Chapter 56
I can't breathe. Her memory fills my thoughts. At my shock, she turns away, her shoulders quivering. I stand staring at the graceful lines of her body. Her perfect skin, perfect everything. It's her-my fantasy. But in the actual fantasy she's not crying.
I blow out the breath I've been holding and step out of the shower. The items in my hands fall to the counter and my legs move me back into the shower. I rest my palms on the hair covering her shoulders. Pulling her up toward me, I mold her back to the front of mine and draw in a deep breath, let it out, and close my eyes. Fuck.
Grazing her ear with my lips I whisper, "Don't cry."
My words release a torrent of gut-wrenching sobs and I hold on, keeping her tightly wrapped in my arms while the warm water cascades over us. I offer comfort, but anger, apathy, longing, and just the unbelievable feeling that this is a dream cascade through my brain. Monroe knew. Somehow... someway... he found Hooriya because he knew.
And she's Monroe's slave. Fuck, fuck.
I don't know if I'm physically capable of killing Monroe, but I can damn sure try. She's a victim-vulnerable and emotionally scarred. How can she not be?
The up and down motion of her shoulders slows and the tense muscles in her back finally relax against me. I loosen my arms and turn her around so she's facing me. Her eyes are red, but the deep blue crystals sparkle just as they had the day I met her.
"I'm sorry." Her beautiful eyes look away.
"Why are you sorry?"
"Master should have told you."
Monroe has much to explain and it will most likely happen with fists. "Yes, Monroe should have told me, but I'll settle that with him." There are so many questions I need answered, and I have no desire to wait for my talk with Monroe. "How did he find you?"
Her head stays down. "He saved me."
Even though it irritates me that she's not looking in my eyes, it's better this way. "How did he save you?"
She's silent for a moment before her gentle voice fills the shower. "They sent some of us home to family but others, like me, had nowhere to go."
God, I would have taken her in a heartbeat, but just the thought is wrong. She's a victim of human trafficking. Her life with Monroe is wrong. "What about your family?"
Her head moves back and forth. "I had no family who will take me, so they placed me with one of the other women. They gave us identification, counseling, and assistance, but everything was new to us. Ifrah had trouble adapting and this country was difficult for her." She hesitates for a few seconds before saying, "She went away." Her voice grows quieter until the next words are difficult to hear, "She left me alone."
"And?" The frustration is hard to keep out of my voice. I need to know how Monroe found her.
Her shoulders slump even more. "I had never been alone and things were not good. Master found me and gave me something that made me sleep. When I woke, I was at his home."
I'll kill him slowly. He has no idea of the pain I will inflict. The bastard drugged her, and Nathanial Monroe needs to die.
I open my eyes, which closed with my thoughts. I glance at the woman in my arms. Her head is tipped up and her eyes stare deeply into mine. It breaks my heart. Monroe is breaking me. My friend. The man I trust with my life.
"I love him," she says simply. There's so much longing on her face. The love she feels is there. Her expression pleads for understanding while she stares at me without looking away. My thoughts turn to Monroe when he told me he loved her. My need for violence melts.
But then I think about exactly what she is to Monroe and my shifting emotions snap back to anger. "He cares for his slave. Is that what you want?"
Her lips thin. She doesn't like my question, and I'm relieved to see a spark of anger in her gaze. "Yes. I will please my master," she offers in a precise tone, showing her backbone.
"It's been little more than two years since I found you." I'm taking responsibility for rescuing her because thoughts of her are the last thing I see each night before falling asleep. In my dreams, she's mine. And fuck she belongs to Monroe. What the hell do I do?
Her eyelashes flutter with droplets of water. Her expression holds so much trust. "Thank you for rescuing me," she says softly.
The words go straight to my chest like a heavy rock presses down and cuts off my air. "I was doing my job. Nathanial Monroe has no right to you." It sounds possessive as hell because it's the way I feel.
She offers a small grin-just a small tip of her lips at the corners. "I owe you both my life."
Hell, she and Monroe deserve each other. I can't be part of this dynamic. No way. Monroe can find someone else to stay with her if he really needs to leave. I reach around Angel to turn the water nozzle off. "We're getting out and I'm... talking to Monroe."
Her hand goes uncertainly to her tangled mass of hair and I ease my hand off the nozzle. "Well, fuck," I mutter. Her shoulders slump and her eyes lower. "Let me get the conditioner," I say more gruffly than intended, "and I'll take care of your hair."
She turns her head completely away from me. "It will be fine, Sir."
I take hold of her silky water-covered chin and raise her head until her eyes once more meet mine. "You will not lie to me. I'm here because of a lie by omission and I deserve your honesty." This is harsh but true. It's impossible to hide my anger and the last thing I need is her adding to the lies.
"Yes, Sir. Please." Her lips tremble and I suddenly want more than anything to kiss them. "I have need of conditioner for my hair."
I leave the shower to grab the items off the counter. "Turn around," I say when I step back under the water.
She complies and I begin the task of unraveling her sodden mass of tangles. It seems like forever before my fingers run uninhibited through the strands, so heavy in my hands. I refuse to acknowledge the tightening in my balls and stirring of my cock while my fingers continue gliding through the wet silk long after I should have stopped. For a few moments, I forget who she belongs to and enjoy the sensual feel of wet hair sliding over my dick. I imagine wrapping the length around my wrist and bringing her mouth to my balls to suck and lick before burying my cock deep in her throat. I almost groan aloud.
Monroe knows about my hair fetish and probably laughed himself silly over how I would react. I can't kill the man if she loves him, but I can damn sure knock out a few teeth.
"Close your eyes." I direct the water to her hair and wash the conditioner away. "Why the name Angel?" I ask.
"Hooriya means angel in Arabic. Master likes it."
My entire body goes taut at the word Master. "Yes, I imagine he does," I grind out. She flinches and I want to kick myself. I need to contain my emotions and stop with the snide remarks. Grabbing a towel, I silently dry her hair while tamping down on my anger again.
A long, hooded robe rests on the counter in the outer room. Angel walks from the bathroom, gathers the robe, placing it over her shoulders, and pulls the hood over her hair. I dress in the same clothes I wore earlier. Our silence is a thick, uncomfortable presence in the room.
"I'll escort you to Monroe's suite, and then he and I will have our talk." I can practically see the tension pulsing in waves from her body but she doesn't say a word.
Taking her hand, I ignore the spark of electricity that leaps between us and open the door. I have no idea what time it is. I know it's been at least an hour since I took Angel to the private room.
Damian stands at the end of the hallway and places his hand out when I approach. "Monroe asked me to give you this."
My eyes narrow while I look at the folded piece of paper like it's a poisonous snake. The lighting is low but I'm able to read the short message.
My friend,
I trust you with my life but more importantly I trust you with hers.
I will be home soon and this will work out.
N.
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