Page 295 of Redeemed

My stomach drops. Is he implying what I think he is? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” He moves forward, his body pressing against mine and forcing my hips into the counter. “I learned quite a bit about your time at Pemberton University, dear wife. You dipped your fingers into every sin you could think of, didn’t you?”

No. No, he can’t know.

Leaning down, he brushes his lips against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “Did you think yourclientswouldn’t open up to me at the first sign of cold, hard cash?”

My eyes slide shut as I try to hide the pain.Of course.If there’s one thing Cornerstone has, it’s gobs of money. I’m sure all it took was Isaiah going to Beckham and asking for funds to “save” me.

“Don’t underestimate the power of greed in nonbelievers, Heaven.”

“Bribery is a sin,” I whisper. “Proverbs 15:27.”

There are a handful of other references that come to mind, but I’m already walking a fine line. I’m not supposed to know the Bible better than the man who’s supposed to lead me.

I’m supposed to submit and serve. Nothing more.

“Not when it’s for a just cause.” His fingers trail up my throat, grasping it for a second before tilting my chin up.

My gaze meets his in the mirror. “Like bringing me home.”

“That’s right. It’s time to stop this silly rebellion of yours, don’t you think?”

Slowly, I nod, not letting myself look away from him.

Isaiah backs off, and the tightness in my chest eases a little. But it’s short-lived, because he pulls a pair of scissors out of a drawer.

The same ones I used to cut his hair with.

The same ones I used to trim my own—never too short, though.

Silently, Isaiah places them on the counter, right next to my hand. When I lock eyes with him in the mirror, he raises an eyebrow, daring me to challenge him.

I can’t defy Isaiah. If I do, he’ll just cut my hair himself—or much, much worse.

This isn’t like it was with the boys. They had limits, even if they crossed my own when I first moved in with them. But when I talked back, they didn’t leave me with bruised thighs and aching ribs. They’d never make me alter my appearance like this.

“We can bleach it,” I say shakily, even though I know I shouldn’t. “And then we can dye it back to brown.”

Isaiah’s expression hardens. “It’s either this, or I shave your entire head.”

My hands curl into fists. This is the exact type of tactic I was so relieved to escape. The public humiliation, the stares, the whispers. Having short hair will mark me as someone who needed to be punished. Who needed to have her beauty and vanity stripped so she could focus on serving God.

“Cut off the purple parts, Heaven.”

My eyes widen. “What? Just the purple parts? Not… not all of it?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Isaiah asks, and while his voice is calm, it’s laced with a dangerous undertone.

He’s about to hit his limit with me.

Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to bow down to this monster?

Tears fill my eyes. I promised myself I’d never have to bend to Isaiah’s will again. Not his, not my father’s, not Beckham’s. Yet here I am, back in the same position I was when I was a teenager.

I have to get out of here.

The scissors are old—fully metal, and with sharp points. The perfect weapon, if I can catch Isaiah by surprise. It’d be so quick. Just a single stab to cut open a carotid, and I’d be free of Isaiah. I could do it. I know I can.

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