Two Doms For Angel (2 page)

“
Yes, L.T.”

Chapter Three

Zachery finally propped Hooriya against
the wall by the stairs so he could help assist the other
women.

“
Stay here, I’ll carry you
up when the others are taken care of. I need you to keep assuring
them that we mean no harm.” Soft soulful cries were now coming from
several of the cages.

Hooriya’s voice spoke shakily but with
a soothing quality. Even if he didn’t understand the words, he
understood the tone.

A female paramedic arrived and helped
to assess the victims. Zachery didn’t know the paramedic well but
understood the tight set of her jaw as she took in what they were
facing. Slade and Kip carried the women one by one up the stairs.
Zachery chose the two men because they were both married and known
to be tight-lipped. Cops loved to gossip and Zach wanted to keep
the women out of as much of the gossip as possible.

Hooriya was barely standing on her own
when the last woman was removed.

“
I’m going to lift and carry
you up the stairs,” he said.

“
No, I can walk.” Her voice
was barely audible and her shaking increased.

He felt bad for not giving her a choice
but he knew she wouldn’t make it. He wanted her checked out and off
his watch. Her quiet strength and dignity were causing his anger to
boil, and he needed to keep a lid on it for another few hours. The
sight of her torturous bruises would be forever imprinted on his
brain.

She didn’t fight but her body went
stiff in his arms. “You will be soiled.”

The embarrassment in her voice made him
pull her firmly against his chest.

“
I’ve been soiled before.
Hush now, and let’s get you checked out.”

“
Please don’t leave
Sahar.”

“
Kip, stay here with the
other woman. I don’t want her left alone. Understood?”

“
Yes, L.T.”

“
Thank you, sir,” she
whispered.

Upstairs, there was crying and quiet
murmurs. The E.M.S. crews were just as out of their league as he
was. They quickly loaded the women one after the other onto
stretchers and wheeled them out to waiting ambulances. He held
Hooriya in his arms until a young paramedic took notice.

“
You can put her here.” A
padded blanket lay on the floor by a wall.

“
I’m okay until you have an
available cart.”

“
It could be a
while.”

“
I’ll wait.”

He felt her body relax into his
bulletproof vest. He carried every conceivable SWAT accessory known
to mankind on the front of his vest and belt. He realized she
couldn’t be comfortable but he wasn’t laying her on the floor and
her legs would no longer hold her up. If she didn’t complain he
would continue to hold on.

He watched what happened around him
still having trouble accepting the horrors that surrounded these
women.

When a stretcher was finally available,
he put his burden down gently. The med team took over and he
stepped back. Her hand came out seeking his, and his hand closed
around the same fingers that had offered comfort to a dead woman.
He would never forget the sight of those two hands — one dead, one
alive — clutching each other in such desperation.

He walked beside the crew as they
wheeled her out to the ambulance. When the stretcher was pushed
inside and a bright light shown down on her, his eyes met
unexpected vivid blue gazing at him with one lone tear sliding down
her cheek.

He wanted to taste the salt from the
watery trail gliding over her beautiful face. He was a sick bastard
and desired an incredible woman who would probably spend the rest
of her life hating men.

***

His unwrapped fists hit the bag. The
pain exploded in his knuckles and it felt damn good. He couldn’t
see the blood on the black bag but it didn’t matter, he knew it was
there and he would clean it off later.

“
Thunk, thunk.” He lost
count after the first one hundred punches. Wet trails of sweat
poured down his bare chest and absorbed into the waist of his
low-slung sweatpants.

His legs were no longer moving. He just
stood and planted one fist after another. His memories burned with
the pain. The third human trafficker died and there was no need for
a trial. In some ways, it was a good thing. The women would not be
re-victimized by lengthy court proceedings, but Zach knew there was
one woman who would fight for a chance to speak out.

He hadn’t seen her again and now, three
months later, he had no idea where she was. His life continued but
her eyes invaded his dreams. His hands punished the bag until his
mind could no longer picture her haunting face.

Chapter Four

Two years later…

At his last appointment, the doctor
said Zach could walk without the knee brace but his stride was
tentative. He traveled slowly to his computer and brought up his
email account: junk mail, a short “Just to say hi,” from one of the
secretaries at the department, and a greeting from his mother
asking when he was visiting.

He almost missed it but buried in the
fifty plus emails was an urgent message from Nathaniel. Nathaniel
Monroe. Zach stared at the name and his mind drifted
back.

1998:
Location South Africa, classified

The team had two goals; rescue the
hostages and everyone return back to camp alive.

Zach blew it and took a bullet to the
shoulder. Now, he was being held in place of the rescued captives.
He wasn’t afraid, but he was one pissed-off Marine.

They had him secured to a chair with
his arms and legs bound. The captain of his team would get the
hostages safe and then come back for Zach. Marines never left
wounded comrades behind. They would take him to medical care or his
dead body back home to his family, but he knew he would be getting
out.

Concentrating on his shoulder wound
internalized the pain and allowed him to prepare himself for more.
He was stripped from the waist up and his blood flowed freely. He
couldn’t make out the rapid words passing between the four men in
the room but he didn’t think it mattered.

The side door opened and another man
entered garbed in a black burka complete with head shroud. The men
stopped talking and one spoke harshly. He never finished his
sentence. A knife suddenly jutted from his throat. All hell broke
loose.

It was over in less than a minute and
all four of his captors lay dead or dying. Even covered in yards of
cloth the man standing before him was a work of art when it came to
wielding a knife. Zach looked up as the facial hood came down.
Black lethal pinpoints looked out from a younger than expected
face, and stared directly at him. Using the bloody knife in his
hand, he cut Zach’s bonds. Before Zach could get a word out, the
butt of the knife pressed into his hand.

“
I was never here. Good job,
marine.” The voice was like strong, smooth whiskey.

The man left as quietly as he
entered.

Zack heard gunfire coming from outside
the building. He went to the side table where his rifle lay and
picked it up, ramming the magazine home. The pain in his shoulder
was forgotten and the face of the man who saved him was sealed in
his memory.

His team took over the compound and,
two days later, Zack was sent home to recuperate.

A year after his return to duty, he
finished his service and opted out of another enlistment. He was
alive because of a stranger he never spoke about.

Chapter Five

Current Day…

Zach stared again at the sender’s name
and felt his heart accelerate as his finger clicked the box. Then
he chuckled.

[email protected]

Only Nathaniel would actually use a
mail server called spymail. He read the message:

Zach,

I’m presenting a show at
Club El Diablo on April 14
^th
. I desire your

attendance and skill. I also
have a situation that needs your special

care. Your online travel
ticket is waiting.

N.

That was it. Nathaniel was asking for
his help and it was hard not to jump on a plane and be there
tonight. Nathaniel rarely asked; he demanded and he manipulated,
but he didn’t ask.

He checked his calendar. Six days. Zach
didn’t miss the lack of an “s” on the end of “ticket.” He wouldn’t
be returning on a planned schedule but it wasn’t like Zach had
anywhere he had to be. Well, besides a visit with his parents in
Florida, but he didn’t need more than six days for that.

He decided his knee was good enough for
him to drive. His career with the police force was over. His life
on SWAT had come to an immediate end when a search warrant and a
fleeing meth-head lowlife took out his knee. Two surgeries, three
months of physical therapy, and he was still barely able to walk
for long periods of time without his knee swelling to twice its
size. He would survive, but he needed to figure out where he went
from here.

He called his mom to say he was on his
way, packed a bag, and got behind the wheel of his 1966 white
Mustang GT hardtop. His knee throbbed as he thought about the hours
of rumbling along the road and pushing the clutch. But, for the
first time in three months, Zach felt a sense of
excitement.

His parents had retired to Pensacola
ten years before. They both worked more than thirty years as
professors at Boston College where they raised Zach in an academic
environment. They never understood his need for danger, or the
undertone of violence he craved as a teenager and adult. Zach
didn’t understand either but knew joining the Marines and then the
Atlanta police department was the wisest choice his
testosterone-laden brain could make. Zach was now thirty-four and
knew he should probably be thinking about settling down. At least,
that was what his parents were hoping. They didn’t know about his
particular sexual kinks, and Zach preferred to keep it that way. It
would only upset them.

He spent the time playing cards,
talking about politics, and walking Sandy, their Golden Retriever,
along the shore. The time passed pleasantly enough.

When he left for his final destination,
he let his mind wander back to his first — well, actually,
second—meeting with Nathaniel Monroe.

***

Zach had tested into the Atlanta police
department and was waiting three months to start at the training
academy. He was basically killing time, when an insistent knock on
his apartment door had him throwing it open with sudden force and
growling, “Who the hell are you?”

A tall man in a dark fitted suit stood
with an implacable stare.

“
Yes?” Zach said when his
first question went unanswered.

“
This is for you from Mr.
Monroe.”

Zach took the offered black envelope
and looked at both sides without opening it. “I don’t
understand.”

“
Mr. Monroe has placed
detailed instructions inside. I, sir, am only the delivery
tool.”

What the fuck? This door man was right
out of an English movie.

“
What am I supposed to do
with this?”

“
Read it, sir. As I said,
the information you seek is inside.” The man turned smartly on his
heels and left. His military precision only added to Zach’s
perplexity.

He shut the door, walked over to his
small kitchen table and took a chair. Impatiently, he tore open the
envelope. A hand-written letter was folded inside and a simple
white business card slid out.

He picked up the card.

Nathaniel Monroe

Shibari

(555) 620-6960

Setting the card down, he grabbed the
paper and read the uniquely hand-scripted words.

Zachery,

I am requesting your
presence at my estate. If you prefer to fly, travel arrangements
will be made. But if not, I would love a chance to admire your mode
of transportation.

Your friend,

N.

“
What the fuck,” he said out
loud. This was either a joke or some gay fuck shit. Who the hell
did this man think he was? Zach picked up the card and turned it
over. Nothing was on the back and he’d be damned if he would call
the number. It would probably re-route him to a pay for sex phone
line or something.

Flipping the card again, Zach decided
to try the Internet. He searched for the name “Nathanial Monroe”
and the unfamiliar word “shibari.”

Recluse, Artist,
Genius?

Nathanial Monroe offers
proceeds to charity

Rare sighting of N.
Monroe

The list went on. Zach clicked on the
first link. An erotic picture of a beautiful woman bound in thick
white rope filled the top of the screen.