Page 68

Haven

I didn’t say it back.

It’s all I can think about as we drive to Cornerstone in silence. Colton told me he loves me, and we got interrupted before I could tell him the same.

God, I’m an idiot. I should’ve just said it back immediately instead of getting lost in kissing him.

My heart aches as I realize I haven’t told Xander, either. And now… now I may never get to tell either of them how I feel.

The sun is setting by the time Dad pulls over the hill that leads into Cornerstone. It’s different now. Closed off.

Just as Julie described, a tall stone wall wraps around the community, and I stifle a gasp at the barbed wire on top. None of this was here when I left.

“What… what happened here? Why the wall? Why the barbed wire?”

“You’ll speak in complete sentences, or you won’t speak at all,” Isaiah snaps.

Oh. Right. It’s one of the things I struggled with the most when I was younger.

You need to enunciate your words, Heaven.

You should never speak in incomplete sentences, Heaven.

You represent your father, and one day, your husband. You need to present yourself well, Heaven.

“Why was the wall built?” I ask quietly. “And… why is there barbed wire on top of it?”

Silence fills the car as we near a wrought iron gate. It matches the aesthetics of the rest of the community. Pastor Beckham always stressed the importance of doing everything for the glory of God. He preached that God was creative, and that beauty in any form was a good thing.

Look at the flowers, the fields, the birds. Look at the beautiful women among us. Our Lord is a lover of beauty, so everything we build will be beautiful in his honor.

“Do you remember when Nehemiah left?” Dad asks.

“Of course I do.”

“He came back,” Isaiah says bitterly. “He managed to kill three people before we took care of him.”

Oh my god.

“That’s why we need to protect ourselves with all of this,” Dad continues as two men with guns open the gate. “We won’t let something like that happen ever again.”

My stomach cramps. I hate Cornerstone and many of the people in it, but I don’t think I could ever do something like that. No one deserves to go through the pain of losing someone you love.

Once we’re through the gate, I look around. It’s dark, but the building lights illuminate the compound enough that I can see most of the things I used to hold dear. The swing set near the pond, the magnolia trees lining the pathway leading to the apartments and townhomes, and even the church in all its Gothic glory.

It’s all the same, yet there’s a sinister feel to the place now. Every so often, there’s a tower along the perimeter, and I can just make out the silhouettes of someone standing in each of them. My guess is they’re armed, too.

Yes, they keep people out, but they also keep people in.

Isaiah pulls into the parking lot and takes his usual spot. I’m reaching for the door handle when Isaiah glances back and glares at me.

Right. I drop my hand into my lap while Isaiah gets out of the car and then opens my door for me. I climb out as gracefully as I can and pull the skirt of my dress down as far as it can go. Not out of shame, but because I don’t want Isaiah looking at me.

“Heaven,” my dad says softly.

Blinking back tears, I turn to him. He looks older than I remember. His hair is graying, and he has new wrinkles on his face. His features don’t look so harsh, like maybe he’s softened a bit over the years.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he says hoarsely. “I’ve missed you. We all have.”

I stand completely still. Sometime during my junior year, I realized I didn’t miss my father, and that I never had. I missed the concept of having one, sure, but never the man who helped create me. Even my happiest memories with him are tainted with fear.

“We should go,” Isaiah says. “We need to be well-rested for church tomorrow.”

Dread climbs its way up my throat. My brain is yelling at me to run or to fight, but I can’t anymore. I can’t get away, and I can’t win. I’m trapped again.

Dad gives me a hug that I don’t return, and then Isaiah puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me to the path. As we walk under the magnolia trees, memories flood my mind. I walked this path multiple times every day, often with Ruth by my side. We usually had a younger sibling or two trailing behind us.

“How are my siblings?”

“They’re fine. You have two baby brothers you haven’t met, and countless new nieces and nephews.”

My feet freeze. “Two?”

Isaiah nods. “Your parents had twins.”

“Did Mom…”

I’m too afraid to put the question into words. My mom’s last pregnancy was already hard on her. I was worried when I found out my parents were trying for another baby. She was getting older, and I overheard some of the medical staff saying she might not survive another pregnancy.

“What?” Isaiah asks impatiently.

“Is she still alive?”

“Of course she is. You women can handle more than you think you can.”

I clench my fists as we step into our house. Not much has changed. The furniture is still laid out the same way, the curtains are the same ones I picked out, and the floorboards on the other side of the threshold still creak under our weight.

“Upstairs,” Isaiah commands.

With shaking hands, I slowly make my way up the steps. Our wedding picture is still hanging in the upstairs hallway, and it makes me cringe. I look so young, and even though I’m smiling, I can see the dread in my eyes.

Isaiah comes up a minute later and meets me in the bedroom. As he moves toward me, I feel myself retreating even though I don’t move. The scared little girl inside me hides herself away, and she takes all my emotions with her.

He slips his finger under the thin straps of my dress. “We’ll burn this tomorrow.”

Silently, I nod.

“I want to give you a chance, Heaven. You were young when that woman took you. You were impressionable, and she took advantage of that and poisoned you against God. I’m going to bring you back to him.”

“You… You’re not going to kill me?”

“I said I want to give you a chance,” he says, voice harsh. “It’s what God would do.”

I bow my head. “Thank you.”

My hopes soar. If he’s not going to kill me, then that means there’s time for Colton, Lucas, and Xander to find me. I don’t know if they’d even be able to get me out of here, but I know what they’ve done for me in the past. They’ll come up with something, even if they have to burn the whole compound down to get to me.

“I missed you,” Isaiah says softly. “I want to be a better husband to you, Heaven. When you were questioning your faith, I should’ve listened to you more instead of scolding you. I should’ve tried to help you. That’s what I’m going to do now.”

I gulp. His version of help is all punishments and violence. The only thing it actually does is cause more harm.

He strokes his thumb across my cheek, his touch gentle for the first time since he found me. It makes my blood run cold.

The only time Isaiah was ever affectionate toward me was when he wanted to fuck me. When we first got married, he didn’t even bother with that. And when I fought him—screaming, crying, kicking—he only pushed me harder.

After a while, he figured out that if he was nicer about it, I was more compliant. I’d still cry, and I’d still be stiff as a board, but he wouldn’t have to deal with me trying to claw his skin off.

I steel myself, refusing to shy away from Isaiah’s touch. If I’ve learned one thing since I left Cornerstone, it’s that I can’t show weakness to predators.

“It’s my job to protect you and guide you on the path to God,” he continues. “I should’ve banned you from speaking with that woman earlier. I should’ve protected your mind and your heart.”

The only thing I need protection from is you.

But I can’t say that. If I’m going to survive here until I can find another way out, I’ll have to go along with whatever Isaiah wants from me.

Isaiah’s focus lands on my hair, and he twists one of the purple streaks around his fingers. “We need to get rid of this.”

“W-what?”

Isaiah sighs as he pulls me into the bathroom. The wallpaper is still the same—red roses on a cream background. It’s like this house has been frozen in time, right down to my hairbrush still sitting on the counter.

“You know better than to color your hair, and you were taught how to wear makeup. It’s meant to accentuate your features, and only for special occasions, not to do… that.” With a disgusted look, Isaiah gestures to my eyes—to the sparkly purple eyeshadow and my winged eyeliner. “You look like a whore. Although… well, that’s not new to you, is it?”

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 your clients wouldn’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.

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 I want to be married to Colton.

“You’re married to me, woman.” He throws the ring at the wall behind me, and I wince when I hear it clatter to the ground. “You’re my wife, 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.

He shoves me onto the mattress. “I stayed faithful to you. Almost four years, Heaven, and I never touched another woman. You really expect me to wait?”

I scramble away, but he pounces onto the bed and flips me onto my back. When I try to curl up in on myself, he slaps me across the face.

“Just pretend I’m one of your clients,” he spits out. “You managed just fine for them, didn’t you?”

My heart crumbles as Isaiah yanks my dress’s zipper down. And as he tears the dress off my body, I sink into a cold, dark state of numbness and pray for death to find me.