Page 11 of Damaged

Tucking his gun away, Rogue walked closer in silent steps. The twisted silk sheet was draped over Wrath’s waist, providing covering.

He was hella surprised that Wrath still slept after he’d entered the house, much less his room. It was then that he noticed the sweat-soaked pillow.

Shit.

Touching the back of his hand to Wrath’s forehead, he found it hot to the touch. Sweat darkened the man’s blond hair around the temples and a low sound of pain came from Wrath’s throat at his touch.

Fuck this.

Rogue snapped on the bedside lamp and sat on the edge of the bed.

Wrath struggled a bit, but slowly lifted his lids. The pale blue gaze was unfocused at first and then landed on him. A wobbly smile graced the man’s lips, making Rogue swallow hard.

Dehydration was probably playing a big part in why Wrath seemed so disoriented. The bottle on the nightstand wasantibiotics. He didn’t see any painkillers, so Wrath’s grogginess wasn’t from that.

Reaching over, Rogue grasped the sheet to check the wound, but Wrath’s grip on his wrist stopped him. Rogue scowled at Wrath and kept lifting until the man gave up and dropped his arm with a sigh.

The wound was fucking infected.

Badly.

It took him two seconds to make a decision, and he reached out and lifted Wrath into a sitting position in the bed. The man wrapped his arms up and around his neck and held onto him.

He cocked one arm beneath Wrath’s legs and lifted him sheet and all from the bed. Wrath clung tightly and Rogue walked out of the room, out of the house, and placed the sheet-wrapped man into the passenger seat of his truck.

The hospital was brightly lit up when he reached the entrance and he parked, lifted Wrath from the truck, and walked inside.

Wrath had been quiet the whole way and that silently told Rogue just how injured Wrath was. A muscle ticked in his jaw from clenching his teeth.

When they came to take Wrath from him, Wrath wouldn’t let go.

“They need to check you,” Rogue murmured into the damp hair at Wrath’s temple.

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” he rasped to the whispered words.

“Promise.”

“I promise,” he vowed and sank into one of the waiting room chairs as they wheeled Wrath away.

Glancing at his phone, he checked messages but didn’t make any calls. He wasn’t going to report Wrath’s injury to Erebus because he no longer worked for them.

He could have messaged Wrath’s brother, Justice, but he didn’t. If Wrath wanted his brother to know he was wounded, then he would have told Justice.

Besides, Rogue wasn’t one to reach out to anyone. His whole life he’d been alone. Really. The time he’d spent with Fisher and Echo didn’t count because he had been Solomon’s right-hand man. He had never been able to do anything other than handle Solomon’s orders.

Now, sitting in this waiting room and waiting for Wrath to receive care, Rogue felt more alone than ever before.

Which was odd.

Now, the only thing he could do was to wait.

He locked his eyes on the admitting door and waited for Wrath to emerge.

Wrath…a man who had become more important than he had ever thought possible.

The room swam into view and Wrath groaned at the brightness from the morning sun shining through the blinds.

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