Page 93 of Redeemed

I stare at all three of them, sitting across the table from me like my judge, jury, and executioner.

“On what terms?” I ask, mouth dry, heart beating out of my chest.

“We keep you safe,” Colton starts.

“We’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” Lucas says next.

“And in exchange…?”

Xander smirks. “We do whatever we want with you, whenever we want to.”

My stomach cramps, and for a brief moment, I’m worried I’m about to hurl green smoothie and scrambled eggs all over Colton’s table.

“You’re talking about sex,” I state in disbelief. “Like, free use?”

Xander smirks. “Exactly. You’ll be our personal fleshlight for however long you need to stay in hiding for.”

Numbness creeps through my body as I realize just how serious they are. Not just serious, actually. They’re all watching me like I’m a cornered mouse, sadistic pleasure painted onto their features.

“But I can’t do that,” I say weakly.

Lucas snorts. “It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t done before.”

I’m not ashamed of how I make some extra cash, and I don’t think he’s trying to make me feel bad about it, but his comment pisses me off anyway. My entire life, I’ve been an object. First, I was something to do chores and free labor for Cornerstone and my family. Second, I was nothing more than a womb, something that could be bred to produce children for my husband—not that his efforts were ever successful.

And now… Now all I’m supposed to be is a living, breathing sex toy.

“That’s not how it works,” I snap. “I set boundaries. There are things I’m willing to do and things I’m not. What you’re asking for is—is—it’sabuse.”

Lucas shrugs. “And?”

Oh my fucking god.

Colton casts an annoyed glance in Lucas’s direction. “If you have any true hard limits, we’ll respect them.”

“And if sex is a hard limit?”

With a shrug, Colton leans back in his seat. “Then you’re free to go. Good luck hiding from that guy. If I run into him, I’ll be sure to tell him which direction I saw you headed in last.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Want to test that theory?”

Oh god. I don’t think he’s bluffing.

All oxygen is forced from my lungs, and when I try to inhale, it feels like my throat is constricted. All I can manage are short, panicked breaths.

It may have taken Isaiah three years to find me, but he did, which means he can do it again. I can’t go running to a new town to try to lose him. He’ll just follow me.

Can’t go back.

The room spins, and I grip the table, my nails digging into the dark wood.

He’ll kill me. I broke my vow to him. He said he’d—

“Haven?”

Can’t go back, can’t go back, can’t—can’t breathe.

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