Chapter 72
Monroe has time to block the punch, but he doesn't. He turns his head slightly and takes the blow on the side of his jaw. On unsteady legs, he stumbles back several feet. He looks up at me and his hand comes away with smeared blood from a small cut at the corner of his mouth.
"I will not fight back, but I would prefer no broken teeth."
"If you won't fight back, broken teeth will be the least of your worries." This time my fist lands in his midsection.
When Monroe's able to straighten upright, I come in with another strike to his face. We're both breathing heavily, with sweat beading on our skin. Monroe doesn't fight back, nor does he avoid my blows. A small piece of sanity returns to my brain, but I still want to cause damage. "You might want to change your mind," I taunt.
"I might," he says with labored breath and holds his side. He turns away from the next blow so his shoulder takes the hit.
I draw my fist back again. The gray cloud in my brain clears completely at the sight of blood soaking through Monroe's shirt in exactly the spot where my last punch landed.
Monroe looks down at the stain and then up at me. "Do not let a little blood stop you." He takes a step toward me and stumbles. "Fuck." His eyes fight to focus and my arms come out and I'm able to catch him before he falls.
"What the hell happened to you?" I demand with fear suddenly threading through me. I've never seen Monroe stumble. His skin is hot to the touch too.
"I had some very nice stitches holding me together, but I am afraid you have messed them up." He adds a slight laugh but it ends on a grimace of pain. Blood quickly soaks into a large section of his shirt.
"Come on, this way." I tighten my arm around him because he's in no condition to walk unassisted.
"The sub couch, really?" he grumbles in a woozy voice.
"Just shut the fuck up and sit down. Take off the shirt while you're at it."
Monroe's low malted-whiskey laugh instantly settles my nerves. I briefly close my eyes and let the feeling wash over me. I worried about the fucker no matter that I also wanted to kill him.
After Monroe is settled on the couch, I quickly gather supplies from the cabinet below the sink. The dungeon has everything needed for minor injuries, but when I look back at the spreading red stain, I realize this is more than minor. I begin with pressure to the wound. Monroe groans, which is slightly satisfying. Finally his eyes close and he leans back against the cushions.
Without him watching me, I can examine him closer. The pallor of his skin and the dark rings around Monroe's eyes give me pause. He looks like shit, which is very unlike him.
"If you cover me with a sub blanket, our friendship is over," he whines.
"If I had a sub blanket in my hands, I would use it to smother you," I say with a growl.
Monroe's laugh vibrates up my spine. "What do you want me to do?" I ask, becoming more concerned with the larger blood stain building on his shirt.
"Call Stephens," Monroe says as he grimaces, "and tell him to bring supplies to stitch me up."
I lift his shirt and press down on the jagged tear with the towel. The wound runs under Monroe's right pectoral muscle to the top of his shoulder blade.
"Christ," he hisses. "I know you can be gentler!"
"I can," I say sarcastically.
"Just make the call, damn it."
Stephens arrives three minutes later, impeccably dressed, and not a hair out of place. He doesn't comment on the state of Monroe's face or the twelve-inch gash when he takes off the blood-soaked towel. He works quickly, removing the torn stitches, disinfecting the area, and pinching the skin together before very precisely replacing each stitch without so much as Novocain. My guess is Stephens is a sadist just like his boss. I fight a grin even though I remain concerned.
Monroe stays still without making a sound.
I head to the refrigerator, remove a bottle of orange juice, and wait. I don't even know where my head's at right now. Fuck Monroe and his dangerous line of work. I've always known what he's doing when he leaves on these jobs. His injury shouldn't make a difference when it comes to beating his ass either.
Stephens breaks into my thoughts. "If you have no further needs, Mr. Monroe?" Stephens says in his crisp no-nonsense voice. "I would like to resume my night's sleep." This last comes out with Stephens' testy inflection.
I turn away and hide a smile as Stephens collects his supplies and leaves the room.
Monroe's voice makes me turn in his direction. "He saved my life."
"Stephens?" I ask.
"Yes, and I have not managed to get rid of him since."
My laugh is low as I carry the bottle of orange juice to Monroe. "I know the feeling. Drink this."
He rolls his eyes and then closes them completely. "Yes, Master."
"Don't start," I growl.
"I found her for you." Monroe doesn't open his eyes.
Brave man, I think bitterly. My anger deflates as fast as it comes on. "She loves you," I say, unable to keep the misery out of my voice.
"She loves us both," Monroe corrects and peels open his eyes so he's staring right at me. "And we both love her." There's something in his gaze I can't decipher. "It is a good thing," he adds.
"Hell no it isn't! What the fuck, Monroe?"
His intense stare causes goose bumps to run across my skin. "I think everything depends on you."
My rage returns. "It should be up to her!"
Monroe's eyebrow arches. "I am sure you've figured out her biggest problems by now."
I draw in a ragged breath and try to control myself again. "Guilt, shame, no pain limits. Hell, no limits."
"Exactly," Monroe says. "But she feels. With what she has been through, it is a miracle in itself."
"Maybe she feels too much." Shit. I pull my fingers across my head.
"Maybe... she needs us both, Zach."
Silence hangs between us for several long minutes. "I don't know if I can do it," I finally respond.
"Then-and I quote what you said to me before-'You do not love her enough.'"
I can offer nothing but silence.
Monroe moves forward and plants one foot on the floor. "Do you think you could help me stay upright long enough to get to the den and a bottle of Johnny Walker?"
"Now I know you're injured," I snort. "I thought you only kept that shit around for me."
Monroe offers a faint smile, which turns quickly to a grimace. "I do, and I am hoping you will join me."
"What about Angel?" I ask while propping my arm under Monroe's.
"Get me to the den and then go get her for us. She can listen while we talk."
Fuck, could it get worse? "Is that a good idea?"
"We are not talking about our relationship yet. I'm too fucked over at the moment."
I handle Monroe's weight and we take our first tentative step. "Let's go, big boy," I say with a huff because the damn man weighs a ton.
"Now you have gone too far." Monroe pants as we head out of the room.
"Whatcha going to do about it?" I taunt.
A loud moan escapes him before he can talk again. "Try to stay upright long enough to fall onto another couch."
"I'll try not to push you on your way down."
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