I was still tied to the chair, my wrists aching from the rough rope that cut into my skin. The door creaked open, and I looked up, my heart sinking as Marshall walked in, followed by an older man in a black suit holding a worn Bible. My stomach twisted as I realized what was happening.
“Marshall, what the hell is this?” I demanded, trying to keep the fear out of my voice, though the anger was impossible to hide.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he calmly shut the door and gestured for the pastor to stand by the table. The man’s eyes were downcast, avoiding mine, as if he was ashamed of what he was about to do.
"Grace," Marshall began, his tone as smooth as ever, "I think it’s time we stopped dancing around the inevitable. I’ve given you enough time to think things over, and now it
