Page 57 of Under His Protection

And Alexander knows what I mean.

He reaches for the flowers, his movements slow and deliberate, careful not to dislodge the IV line that snakes from his arm. His fingers brush against the petals. One falls onto the cold metal of the IV stand. With a grimace, he tips the vase, water cascading onto the table, the white blooms tumbling onto the bed.

He probes the bottom of the vase, his fingers searching, his brow furrowed. Then, his fingers emerge, holding a small, black object no bigger than my thumbnail. It glints under the low light.

My blood turns to ice. “A bug,” I mime with my lips.

Monroe planted a bug; why?

He nods, his gaze meeting mine, silently confirming our suspicions. He raises a finger to his lips.

“Message Isaac,” he says quietly.

Nodding, I pull out the phone, keeping my eyes glued to the door. The steady beep of the heart monitor becomes relentless. We are trapped in the room, weakened. Even here, the darkness has found us.

It’s too late; even Isaac can’t reach us in time if Monroe is outside.

The beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor quickens as I look around for another exit. There are none. Alexander’s eyes dart to the door, his jaw clenches, his hand instinctively reaching for the bandage on his chest.

“We have to go,” he rasps. “Now.”

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, steadying himself on my arm.

He’s dizzy and hurt; we will not make it out of here.

I nod, adrenaline surging through me, chasing away the initial shock. We move silently, like shadows, toward the window. Maybe there’s a fire escape? The cool night air seeping through the cracked pane smells of rain.

I peek out the window. There is a fire escape!

The door creaks open, revealing Monroe’s tall frame at the entrance to the room. He’s in civilian clothing. His eyes, usually bright and alert, are narrowed. His gaze sweeps over the room, landing on the overturned vase and the scattered flowers.

“Everything alright in here?” he asks, his voice calm.

“Just a little accident,” I say, my voice strained, trying to keep the tremor out. I stand frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs, my gaze darting between Alexander, who is now leaning against the window frame, and the door, our escape route.

“Clumsy,” Monroe chuckles, taking a step into the room. But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They are cold and calculating a predator’s gaze.

“I thought I heard something fall.”

He takes another step, his hand reaching beneath his jacket. My blood turns to ice.

“Don’t move, Monroe,” Alexander says, his voice a low growl, a warning shot.

Monroe freezes, his gaze snapping to Alexander, his hand now gripping the butt of his gun. “What’s going on here, Alexander?” he asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you,” I say, my voice finding its strength, hardened by fear and fueled by a desperate need to protect Alexander.

But Alexander is already moving, his body a blur of motion despite his injuries. He slams his shoulder into Monroe, a raw, desperate strength propelling him. Monroe stumbles, crashing against the wall, the gun clattering to the floor with a metallic clang.

Monroe recovers quickly, his eyes blazing. He lunges at Alexander, a growl escaping his throat.

Monroe lands a blow on Alexander’s jaw, sending him reeling. Stumbling, Alexander gets to his feet.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Monroe snarls, his fist connecting with Alexander’s stomach, sending him doubling over.

His wound starts to bleed, shit.

The IV tubes attached to Alexander’s arm are a tangled mess. He’s fighting back, but every move is a struggle, every breath an effort.

---