Page 301 of Redeemed

“Yes. Now, mov—”

“Not even for grocery shopping? Or—”

“Never.Ruth has done my shopping since you left. She’ll continue with that.Ifyou earn my trust, then maybe I’ll consider letting you go with her.”

Grabbing my wrist, Isaiah drags me away from the gate. I stumble after him, my thoughts derailed by the mention of my old friend. I’ve wondered about her almost daily, hoping she’s all right. That Samuel treats her better than Isaiah ever treated me.

Not that the bar is very high.

As we approach the church, a buzzing sound comes from above. We both look up, and Isaiah stops in his tracks at the drone that’s hovering over us.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much for security purposes?” I ask dryly.

“It’s not ours,” Isaiah says tightly.

My eyes snap up to the drone again. If it’s not Cornerstone’s, then…

Oh my god.

Could it be them? Maybe they’re trying to get a good look at the inside of the compound so they can find me.

“Abraham,” Isaiah barks as he drags me away, “shoot it down.”

One of the men near the gate raises his gun. Three shots ring out, and when I jump, Isaiah pulls me into him protectively. The drone clatters to the ground a second later.

My heart sinks. Even if it was the boys looking for me, what good will it do? They can’t get in here without the same thing happening to them. I don’t want them to die trying to get me out.

“Inside,” Isaiah bites out.“Now.”

I force myself to turn away from the drone and take the stone steps in front of me. Cornerstone Church is the largest building here aside from the community center. Technically they’re one building, but they were built separately and then connected with a single hallway before I was born.

When I was younger, I heard the story of a few super rich members joining when Beckham founded Cornerstone. I was in awe of the fact that they gave all their money to God. Now I see Beckham’s scheme for what it is.

Indoctrination.

Manipulation.

Thievery.

The church looms over us as we ascend the steps, the sun rising behind it and casting us in shadow. It’s modeled after older Gothic European cathedrals, right down to the towers, arches, and stained glass windows.

When I was younger, it used to be where I felt closest to God.

Now it feels like a prison.

“You’re going to behave,” Isaiah growls in my ear. “You’ve already embarrassed me once. If you do it again, it’ll be the last thing youeverdo.”

“I’ll be good,” I say, keeping my voice soft. It grates against my nerves, but I know what he expects—what everyone needs from me to believe that I’m repentant.

I can pretend to be regretful. I can don a demeanor of meekness and submission. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.

We enter through the main set of double doors. They’re at least fifteen feet tall and painted red to symbolize Christ’s blood washing us clean from the week’s sins.

Memories flood me, ones of running around and playing hide and seek with Ruth and other children. They’re quickly followed by ones of getting scolded for that, of being reminded that young ladies shouldn’t besorambunctious.

Fighting the scowl that threatens to take over my face, I let Isaiah lead me into the large, high-ceiling entryway. There’s a coat closet to the right, a crying room up against the sanctuary, and stairs that lead to a balcony upstairs.

The first person my eyes land on is Ruth. She’s holding a toddler and smiling as an older woman places a hand on her stomach. When I look closer, I see Ruth’s baby bump. She’s probably around six months along, and as always, she’s glowing.

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