She’s right, of course. Someone did know. Her mother. Oh, I can’t be sure Aisling was aware of the extent of the abuse, but when she caught sight of me that single time, I was a borderline malnourished child. Obviously something was wrong, and she turned away instead of enacting that famous Amazonian justice.
What would Monroe think if she knew that?
It might drive a wedge between her and her mother. Or she might call me a liar and that would be the end of us, right here and now.
“Maybe I should burn the whole fucking town down,” she muses. “That would certainly send a message.”
I don’t mean to take her face in my hands. I really don’t. But my body moves without permission, and her skin is so fucking soft, completely at odds with the fierce violence in her voice. “Monroe,” I say, soft and slow. “You cannot burn down a town for me.” You cannot start a conflict with your own mother for me.
“I most certainly can.” She refocuses on me. “Whether or not I do it is still up for debate. My mother wouldn’t like it, but she wouldn’t stand in my way.”
Saying her mother wouldn’t like it is a giant understatement. Monroe takes my breath away. Rationally, I know she’s the enemy. No matter what I yelled at Broderick earlier, I recognize that Monroe would feed us all to literal wolves if it meant keeping her people safe. Her people that I don’t number among, haven’t for well over ten years. That is admirable from where I’m sitting, but since we’re on opposite sides of the line, it means she’s a threat.
But not even Broderick reacted this strongly to my story.
I don’t want my parents dead…I don’t think. I won’t lie and say that revenge fantasies didn’t get me through my teens and early twenties. But things changed when I joined the Paine brothers. For the first time in my life, I was able to focus on the future instead of the past.
Still…
It’s a heady thing to have all of Monroe’s not-insignificant fury and violence focused on people who hurt me. Focused on them because they hurt me. It’s enough to make me wonder what would have happened if she was the queen who noticed the child being harmed by someone in her inner circle. Maybe it’s naïve to think she would have placed that child’s safety above the petty politics that are demanded of the one who holds the throne.
Maybe… But I can’t shake the feeling that she would have reigned down the same fire and brimstone that she’s threatening to right now.
I don’t have a good response for her. I don’t even know what I want. “I won’t tell you.”
“That’s okay.” I barely have a chance to relax when she says, “I’ll ask Broderick instead.”
That’s a dead end. Broderick doesn’t know where I’m from, either. I never told him, and he respected me enough not to ask. Funny how he understood how to respect boundaries for so long, only to lose that skill the second we arrived back in Sabine Valley. I sigh. “You are something else.”
“You’re not the first one to say it. Though most of the time when people do, it sounds less like a compliment.”
I kiss her. Another mistake, but not one I’ll take back. I can count on one hand how many people I’ve told that story to, and while everyone was sympathetic to my experiences, the sheer ferocity of Monroe’s leaves me breathless.
What would it be like to be loved by this woman?
Never boring, that’s for sure.
She goes still for one long moment, and then she’s kissing me back with all the energy she put into plotting my parents’ demise. Like she has a thousand things to tell me that she knows I don’t want to hear, so she’ll convey them with her tongue and lips and teeth instead.
I prefer it this way.
There’s no time to worry about this being a mistake or what happens next. I can’t even blame tequila or anger. There’s just me and Monroe and this kiss.
She laughs against my mouth and pulls away a little bit. “I should offer to kill people on your behalf more often if this is the response I get.”
“Monroe?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.” I dig my hands into her hair and kiss her again, toppling her back to the bed. She goes willingly. We land in a tangle of limbs, and I’ve never regretted putting on clothing so much. I want to be skin to skin. There’s nothing to hide any longer. She’s seen the scars, she’s heard the story, and she still desires me. I don’t have to worry about making sure the lights are off before we go farther because there’s nothing to hide.
The realization leaves me giddy and a bit drunk off the knowledge.
I sit back on my heels between her spread thighs and look at her. She’s rumpled, and her oversized shirt is bunched up around her waist, leaving her lacy white panties on display. They’re sexy, but I suspect Monroe could be wearing a paper bag and covered in a weeks’ worth of dirt and still be sexy. It’s just her.
I slide my hands up her toned thighs and hook the sides of her panties. “I’m taking these off.”
“Please do.”
The urge to rush nearly overwhelms me, but I force myself to go slow, tugging the fabric down an inch at a time, easing it over her hips. She has to move her legs for me to get them down farther, and she does without hesitation, pressing them together. I take advantage, pushing her legs up toward her chest. I leave
