Page 56 of Tower

Peter had given her a quick tour of the Annex, but still didn’t want her wandering around there unless she had an escort. Which she always did. One of his men was always stationed outside his rooms upstairs so if she wanted to explore, she had someone with her.

They never stopped her from roaming, but they were always there. Lurking.

Getting chilled from the crisp air, she headed inside. She could get a little more work done in the office. Peter had given her complete authority in making all the marketing materials for Tower. She’d finished the web design and graphics for social media ads, so all she had to finish were the paper ads. Putting them in kink-friendly magazines would bring in a lot more customers.

The man assigned to watch her wasn’t standing inside the doorway anymore. No one was.

Remembering she’d left her laptop—the new one Peter had bought her with all the programs she needed already installed—in the Annex office, she made her way there.

Raised voices greeted her the moment she opened the door to the Annex. Was one of the girls in trouble? Was Peter spanking someone? The sudden surge of jealousy surprised her. She hadn’t been so possessive when he punished Aubree, but maybe that was because she’d been there. She and Aubree had gone through it together.

“You don’t understand who you’re dealing with.” A loud voice carried into the hall.

Santos.

She recognized his accent.

Azalea pushed the door to the office open and found the source of all the yelling. Santos was being held back by Tommy, while Peter sat at his desk looking bored.

“What’s going on?” Azalea asked, stepping into the room.

“Go back upstairs,” Peter said in a firm voice, but he didn’t look at her.

“Azalea!” Santos cried out. “Please, tell them you must come home. Your mother will be back in two days. You have to go back.” She recognized the panicked expression. Her mother would blame him.

“You’ve talked with her?” Azalea asked. “Did she ask about me?”

Santos looked at Peter before answering. “She asked if you were home.”

“And you lied?” Azalea’s heart sank. Her mother rarely spoke to her while she was away. Busy, busy, busy, she would tell her when she got back. She had no time for little chitchats, but she’d called Santos.

“If she knew you weren’t home—” Santos pulled free from Tommy. “Do you know what she’d do to me?”

“If her mother is so scary, why would I let her go back there? You had her locked in her room.” Peter stood from his desk, buttoning his jacket.

“Bellatrix is very protective of her daughter.” Santos kept his gaze on Azalea, pleading in his eyes. She’d heard her mother yelling at her men before, and she’d heard the whispers of punishments her mother doled out to them.

When she was a young girl, she’d walked in on her mother slapping one of her men across the face. Her complexion had been red and angry, her eyes wild with rage. When she’d noticed Azalea in the room, she took a slow breath and plastered a soft smile on her lips. It wasn’t real. Even as a girl, Azalea knew what a fake smile looked like. Bellatrix had sent her to her room, telling her Mommy had important work to do. And as soon as Azalea stepped inside her suite, she’d heard the resounded lock of the bolt.

“My mother isn’t kind to those who work for her,” Azalea agreed. Santos would be punished for letting Peter take her from home. “He has good reason to be afraid of her.”

Peter raised both eyebrows and gave her a pointed look. “The same mother you insist loves you so much, she’s been keeping you locked away out of fear of losing you?”

Azalea nodded. “She’s never raised a hand to me, Peter.” Or wrapped her arms around her in a loving embrace, but Azalea had grown used to her mother’s unique ways of showing her affection. An extra bit of dessert on her dinner tray or an extra hour at the playground in the evening—with one of her men standing guard.

Peter focused on Santos again. “Were you working for Bellatrix when Azalea was born?”

Santos flicked his gaze to Azalea then back to Peter. “I was a boy. My father worked for her when Azalea came—was born.”

Peter folded his arms over his chest. “How old were you?”

“I was ten, I think.” Santos’s shoulders rolled back and forth again, like his skin felt too tight all of a sudden.

“Do you remember her father?”

“Azalea’s?” Santos looked to her, again with a silent plea for her to intervene. But she wanted to know the answer, too. She’d never bothered asking him. Her mother had made it clear her father wasn’t around and never would be—and not to keep asking about him.

“Do you?” Peter pressed.

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