Chapter 57

"Is there something I can do?" Damian doesn't hide the concern in his voice. I can only imagine the look in my eyes. I'm back to wanting to kill Monroe all over again.
I contain my rage with a slow inhale. "No. Angel and I will go straight to the suite. When did he leave?" I ask as casually as possible. It doesn't fool Damian. Angel tries to wiggle from my grip and that's just not happening.
Damian watches our interaction closely. "Monroe shared a few techniques and answered questions for about thirty minutes." He looks between us before returning his gaze to mine. "He gathered his things, gave me the note, and left. Is there a problem I need to know about?"
I run my unencumbered fingers through my hair, giving me a moment to control my frustration. "No, I'm still planning dinner with Lydia and your new daughter," I say as a way to change the subject.
"Lydia will be happy to hear that."
"Angel and I will be heading back to Nathanial's estate early tomorrow. Send me an email when you have a date. I'm at loose ends for a while, so my schedule is open. Angel will accompany me." I give an added squeeze to her hand at her small gasp and she looks up at me. I lean in and kiss her lips briefly to keep her from objecting. She literally melts against me.
"I'll make arrangements with Lydia and let you know." Relief is evident in Damian's voice. He most likely thought he would need to rescue Angel. We leave him in the hallway and I remain silent as we head to Monroe's suite. I give Angel my full attention after the door clicks behind us and the outside world no longer intrudes.
I'm still angry and my thoughts whirl as I try to figure out if Angel is part of this entire ridiculous plan of Monroe's. "Your master had everything well-planned, and now I'm planning to get drunk. It would be best if you went to bed."
"Yes, Sir, but my hair needs to dry."
It worried her to ask, which only exasperates me more. "Do what you need to. I'm not making you go to your room. I just think you would be more comfortable. I'm not always pleasant company when drinking."
I sigh loudly at the wary look she gives me and can't help a self-deprecating laugh. "I would never harm you, but I tend to get moody, and my best behavior goes down the drain. You have nothing to fear or your... Master would not leave you in my care. I'll see you in the morning at breakfast."
"Yes, Sir." Her entire face shows she's still worried. She walks toward Monroe's bedroom looking like a forlorn child. The door makes a soft click when she closes it behind her. I make good on my promise and walk to the mini bar. I need a mind-numbing dose of liquid fire. Decisions, decisions-Jack or Jose?
I rest on the couch, placing the winning bottle of whiskey on the side table with a tumbler and pour my first shot. No chaser, just the raw burn making its way down my throat. The alcohol seeps into my system and the dull throb in my knee lessens. I'm actually surprised it held up so well for the exhibition and I know Marguerite's tender loving care made a world of difference.
Three shots in I notice the light beneath the bedroom door go off. Four shots in and my brain is no longer swimming in misery about the circumstance Monroe placed me in. My thoughts drift, reliving the feel of Angel's wet hair sliding through my hands. Five shots and I think I have lost count. Eventually, I lose consciousness.
* * *
The screams that wake me at around two in the morning are in a foreign language, and my foggy, liquor-filled brain has trouble sorting out where I am. Who the hell is screaming? And what the hell am I supposed to do about it? One thought suddenly brings me quickly back to the land of the living-Angel.
The world tilts as I manage to get up from the couch and stumble into Monroe's bedroom. The screaming stops suddenly and I use the door jamb to steady myself. Angel sits straight up in bed with tremors racking her body. The dim light from the outer room shows the stark fear in her eyes. Slowly, she returns to reality and recognizes me. Her eyes follow me when I stumble closer and eventually fall onto the mattress, landing almost on top of her like a drunken idiot.
She scrambles quickly to the side, trying to get away, but I grab the soft flowing material of her nightgown and pull her tightly to my body.
She cries out and I cover her mouth, speaking in a husky voice against her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you, Angel. I'm drunk, not a monster. Relax and go back to sleep. Monroe told me about your nightmares. I'm not going anywhere, though I probably couldn't even if I wanted to. Rest and let me sleep off the alcohol. I'll be good to go in a few hours."
My hand leaves her mouth, and slowly, the stiffness in her body recedes when I make no move to touch her further. The minutes tick by and our breathing slows. It's not long before I give up the fight to keep my eyes open and I'm out cold.
A few hours later, bright light seeps through my eyelids and makes me wince. Squinting, I manage to open my eyes and then quickly close them again. My foggy mind flashes with snapshots of the evening before. And, I vaguely remember stumbling into Monroe's bed. A bed Angel is no longer occupying.
I groan and open my eyes completely. My gaze stops on the nightstand where a glass of water and two pills rest next to a bottle of ibuprofen. I don't question their appearance. I'm just grateful that relief will be coming soon. Sitting up slightly, I manage to swallow the pills.
Then I see her.
She's kneeling by the bedroom door in nothing but her underwear-her knees spread and her hands held snuggly behind her back.
"What the hell?" I don't care that she loves the bastard. Monroe is a dead man.
She doesn't look up at my explosive words. How long had she been there? This fucking slave shit is going to drive me crazy and I refuse to play this end of the dominance game. I roll from the bed and walk over in my bare feet, with my pants thankfully still on.
"Angel, look at me."
Her red-filled eyes come up. A path of tears leaves small pink trails down her cheeks. She doesn't say a word, but the tremble of her lips tells me everything. I barely hold back a groan from my throbbing knee, which is stiff and sore from last night, and sink to my knees in front of her.
"Angel." I lift my hand slowly to her cheek and wipe the tears making their way down the rosy curve of her face. Her skin is warm satin, her eyelashes wet with the incredible blue of her eyes begging for something I can't give. I can't control the multiple thoughts running through my mind, but she needs to understand one thing.
"I'm not Monroe. I'm not your master." Panic swirls in her blue depths and I chose my next words carefully. "I'm not leaving you, but we need to establish some boundaries for both of us. Do you have a contract with Monroe?"
She takes a steadying breath and some of her panicked expression recedes. "Yes, Sir."
We're treading dangerous waters and I need to have the information before I blow this completely. "Would it be possible for me to read it?"
Another touch of panic flares in her eyes but she recovers quickly. "There is a copy at the estate."
I know the damn document will piss me off all over again, but this can't be helped. "Good. Have you eaten breakfast?"
She shakes her head slightly. "No."
"We'll dine quickly in the suite and then get on the road. If you don't mind ordering, I need strong coffee and toast. I'll shower and be ready to eat in twenty minutes. Can you be ready to leave shortly after we eat?"
She sighs with relief, or at least that's what I think it is. "Yes, Sir." She hesitates. "What should I wear?"
I run my hand through my already tousled hair. "Whatever you're comfortable in."
I place my finger against her lips when she begins to answer. "My name is Zach. I want you to say, 'Yes, Zach.'"
She whispers, "Yes, Zach," and the sound travels to my dick like a lightning strike.
I quickly cover a groan. "Thank you. Now, somehow, I need to get off the floor and I have a feeling my knee can't take it."
It's like a bullet goes off in the room. Angel scrambles up and tries to help me, which is laughable because I'm double her weight. I decide not to comment on the probability of her being able to keep me from landing on my ass. And God, her breasts next to my face make my cock swell larger and the ache in my knee lessen. Angel makes my self-constraint fly out the window. If I try to speak right now, I'll sound like a babbling school boy. Fuck, why has Monroe done this to me?
Angel releases her hold on my arm as soon as I'm upright. I turn and limp from the room, making my way to the shower, cursing my stiff dick, and hoping a soapy hand and warm water help. Not even my hangover deflates my raging erection.