Page 296 of Redeemed

I have to.

His car is in the parking lot outside. I saw it—it’s the same one he drove before I ran away. All I have to do is grab the keys from the little shelf in the entryway, and then—

The gate. How do I get past the gate?

I’m not sure I can make it past the men who opened it for us when we came in. It looks like they guard it twenty-four-seven.

Except during church.

I can’t be completely sure, but Beckham always preached that skipping church was a sin. The only acceptable excuse was if you couldn’t physically make it due to illness, childbirth, or something like that. Besides, we aren’t allowed to work on the Sabbath.

“Thinking of stabbing me?” Isaiah muses. He’s watching me, head tilted, a threatening grin on his face.

I glance down and realize the scissors are already in my hand. Instead of inserting my fingers through the handles, I’m clutching the scissors like a knife.

But I can’t. If I’m going to escape, I need to have a full plan. Tomorrow is Sunday. I can try to get a better look at the gate on our walk to the church to see if it’s manned.

“No,” I whisper, readjusting my hand so I’m holding the scissors properly. “I… I wouldn’t do that.”

Humming in disbelief, Isaiah leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Cut your hair, then.”

My heart is screaming at me as I lift the scissors to my head, but I have no choice. I don’t want to think about what Isaiah will do to me if I disobey him.

It’s been a while since I last dyed my hair—I’ve never been good at keeping up with it—and right now, I couldn’t be more grateful. There’s three or four inches of brown at my roots, which means it’ll grow out a bit faster.

Gathering up one of the purple streaks, I lift the scissors and cut the hair off right where the purple ends. I let it all fall to the floor as I stare at the short strands of brown on the top of my head. They’re long enough to lay flat, thank god, but it’s still obvious that the hair was cut.

“You’re not done, so don’t stop.”

I blink back a fresh wave of tears and move on to the next strand of purple hair. Isaiah watches until I’m completely stripped of the first thing I ever did to reclaim my body as my own. Once I’m done, I can’t hold back my tears any longer. It’ll take months for it to grow out to a normal length, if I even survive that long.

“Clean this up,” Isaiah says in disgust, and then he turns and stalks out of the bathroom.

With a quiet sob, I gather up all my hair and throw it into the small trash can under the sink. After I wash my hands, I wipe my tears, straighten my shoulders, and step back into the bedroom.

Isaiah is already halfway undressed. When he notices me, his eyes travel up and down my body in a way that makes my skin crawl. His gaze freezes on my left hand, and rage contorts his features.

“What the hell is that?”

I jump back when he crosses the room toward me. He never uses language like that unless he’s past the point of losing control of his emotions.

With a snarl, Isaiah grabs my hand and rips my wedding ring off it. “You got married?”

My response gets caught in my throat. All I can do is stare wide-eyed at the ring. I want to snatch it and put it back where it belongs. Isaiah may have married me first, but it was never a legitimate marriage. I know that now. And Iwantto be married to Colton.

“You’re married tome,woman.” He throws the ring at the wall behind me, and I wince when I hear it clatter to the ground. “You’remywife, and you’ll act as such.”

“Isaiah—”

“No,” he barks. “Things go back to the way they were before, starting now. You’re going to forget about whoever put that ring on your finger. You understand me?”

Tears flood my eyes, but I nod.

He pulls something from his pocket—the ring he gave me when I was fifteen—and jams it onto my finger. “This is the only ring you’ll ever wear. Now get on the bed.”

My body turns to stone. I’m not ready for this. I thought… I thought I was safe from this.

“Please don’t do this,” I whisper.

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