Murderville Page 0,52

It shouldn’t be long before she gives me a son.”

Her eyes widened, and she gasped knowing that he was speaking of her. A child was not in the cards for her. She would never bring one into the world with a man who didn’t love her. To Samad, Liberty was a prized possession . . . a trophy . . . a human souvenir for all to admire. A baby had not been a part of her plan.

“Ahem!”

She heard the sound of someone clearing their throat and she turned around to find one of Samad’s servants standing behind her with a kettle of hot tea on a serving platter.

Liberty quickly lowered her head and rushed back down the hall as the woman gave her a stern look. She hurried to the master bedroom and sighed as she closed the door, leaning against it for support. Hearing Samad express his intentions for her made her see things more clearly. Liberty had thought that Samad was insatiable in the bedroom. As often as he bedded her, she could barely keep up . . . but now she knew why he was so persistent with his lovemaking. He was trying to get her pregnant and that was something that she refused to allow. He owned her, but she refused to birth a child for him. She may have been his property, but no child of hers ever would be.

The next day Liberty awakened to breakfast in bed. She sat up and stretched her arms as Samad placed the wooden tray across her lap. He kissed her on the top of her head, and she gave him a weak smile.

“I have some associates coming over this evening to watch the big game. You feel like entertaining tonight and being my rising star?” he asked.

If Samad actually allowed Liberty to be herself, she wouldn’t mind being with him, but the rules he established for his woman were too strict for her. She always felt like a scolded child when he was around. He intimidated her greatly but she nodded her head anyway knowing that she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Samad was a wagering man and an avid gambler. He didn’t have many friends . . . only business relationships, so she knew that the evening to come was important to him.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” she said.

Hours later she stood at his side in her burqa as he introduced her to his guests. She hadn’t known that it would be a couple’s event and as she admired the gorgeous attire of the other women in the room she instantly felt as if she would suffocate in her Muslim gear. She never understood how Samad expected her to be arm candy when no one besides him even knew what she looked like. She felt uncomfortable and unattractive as she watched the other women socialize with one another, while leaving her out. She didn’t blame them. She would have done the same thing. Liberty couldn’t respect her attire when she knew nothing about its origin. It wasn’t her religion. She did not embrace it . . . Samad had forced his beliefs upon her. How did he expect her to be a trophy wife if she couldn’t flaunt what she had or the things that he had given her? Liberty sat down next to Samad and listened in on the conversation. Samad grabbed the remote control and flipped on the national news.

“This man,” Samad commented as he nodded his head towards the TV screen where the president was making a speech. “He is too nice. He’ll never be re-elected if he continues to give out all of these handouts. He sympathizes with the peasants,” Samad said as he sipped his red wine. Liberty looked around the room at Samad’s associates who all seemed to agree with him. She had been given strict instructions to only speak if directly spoken to, so she kept her two cents to herself. She found it funny that these spoiled heads of society would speak about something that they knew nothing about. They came from money. They had never experienced life at the bottom . . . all they knew was the bird’s eye view from the top.

“At the end of the day, he’s still one of them,” one of the women said. Liberty couldn’t help but to shake her head and chuckle slightly. So this is what they talk about when we are not around,