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.
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 14th. 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.
Except for the female in the picture, it was…fucked-up gay shit. So why did his dick stir at the image? Because he was fucked-up and gay, he thought to himself. No, not gay but definitely fucked-up.
He read the information provided. Nathaniel Monroe was highly praised as a renowned bondage artist. There were more pictures. What the hell would this man want with Zack?
He clicked the back arrow and clicked on Rare sighting. The picture was grainy but the profile was a face Zach would never forget.
It was him: the man with the knives, the man who saved his life.
Chapter Six
Zach stood up from the table and, when he grabbed the card, he noticed his hand was shaking. Walking to the kitchen wall phone, he dialed the number.
The voice from Zachery’s memory answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Zachery.”
“Hello…Nathanial.”
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve contacted you?”
“Yes, that’s a mild understatement.”
“I would like you to be my guest for a week here at my estate. I have need of a man like you, and I was hoping we could discuss a proposition.”
“A proposition?” Zach’s voice was bordering on insolence. What did this fucker mean by a “man like you” anyway?
Deep rich laughter sounded over the phone. The voice was no less arresting than it had been when Monroe had placed a knife in his hand. “I assure you that you will be safe and my intentions are entirely above-board.”
“Why now?” Zach asked. And why do you talk like you’ve got a stick up your ass, Nathanial?
“You’ll be going to t
he police academy in three months but at the moment, you find yourself at loose ends.” Hard steel had crept into the voice. “I would like some of your time.”
“How do you know what’s going on in my life?”
“I’ve kept track of you. And now I wish for a small amount of your time.”
Zach wanted to deny the voice but it was compelling. More than that, he owed Monroe his life.
“There’s no address.”
Monroe gave him the address and directions. Zach would be on the road for six hours.
He left the following day and almost turned back several times. The prison-like iron gates which opened when he pulled up made him wish he had. He followed the long circular drive and stopped in front of the “estate.”
The term fit the mansion as well as any other: white columns, red brick, and at least three stories tall. The building was the size of Zach’s entire forty-unit apartment complex.
Nathaniel Monroe came down the steps followed by the man who had delivered the invitation. Monroe shook his hand.
“It’s good to see you again, Zachery. You look fit and healthy, unlike when I saw you last.”
“Yes,” he said uncomfortably. “No extensive damage.”
Zach had no idea what to expect here, but he found himself mesmerized by the man to whom he owed his life. Every nuance, every small movement of Monroe’s tall frame showed lethal strength.
“Stevens will take your bag,” Monroe smiled. “I want you to tell me about your car.”
The Mustang was a high school graduation gift from his parents, though Zach spent his own money on the restoration. As Zach explained the painstaking work involved —from finding the parts to painting it in model- and year-specific colors — he felt himself beginning to relax a little.
“You’ve kept the integrity of the original. I like that,” Monroe said. “This is a real work of art and Zachery, I know my art.”
“That’s what I read.”
“Did you now? Then I’m sure you saw my picture as well. It’s caused endless problems in my other line of work. You would think with my connections, the picture would disappear but the powers that be thought it would cause more of a red flag if it did. It hit a few newspapers too. Unfortunately, the beautiful woman on my arm was edited out of most of the news releases. It’s shameful that my ordinary mug would draw more attention than Nessia’s. She wasn’t happy either.”
“Nessia?”
“Yes, she’s one of my models and also an occasional partner when I have a function to attend. She’ll be here tomorrow with two other models. But enough, let’s go inside and get you situated. I’ll admire the engine later. You may leave her parked here during your visit or Stevens can put her in the garage.”
Zach followed his host up the steps, through the white columns, and inside the front door. Zach tried not to stare around the large circular room with marble floors, ornately framed art on the walls, and antique furniture discreetly displaying African pottery and statues.
“Come into my den and have a drink with me, Zach. You need to loosen up a bit. You are my guest and I’ve thought about you over the past year. I want to hear what made you decide on the Atlanta police department.”
Zach followed. He felt like he stepped into Oz. This entire scenario was messed up somehow. The den had a mahogany desk and bookcases lining the walls. One entire case was taken up with erotic art books, the large coffee-table variety.
“Do you appreciate art?”
Monroe’s eyes seemed to take in everything and made Zach wonder if the man could read his mind.
“It was forced on me by my mother,” Zach said. “I don’t think there’s a museum in the country I wasn’t dragged to as a child.”
“Have you ever been captivated by Shibari?”
“No, looking you up online was my first introduction.”
“Have a seat. What would you like to drink?”
“Beer in a bottle, if you have it.”
Monroe laughed, “You can take the boy out of the Marines, but you can’t take the Marines out of the boy. A bottle of beer it is. Will Budweiser work for you?”
“Yes, sir, it will.”
Monroe’s eyes met his and Zach felt the other man was looking deep into his soul. It was only when Monroe glanced towards the door that Zach realized Stevens had returned and was waiting for orders. With a slight nod of his head, Stevens left the room.
He returned a few minutes later and placed two ice-cold beers on the side table between the two men. Without a word, Stevens retreated from the room once more, leaving them alone.
Monroe opened the first bottle and handed it to Zach. Then he opened his own.
They both took a long pull.
“I tend to forget how satisfying a cold beer is,” Monroe said. “Thank you for reminding me.”
Zach didn’t reply. He wasn’t altogether sure that Monroe wasn’t making fun of him somehow.
“Let’s talk about Shibari, shall we?” Monroe asked, settling back into his deep leather chair.
“Okay.” Zach was still unsure what Shibari had to do with him, or why he was here.
“Shibari originated in Japan,” Monroe began. “In Japanese, ‘shibari’ simply means ‘to tie’ or ‘to bind.’ It actually grew out of something called Hojo-jutsu, the martial art of restraining captives, from around 1400 to 1700. Samurai used Hojo-jutsu as a form of torture and imprisonment. These ancient warriors used different techniques to bind their prisoners, to show the honor and status of their captives.”
Monroe’s enthusiasm for his subject was evident in his voice.
“Slowly Hojo-jutsu evolved into something more spiritual and artistic, what we now call contemporary Shibari. In its simplest form, it’s bondage but the art itself is quite complex.”
“I began tying knots in Cub Scouts when I was a child. Ropes and intricate knots fascinated me. My mother thought I would be a sailing rigger on the high seas. In my teenage years I saved my money and bought magazines with sexual bondage pictures, for the ropes of course.”
He gave Zach a self-depreciating grin and then continued.
“Back then, the magazines were filled with violence which I found distasteful. It wasn’t until I was older that I learned about the relaxing qualities and the sexual gratification found in artistic bondage. For me, Shibari and sex go hand in hand. It’s been many years since I’ve had unbound vanilla sex.”
Zach didn’t know what to say so he stayed quiet.
“You are also aware on some level what I do outside of our country. I continue to abhor violence but it is a necessary evil in today’s world. My art calms me and readjusts my soul from dark to light. The feel of rope around a beautiful female body is relaxing in its intensity.”
Zach couldn’t believe the conversation turned so fast. His hand tightened on his beer bottle but fuck, his cock stiffened. He kept his eyes level with his host.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable and I didn’t mean to. My world is not for everyone but I would like to give you a demonstration tomorrow and we can talk more then. We’ll finish these beers and then grab another round. I want to get under the hood of your car. Next to sex and Shibari, vintage cars are a passion of mine. I have a garage with several classics I think you will like. They don’t get driven enough and we can take one out for a spin.”
He stood. Zach could do nothing but follow.
Chapter Seven
Heaven. The collection of classic automobiles was any guy’s wet dream. The only non-vintage vehicle to draw his attention was a new Porsche 911 GT3. It was no contest when it came time to take a car out.
“There’s an old airport runway a few miles from here. We’ll head there and you can open her up.”
“Do you want to drive to the airport?”
“No, Zach, this is your chance, Monroe laughed. “She’s all yours for the next hour.”
If it was a bribe, it was a damn fine one.
Zach had asked very few questions but while he
tested the strength of the 911, he bluntly asked Monroe’s age.
“I’m thirty-two, not that much older than you, though my life took a different direction early on. Do you like to kill, Zach?”
The question was unexpected but it was easy to answer. “No, I don’t.”
“You’ll make a great cop. The government discovered early that I had a knack for killing. The men I dispose of need killing but it eats away at your soul. I keep saying I’ll get out but the pull of duty, honor, and all that fucked-up shit keeps me in.”
“Were you a Marine?”
“Yes. Things progressed from there. I’m glad you left. Atlanta PD made a wise choice in hiring you.”
“Did you have anything to do with it?”
Laughter filled the confines of the car.
“No, Zach. Your decision actually made me play my hand differently, something I haven’t even considered for a long time. But, no more talk of this now. I have two female guests coming for dinner. They’re hoping to get laid, but I’ll leave the choice to you. Meaning, it’s your choice of which woman, and what you want to do with her.” Again, Monroe gave an easy laugh.
“Are they hookers?”
Monroe’s laughter rolled again.
“No, they attend a local kink club and I’ve used them as models in the past. The drawer beside your bed is stocked with condoms and a few other items if you desire to use them.”
They were heading back to the estate.
“Are there cameras in my room?”
“You’re so very suspicious, Zach!” Monroe smiled. “No, no cameras. I’m not into blackmail. A simple no from you will suffice. But, there are cameras around the outside of the property. If you decide to explore any sexual urges out there, you’ve been warned.”
“Is sex always this casual for you?”
“Hmm, I’ve never considered sex casual but even with your liberal parents and the sixties love fest they grew up in, your world has been very narrow when it comes to all the ways you can enjoy women. Both the ladies tonight would delight in teaching you and I do mean both.”
Two Doms For Angel Page 2
