Page 43 of Mastered by Them
“What did I do?”
She doesn’t answer. I try her door, but it’s locked.
This came out of nowhere. It makes no fucking sense.
I messed up at some point. I just wish I knew how.
Danica
I feel horrible for yelling at Troy like that. Maybe…maybe I read everything wrong.
Returning to my bed, I look at the laptop open on my fluffy duvet. Cackle starts chewing on a plastic corner, so I shoo him away.
The sender is unknown—a string of numbers for the email address. The subject line reads Troy Manchester’s Records. The file is still open. The first page looks the same as it did when I opened it—a typed note. Sorry to give you bad news, but your bodyguard is a criminal.
Which, I already knew.
I just didn’t know what he’s done.
Troy has been arrested seventeen times.
Aggravated assault. Criminal intimidation. Evidence tampering. Stalking. Breaking and entering. Conspiracy to commit murder.
And worse—sexual assault and aggravated sexual assault.
There are photos attached. His mug shot, which is bad.
But following that, pictures of bruised skin. Cuts. Blood. A woman’s black eye. A clump of curly red hair torn from someone’s scalp. An X-ray of a broken arm. French-manicured fingernails with blood under them because someone fought back.
It’s a catalog of pain and brutality.
I didn’t read it wrong. I read it exactly right.
More tears stream from my eyes. All of that terror. The anguish the women must have gone through.
There are no full-face images, but the record is clear. Women have been hurt.
No, that’s a passive way of saying it.
He hurt women. Troy hurt women.
I bend over, clutching my stomach. I’m going to be sick.
I’ve been giving my body—my pleasure, my affection, my trust—to a guy who has done far, far worse than what Patrick did?
Edmund
The apartment is eerily quiet when I step inside. Troy sits on the sofa, his head in his hands, shoulders bunched with tension.
“What’s up?” I throw my jacket over the back of a chair. “Where’s Danica?”
He lifts his head. “She’s in her room. I don’t fucking know what got into her. She screamed at me to get out.”
What? I look over at Troy—really look at him. His dark eyes look tired, confused, and sad.
At Danica’s door, I knock. “It’s me.”
“Come in.” She sounds miserable.
