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He won’t win.
I won’t let him win.
Troy draws back, studying my face for a second before nodding in satisfaction.
“Come with me,” he says, his tone returning to that falsely gentle lilt that I despise. “I’ll help you get cleaned up.”
He says it so magnanimously, as if it’s not his fault I’m streaked with grime and dust and dirt in the first place.
Jerking his chin and gripping my arm, he leads me down the hall up a set of stairs to the second floor. When we get to the bathroom attached to his bedroom, he starts taking my clothes off. I just stand there, lifting my arms when he urges me to and stepping out of my pants. His hands grope at my body, and I fight the urge to shudder with revulsion as my skin crawls from his touch.
I bite the tip of my tongue, focusing on the self-inflicted pain over every other sensation in my body.
“In you go,” Troy says, helping me into the shower and turning it on.
You can do this,I remind myself.You have to be strong. If you let him break you, then you’re never getting out of here. You just have to endure it. You just have to get through it.
Luckily, Troy doesn’t climb into the shower with me, and I’m allowed at least a few minutes of privacy behind the glass shower door. I clean up quickly, scrubbing the dirt away, knowing that the phantom feeling of Troy’s touch is just going to be replaced as soon as I get out of the shower.
I don’t have any delusions that he pulled me out of that hole just to chat.
I also don’t dare take too long, so as soon as I’m clean, I turn off the water and step out. Troy is waiting for me, holding a towel. But instead of offering it to me, he holds it in his hands, just out of my reach. His gaze burn as he looks me over, those cruel eyes following the path of drops of water as they slide down my skin.
I can feel it when his gaze lingers on my scars, and something in his face twists a bit.
“You really are lucky.” He snorts a laugh. “I married you even though you’re deformed like this. No one else would have. But unlike some, I can see past that. I can see the potential underneath the mess. I always knew an ugly girl would be a better fuck, and I was right. One day you’ll thank me for choosing you.”
His words remind me suddenly of what Olivia said to me the last time I saw her. That someday I would be grateful for this. It just makes me hate Troy—hatebothof them—even more.
They both buy into this delusion that somehow they’re doing me a favor. That me being a poor nobody forever wouldn’t have been so much better than this hell.
Dropping the towel, Troy reaches out and skims his palm up my side, dancing it over the curve of my hip. Unlike when the Voronin brothers—especially Vic—used to touch me, he avoids my scars, as if he can’t stand to touch them.
His hand moves up my arm and into my wet hair, and when he threads his fingers through the damp strands, I brace myself to be yanked toward him.
For once, he’s more gentle than I expect, and he pulls me closer and kisses me.
Instead of jerking away or going stiff the way I want to, I force myself to kiss him back. I have to close my eyes, screwing them shut tight so that I can’t see his face, and even then, his scent invades my senses, his tongue slipping into my mouth like a probing slug. My stomach twists, and I wonder if he can taste the bile that’s rising up in my throat.
But I guess he can’t, because he makes a hungry noise in his throat. And that little bit of participation on my part is enough to make him pull back after a moment, looking pleased.
“You’re learning,” he says with a nod. “Aren’t you?”
I nod back stiffly, my arms limp at my sides.
“That’s good.” His all-American good looks are at odds with the salacious hunger in his eyes. “You’re being very good for me, little wife. Maybe I’ll give you extra dinner tonight if you keep behaving.”
My stomach cramps in response, but I’m glad it doesn’t growl out loud. Troy has been restricting my food, only giving me scraps when he feels like it, after he’s finished eating, and hunger is right there with exhaustion at the forefront of my brain.
I nod again, doing my best not to let the hope show on my face.
“Good girl.” Troy gives my cheek a little pat, and then a sharp slap. “Now go lie down on the bed and get ready for me.”
My cheek stings, but I do what he says, my feet shuffling into the bedroom.
I hate the sight of this bed by now, but I make myself lie down anyway, still naked and damp from the shower.
I know what comes next, and my body is already tensing in anticipation.
