One of Many

by Marata Eros

  A novel

  New York Times Bestselling author

  MARATA EROS

  International Bestselling author

  EMILY GOODWIN

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2015-16 Marata Eros

  Copyright © 2015-16 Emily Goodwin

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Marata Eros Website

  Marata Eros FB Fan Page

  Emily Goodwin Website

  Emily Goodwin FB Fan Page

  CONTENTS

  Synopsis

  Works by Emily Goodwin

  Works by Marata Eros

  AUTHORSʼ NOTE

  DEDICATION

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Subscribe Emily Goodwin News

  Subscribe Marata Eros News

  Synopsis:

  AUDREY

  When we had nothing, The Community gave us everything. When we were lost, Father Weston welcomed us home. For the last five years, we've been preparing for the world to end in flames. Then I was Chosen to join the other wives in the big house on the hill. And in that house, I would learn the truth.

  There is no damnation. I am no savior. And the only way out of this cult is to trust the one person I've been forbidden to talk to. Kiev, Father Weston's son. But Kiev only wants one thing from me, and I must prove to him I'm not one of many blindly following his father's lies.

  If I don't, I won't make it out of here alive.

  KIEV

  My father ruined my life. Took everything from me and never looked back. For years, I've been waiting to strike, to pull his false empire from under his feet and watch him burn.

  Then he chooses her as his newest Virgin Bride. She's special to him, held in higher regard, presented to the entire community as a symbol of hope, a symbol to make them keep buying his lies.

  My father took everything from me. Now it's time I take everything from him. And I'm starting with her.

  Works by Emily Goodwin:

  The CONTAGION Series

  Never Say Never

  Stay

  All I Need

  First Comes Love (Amazon Top 20 bestseller)

  Grace Paige (pen name):

  The TEASE ME Serial

  Works by Marata Eros:

  A Terrible Love (New York Times bestseller)

  A Brutal Tenderness

  The Darkest Joy

  Club Alpha

  The DARA NICHOLS Series, 1-8

  The DEMON Series

  The DRUID Series

  Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  The SIREN Series

  The TOKEN Serial

  Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  The ZOE SCOTT Series 1-8

  Tamara Rose Blodgett (real name):

  The BLOOD Series

  The DEATH Series

  Shifter ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  The REFLECTION Series

  The SAVAGE Series

  Vampire ALPHA CLAIM 1-6

  AUTHORSʼ NOTE:

  ***If you do not wish to read about hard topics, or you're under the age of 18, or if you want a feel-good, sexy read, this is NOT the book for you. One of Many is part dark romance, part suspense thriller, and is a gritty, harrowing tale about finding love in the darkest of places. Read at your own risk. Might contain triggers.***

  Audrey and Kiev’s story is fiction, but the dangers of cults are not. If you or someone you know needs help, please check out freedomofmind.com for more information.

  Please note that this book contains two sample chapters that will begin immediately after One of Many ends.

  DEDICATION

  Christine Stanley

  “Thanks for putting up with us!”

  Prologue

  Audrey

  I push my shoulders back and stare out the window, watching raindrops roll down the thick glass. The rain is relentless, going on all day with no signs of stopping.

  I focus on a large drop as it slides down the pane, getting bigger and bigger as it merges with others, bringing them in and making them part of the one. It’s one of many raindrops, but it moves down the window as if it has a mission, holding my attention. It keeps rolling, keeps getting bigger, yet there is nothing to it. It’s clear, transparent.

  Which is how I feel.

  Hollow. Void. Empty. The color of rain. Nothing.

  I turn my gaze to Mom. Tears streak down her cheeks, as nonstop as the rain outside the church. She has one hand gently holding on to her cross necklace, and the other is clutching Dad’s. I look at Dad next and think it looks as if someone ripped apart his face and stuck two different heads back together. His eyes hold back shock and disbelief that the daughter he got instead of the son he wanted has been Chosen.

  I’m important. I have a role to fill.

  I could save us all.

  Or at least that’s what Father Weston says. He’s told us the news: he had a dream, and I was in it. That’s it. All the details I get over something that will change my life forever. Something that will tear me from The Community and put me in his house with the other wives.

  I should feel something. Pride. Excitement. Fear. But I don’t. Maybe I haven’t processed it yet, or maybe I’m in denial. The last five years have passed in a blur, after Dad lost his job at the factory, and Mom was waiting tables at night after her day job as a teacher, to cover the bills. I was never sure how Father Weston came into our lives, but I know my parents were grateful he did.

  It was fate, they all say. He saved us, put us on a path to redemption, and my parents ate his words on a silver spoon. I was fourteen at the time and held on to my beliefs. But five years of being told everything I knew was wrong wore on me—tore into my core and made me question everything I know.

  Like the rain.

  Mom’s sure the deluge is a sign of our impending end. But it’s spring. It always rains during spring.

  Or does it? We’re getting more rain than normal. Or so they say. I dare not speak up. Especially now that I’ve been Chosen.

  “The wedding ceremony will take place in June,” Father Weston says. He’s looking at me. At my breasts, specifically. If he’s going to be my husband, I shouldn’t care, right? “That gives us a month and a half to prepare.”

  Mom inhales sharply, blotting her eyes with the back of her hand. I get a flash to when she’d cry out of exhaustion, too tired to get off the couch but having to work her second job in half an hour. Mascara would run down her cheek
s then. It doesn’t now. Makeup isn’t needed in The Community.

  “It’s such... an honor,” she says. “My daughter…” she begins, shaking her head. Despite the tears, Mom is pretty. She says I look like her, but I don’t always see it. We have the same dark brown hair, so thick it’s almost impossible to do anything with. I have her high cheekbones and full lips, but I have Dad’s aquamarine eyes.

  “I agree, it is,” Father Weston says, and I can feel his gaze drilling into me. I force a smile and look at him. At my soon-to-be husband. He’s old enough to be my father. Maybe he’s the same age as my father—I don’t know.

  Part of me doesn't want to know.

  Despite the years between us, Father Weston is a good-looking man. He has dark hair that’s lightly peppered with gray at the temples. There's almost always a light shadow of stubble covering his strong jaw, and he’s firmly built without being muscular. His slate-blue eyes are piercing, like pewter sapphires frozen in sparkling water.

  My eyes drop from his face to his chest, and it hits me that I have no idea what he looks like without clothes on. Does he have hair on his chest? I’ll find out soon enough, after our wedding. I’m a virgin, which is part of the criteria for being Chosen as a wife. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex—I do—it’s that there hasn’t been a time or place for it to happen since I’ve been here.

  Dates are chaperoned. Boys and girls aren’t allowed to be alone together. My father gets to approve or deny any potential relationship I’d have, and most of the time dates are set up by parents. Though I’m almost twenty, my parents still have strict control over my life.

  Had.

  They won’t anymore. Now my life, my soul, my body belong to Father Weston. It’s my job to serve him, to please him, to fulfill my duty as a wife to the leader of The Community.

  It’s my job to save us all.

  Chapter One

  Audrey

  “Come on. Don’t be shy,” a woman with soft blond hair says as she beckons me inside the large white house. Her name is Anna, and she’s been a wife for almost a year. She’s five years older than me and isn’t able to meet my gaze. I would think she’s jealous, but there’s something else on her face— sadness, pity maybe?—and her disconnection acts like a warning.

  I clutch my suitcase, which contains everything I own, close to my body. I don’t have much, only what's necessary. All the money we earn goes to Father Weston, and he provides exactly what we need, keeping us minimalists so we can focus on what’s important.

  I nod, trying my best to ignore the sweat that’s rolling down my back and between my breasts. The wedding ceremony and festivities just ended. I’m still in the long white gown. It comes to my feet and would drag the ground if not for the silver heels I’m wearing. The gown is plain overall, with a satin corset-style bodice that is squeezing the life out of my large breasts.

  Ginny, the oldest wife, who looks to be the same age as Father Weston, tried for hours to get my hair curled, but it wouldn’t hold. Finally she gave up and wove my hair up in a complex system of braids and twists. I had on makeup for the first time in years and wore a pearl necklace that belonged to my grandmother.

  “Okay,” I say, my voice tight. I push my shoulders back, wishing I wasn’t as nervous as I am. I made it through the wedding ceremony, with everyone watching. Now it’s just me, Father Weston, and the other four wives.

  “Thanks,” I tell her when she grabs my suitcase.

  “I’ll take you to your room,” she says, her eyes still focused on the ground. She smiles like she’s supposed to, but the hospitality dies on her lips and isn’t reflected in her eyes with her hesitant, fleeting glance.

  “Do I have to…” I look around the large foyer. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a house this grand, and it’s culture shock all over again. As little as the others in The Community get, Father Weston makes up for it. Tenfold. Maybe more.

  “I don’t know, honey,” she says softly, clearly interpreting what I mean.

  I’m thankful I don’t have to say the words, because thinking of Father Weston naked and on top of me makes my heart race, and not in a good way. My mouth goes dry, and my throat tightens at the thought. I’m Chosen, but does that mean he loves me? Will he be gentle—care if I enjoy it?

  “I’ll show you around in the morning,” she says and leads me up a curved staircase. My heels click on the polished hardwood, and I grasp the railing, afraid of falling. The house is quiet and still, as if it’s holding its breath—watching me as though waiting for something to happen. Father Weston was still at the ceremony when I left, making rounds and shaking hands with others from The Community.

  “You must be tired,” she continues. A dim light shines down the hall from upstairs, casting long shadows over the balcony.

  “The rules are pretty simple here.” Her voice echoes off the tall ceilings. We reach the landing and go down a hall. Every door is closed, yet I feel the weight of eyes on me. Then I realize what she said.

  Rules.

  “What are they?”

  “Nothing major,” she rushes to say, her voice flat. “Keep after yourself, clean the house, cook, and listen to Weston.”

  “Do I not have to call him Father Weston anymore?”

  “That’s up to him,” she says. “Sometimes he likes it.”

  I nod, my heart hammering again. “Sounds simple.”

  “For the most part it is,” she says and stops outside a door across from a balcony.

  Another balcony. It overlooks a living room. This house is so big I could get lost. I might have to sketch out a map tomorrow.

  “There’s one more rule,” she whispers when a door at the end of the hall cracks open. Soft yellow light spills out, and I catch a glimpse of a face.

  It’s a face I’ve seen before. A handsome face, belonging to an equally handsome body that’s tall and muscular and covered in tattoos. It’s a face most of us avoid, or maybe more correctly, a face that avoids everyone. There’s something dark and mysterious about him, and it scares me as much as it tempts me to get closer.

  Our eyes lock, and something goes through me, something that replaces the apprehension and fear of the night.

  I come to a standstill, and time stops. The ticking of the clock on the wall above me sounds in time with my heart, and I can’t look away. I want to lift up his shirt and see the rest of his tattoos, feel them, run my fingers over the black lines, tracing my way along his muscular body.

  He stares back, his angry eyes softening, and I can’t help wondering if he’s feeling the same thing.

  “Him,” Anna harshly whispers, loud enough for the man in the doorway to hear. She takes my hand and pulls me forward into my room. “Stay away from him. Stay away from Father Weston’s son.”

  Chapter Two

  Kiev

  I hear their soft whispers, like mice conferring, and smirk.

  Another virgin bride for Daddy Dearest. Fuck, what a perv.

  Contrary to popular belief, polygamy isn't legal anywhere in America. Not that the law gives Father Weston pause.

  He is full of justification for everything he does.

  I hate that my mom's gone. I love that she's no longer one of the wives. Without her presence, the lifestyle I grew up in makes me sick.

  I hear wife number five talking with wife number four, Anna. My lack of care is almost enough not to have me playing voyeur from the room that Weston allows me to flop in when I return to The Community.

  I have my uses.

  I make Father Weston appear more real. His offspring is a willing sinner, living outside. I am a blatant example that someone as pure as him can have someone as evil as me.

  I rake my fingers through my longish hair, then with a practiced twist, slap it back in a hairband that matches my black hair. A stubborn chunk falls forward, and I flick it aside, widening the door a crack.

  I don't want to admit I'm curious who the new wife is. The newest wife, Anna, was Chosen a year ago and
is the same age as me, twenty-four. The wives keep getting younger. I'm pretty sure dickhead dad would marry underage girls if it wouldn't get the full attention of the law.

  The government is reluctant to intervene because of the umbrella of religion. Father Weston rides the fine line of breaking the law and bending it like bad yoga.

  Anger radiates like imprisoned heat in my head, making my temples begin to throb. The police are pansies.

  Serve and protect, my ass.

  The current trend is political correctness and letting Americans do what they want because they scream and whine loudly enough. That thought process does not benefit the innocent.

  Weston knows how far to press his agenda and every statute of the law to make sure he can do everything he pleases.

  Maybe he's told the lies many times, and they're the truth to him now.

  His reality.

  He calls me his bastard son, but that's not true. I'm the only child who holds the right to his name.

  My mother was the first wife.

  And now she's missing, presumed dead.

  Weston doesn't believe in medicine either. Everything is “God's will.” I'm pretty damn sure God didn't want my mom to abandon her five-year-old son.

  He already had another wife before she left me, and I have an asston of younger half siblings.