Chapter 67
I thread my fingers through her hair, unraveling some of the mess I made. "You would like my parents," I begin. "They always wanted a daughter too, but after me, their one and only child, they were never successful." I take my other hand from her shoulder and use it to help unweave her tangles as I continue speaking. "I had a dream childhood but wondered, often, if they adopted me. I was completely opposite from them. If there was a violent sport, I wanted to play-ice hockey, football, rugby. It didn't matter how many bones I broke, I lived for the rush." I peel hair from the side of her face where sweat has glued it. I lift the strands I remove and bring them to my nose. God, she smells wonderful and it's even better now that the scent of sex fills the room. She snuggles in closer with a small purr. "My parents are the gentlest, sweetest people you could ever meet," I continue softly. "They spent their younger years marching against war, fighting for gun control, and shaking their heads that all I wanted to do was fight."
Angel turns slightly and looks at me with the largest blue eyes and longest lashes I've ever seen. Her skin actually glows with her earlier exertion. Simply exquisite. "Do you still wish to fight?" she asks and pulls my thoughts away from her beauty.
I shake my head slightly. "No. Monroe helped me control my aggression. It's funny because if it weren't for him, I never would have survived as a police officer. A wild tendency in a Marine is a good thing but has no place in the life of a cop. Control is the key to police work. Shibari taught me patience, responsibility, and control."
"Why does he kill?"
I'm quiet for a moment, weighing my words. "I wondered if you knew." I lean back against the couch and bring her with me. "I think he does it so no one else needs to." Her question is one I've wondered often. Monroe is a strange one and he doesn't seek violence; he abhors it. "There are other killers, but Monroe takes on the weight of the ugly world. That way one less person feels the pain. He just doesn't understand that someone else might not feel the pain he does, but that's Monroe." It took me years to reach my conclusions and I still don't know if I've pegged everything about the man. "Tell me about your relationship with Monroe," I urge.
Her head moves slightly so her mouth is against my chest. She kisses the bare skin right above my nipple before she speaks. "My friend Ifrah hung herself from the bedroom door." She goes silent for a moment and I tighten my hold. "I found her long after her body grew cold." Another hesitation. "Our lives were not good. I can't explain what it's like to be dishonored in my culture. Women are killed by their families when this happens. In America, being half-caste made life easier for me. My mom taught me her culture and I understood it. Ifrah covered her head and was treated with much disrespect. So was I, but my blue eyes seemed to help me fit in even when I also chose to cover my body."
Angel wipes a tear from her cheek. I want to offer comfort, but I also want her to keep talking, so I remain quiet and still.
With a deep inhale, she starts talking again. "After she died, I was so lonely and didn't know what to do. I went to the store one day and when I returned, Monroe was sitting in my living room. I thought he was there to kill me."
This shocks me. "Why would he kill you?"
"As an honor killing for my family. I tried to run back out the door but he stopped me and placed his hand over my mouth to keep me from screaming. He kept telling me he wouldn't hurt me, but I was too afraid. He tied and gagged me and then forced a bad tasting drink down my throat. When I woke up, I was in this house, though still tied."
Yeah, I see red. What I wouldn't give to have Monroe's throat in my grasp right now. "If I kill him, I think we would both feel better."
She frowns, her brow furrowing in confusion. I drop it-for now. "What happened next?" I snap. Regretting my tone, I place a light kiss on her shoulder.
Angel blinks a few times. "He talked."
I want to kick myself for letting my anger come through. "What did he talk about?"
Silence. I wait.
"You," she finally whispers.
"Go on... please," I add because even I can play nice when I don't want to.
The "please" opens the floodgates. "He told me about you. I didn't listen at first but as he continued, the sound of his voice and his gentleness sank in. He told of saving you and then keeping track of you. He told me you applied to be an officer and the two of you met again. His words made sense, but then I would wonder why he was telling me this story. He talked about your career and your advancements. I eventually stopped thinking about the why and just listened. When he told me about you becoming a lieutenant, I began putting the pieces together and then he told me about spending a week with you after you rescued me."
I remember that week too. I was hurting and needed Monroe and his level thinking like never before.
Angel's eyes pull me into her story even more. "I didn't even know I was crying until he wiped my eyes and released my arms from their bindings. He handed me a picture of you and I will never forget what he said."
I'm unsure if I really want to know this. Right now the last thing I want is another reason to kill Monroe.
Angel continues, thankfully having no idea of my thoughts. "He said, 'I found you for Zach. He needs you, and you need him.'"
Hell. I run one palm across my jaw trying to give myself time to digest what she just said. So many thoughts swirl through my brain. But the one I stop on is... if Monroe found her for me, why the hell is she Monroe's slave?
"He loves you," Angel whispers with emotion. "He never wanted to love me. Somehow our feelings for you became wrapped up in each other. We did not see it happening."
"He saw it." My jaw tightens. Monroe is too smart not to be fully aware of what was happening. Damn him!
"Maybe so," Angel says softly, stroking my chest. "But I do not think he could stop it."
I swear under my breath trying to hang on and make sense of everything Angel's telling me. "What do we do now?" I ask.
She looks at me, her blue eyes swallowing me whole. "I think that we wait for him to return," she says, "and then we ask him."
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