“Defiance is what poisoned Eve.” He loosened his belt and pulled it from the loops, the sound of leather making my teeth chatter. “You will repent. Whether on your knees. On your back.” He moved toward me, his mouth a whisper from my neck. “Or bent over like the jezebel you are.”
He forced me onto my stomach and pushed my legs apart.
“Now say it. Say you deserve correction.”
As he lifted up my nightgown and dragged the leather belt between my legs, panic raced through me.
I’d been here before. Victor played these sort of mind games, too. Threatened punishment if I didn’t do as he demanded, even if his demand involved a form of punishment itself.
There was no winning with him.
Just like there was no winning here.
There was simply taking the path of least resistance.
“I deserve correction,” I whispered shakily.
A harsh blow landed against my backside, and I released a loud wail, an excruciating pain spiraling through me as I struggled to maintain my balance.
“Not good enough. Louder. Tell Father what you deserve.”
“I deserve correction!”
He belted me again, tears streaming down my face from the pain. The humiliation. The torment.
“Again!” he demanded, his breathing growing uneven.
“I deserve correction!” I choked out as loudly as I could.
The room blurred, and I attempted to wiggle free, but his firm arm on my lower back kept me glued to the bed.
“Again!”
“I deserve correction!” I cried out again.
And again, the belt landed against my skin, sobs wracking through me.
I hated myself for being so weak. For not being the warrior Henry thought I was. For letting this man break me within a matter of minutes. I thought I was stronger than this.
“The Lord appreciates humility.” He released me, smoothing out my nightgown before helping me to my feet. “Especially from women burdened by sin.”
He turned, and I grew hopeful he was about to leave. Instead, he moved toward the corner of the room where he’d been lingering when I first noticed him.
“I know this feels cruel to you now,” he soothed, his voice taking on an eerie calmness. “But suffering is the first step toward purification. You came to me stained by sin. By betrayal. By lust. By corruption.” He stood by the fireplace, his eyes focused on the dancing flames before him. “But through your suffering, you are now on the path toward redemption.”
He bent down and retrieved a fire poker.
At least I thought it was a fire poker.
Instead, as he turned toward me, I realized it was a branding iron like those used on cattle. It was in the shape of a cross with a crown on the top, the bottom sharpening into something resembling a sword.
And in the middle was the letter J.
“What is that?” I asked, my eyes widening in panic as I tried to back away.
“I was blind once,” he stated, using his free hand to unbutton his shirt. “I lived a life of sin. Of excess. Of…debauchery. Just like you.” He pushed the fabric to the side, revealing a brand on his chest.
I wasn’t an expert in brands, but I’d guess it was years old. Probably even decades.
