daughter. My lovely, lovely little girl.”
Swallowing fear, she reluctantly handed the bundle to Adam. “Don’t—don’t hurt her.”
He received her gently—he’d never been gentle with Reeva. “Why would I ever hurt my own daughter?” He stroked Baby’s cheek with his index finger. “Oh there, little girl, Daddy’s here. Daddy’s girl. You are a beauty indeed.” His proud-papa face disgusted her. “She has my eyes and chin. Maybe even my nose.” He kissed Baby’s brow. “You’re your father’s daughter, aren’t you? My very first baby girl. That makes you extra special.”
The baby quieted. Opened wide eyes with dark lashes and stared into her father’s eyes, her purplish skin now fading to a rosy, healthy glow as the crying subsided.
Even cooed.
And Reeva knew in that moment, she’d birthed a monster.
Chapter One
Memphis, Tennessee
Monday, October 16
8:00 a.m.
Ever the dutiful daughter, Violet Rainwater climbed the cracked steps of the sagging apartment complex, wishing someone would put her out of her misery.
Inside, the putrid scent whacked her upside the head—like the smell of assisted-living centers where residents were far from assisted. She entered the elevator and punched the button for the second floor. As she stepped out, fluorescent lights spasmed overhead and drew out a dying hum signaling a ballast was about to go kaput.
An apartment door on the left opened, and an ancient woman with crags deeper than the Grand Canyon glared, a cigarette hanging from her lips. A floral housedress hung off her bag of bones.
