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She stares up at me for a few seconds before I slam the door shut in her face. Pacing back toward the clothes she brought up, I slide the zipper down to find a completely white outfit. It’s just a matter of time before it becomes soiled from whatever hell Troy is leading me to. White wedge sandals are also included with the outfit he’s picked out. It’s a blah color and one he loves for some reason. I abhor white and vow to never use the color in anything I have in my house if I ever escape him again.
Now knowing how much time I have left, I quickly put the outfit on and try to do something with my hair. There’s really nothing to use to put it up other than the hair tie tucked into my pocket. My shorts pocket, I think to myself. The pin Reaper gave me is in there. Racing back to the bathroom, I frantically search my shorts until I find the small pin. Removing the back, I place it in a spot on the ridiculous outfit Troy won’t see. The only place I can think of is the inside of my bra. Taking a deep breath, I once again look in the mirror. There’s nothing that can be done about my face. The bruising is starting to darken, and I don’t have the make-up to cover anything up. I’ll have to use my hair to cover as much damage as possible.
After making sure everything is up to Troy’s standards, I take a careful seat in one of the chairs facing the door. I don’t want Troy to sneak up on me. The waiting for my husband is killing me. He’s taking his time just to fuck with my head and make me wonder when he’s going to actually come back. Hell, maybe he’s taking extra-long to give me the opportunity to attempt to escape from here so he can punish me more. In reality, I don’t give a fuck what he’s doing. The only person I’m concerned about is Reaper. He’s more than likely sitting in jail right now for something he didn’t even do. Well, the kidnapping part anyway.
My mind plays back everything he tried to do to help me and how he wouldn’t let me hide from him. Reaper is the first man I’ve met that didn’t give a shit about how much money I have in my bank account. Yeah, I have a trust fund my grandmother left me when she passed away several years ago. Unless I’m dead, no one else can touch it, no matter how hard they try. That’s the entire reason Troy wanted to marry me. Even in death, it won’t go to him. I’ve made a will to ensure he doesn’t get a dime of it, and my lawyer has assured me the Will is ironclad, and no matter how many times Troy tries to contest it, he won’t win. Score one for me.
Troy found out about my trust fund because he worked for the lawyer my grandma used to have her will written up. He was with us when my parents and I went to the Will reading. He sat off to the lawyer's side, listening in and learning how to handle clients properly. As he listened to the large sum of money I was getting, dollar signs filled his eyes. That’s when he started trying to date me. On a horrible day, I finally gave in to his persistence. From that day forward, Troy has wanted to keep me because of my money. He’s a good enough actor. I fell for his shit in the early days. My eyes have been wide open for just under two years now, and I know exactly who he is and what he’s about.
I’m ready for a nap as I continue sitting in the chair, waiting. Curling up on the small cushion, I let my eyes slide closed. Thoughts of Reaper invade my dreams. There is nothing I can do to prevent him from coming to mind. Not that I’d want to anyway. I just hope I don’t fuck up and mention him around Troy. That’s a guaranteed beating before he hands me over to finalize whatever deal.
The only time I’m not numb right now is when I’m thinking of Reaper, the man who went out of his way to save me when he didn’t have to do a damn thing. He was out minding his own business, and I brought all this chaos into his world. I’m not saying I think he’s a law-abiding citizen. I can see it in his eyes—he’s not. Now, he’s sitting in jail because my husband has money and chose to throw his little bit of power around to get his way. Troy is the most selfish man I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting in my life. Besides my father. It’s a toss-up about who’s actually worse.
