Head Above Water (Nightshade MC Book 4) (29 page)

Her body tensed as she felt him touch her again, just the tip of his finger against the tight bud of her anus. “If you don't like it, tell me to stop.” His expression grew serious.

“I think that I will,” she said. “Actually, I've been thinking about it lately.”

“Yeah?” He smiled widely. “Let's find out.”

Drea braced herself, not sure that the women she'd watched enjoying anal weren't faking it, but then she felt the tip of his finger inside her. “Oh!” She realized that each time she moved up and down his cock, it eased deeper inside of her. “Monroe!” He added a second finger; there was a sense of being stretched, slight pain but balanced with the pleasure pooling in her stomach from the feeling of him deep inside of her. “I'm going to come.”

“I told you,” he growled. “Come all over my dick with my fingers fucking your tight little ass. Feels so fucking good.”

Drea let it all go, began to fuck him as hard as she could. She'd never felt this full before, and it was fucking amazing. When he brought one hand up so he could cup her breast, she felt her body begin to shake. His mouth found her nipple, sucked down hard, and the orgasm grabbed hold.

For a moment it was almost like being deaf and blind, all that existed was the unrelenting pleasure radiating through every cell of her being. Then she heard Monroe let out a roar that echoed off the walls and felt his pulse deep inside of her.

Drea let her head fall forward against his. “That was seriously mind-blowing.”

He responded with a grin and a wink. “Wait until next time.”

<#<#<#<#

Someone was cooking, and by the smell of burned bacon, it wasn't Caroline. Drea hadn't expected that it would be. She sat in the room she'd shared with Monroe the night before, the sheets still rumpled from their lovemaking, and waited.

He'd gone downstairs first, to direct his crew as to what the plan for the day was while they grabbed breakfast. She'd remained upstairs, his phone in her hand. They'd gone round and round the night before on how to start their fight and finally decided to make it over Claire. Monroe had told her to wait ten minutes, come downstairs and let all hell break loose. She'd scream about calls he'd made the night before to Claire and text messages he'd sent telling her that he wanted to see her. Her stomach clenched and twisted; the smell of the bacon was enough to make bile rise in the back of her throat.

Drea pushed to her feet. “You can do this,” she told herself, feeling ridiculous that she needed to give herself a pep talk. With one last glance around the room, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

The sound of voices from downstairs greeted her as soon as she stepped into the hall. The workers for the construction company were obviously taking full advantage of the breakfast spread. She hadn't expected it to be so rowdy.

Nerves rolled through her but she steeled her spine and headed down the stairs in a rush. “Monroe!” When she screamed his name, all eyes went to her, including those of the pass-arounds who were obviously the ones setting out the breakfast.

“What's up?” he said, his tone casual and his hands filled with a plate of food.

“What's up? What the fuck is this?” She brandished his phone. “You want to tell me why you were calling and texting your whore all night? Why you want to see her? Why you miss her?”

“Why the fuck were you looking at my phone?” he demanded. “Give me that.”

“You want it? Here!” She threw it at him, watched it fly past him and shatter on the floor. “Oops, guess that you're not going to be able to call your fucking girlfriend now.”

“You want to know why I was calling Claire?” He was screaming now. “Because marrying you was a fucking mistake.” The room suddenly went silent and still. “The worst mistake that I ever made, because you're nothing but a fucking bitch who can't stop whining about everything.”

“Fuck you,” Drea retorted, her voice cracked. “You're not exactly a joy to be married to, either. You snore and you never pick up your dirty clothes off of the floor.”

“See, there you are, whining again! Jesus Christ, I'm so tired of hearing the sound of your voice. Don't you ever just shut the fuck up?”

“Fuck you.”

“You said that already, you stupid bitch. You know what? Fuck you and fuck this. We're done. Get the fuck out of my face and don't even think about going back to the house unless it's to pack your shit. We're done. Over. Finished.”

“But...”

“Get out,” Monroe roared the words loud enough to make Drea jump even though she knew it was all a farce.

Drea saw Jillian take a step forward, but then Ace reached out and pulled her back. “I'll go. I won't stay where I'm not wanted.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “I need to get my bag.”

“What the fuck are you waiting for? And what the fuck are you all looking at?” he demanded of the crowd.

Drea ran up the stairs, grabbed her bag and then ran back down. The clubhouse was buzzing with whispers, no one was looking at Monroe, but they were all looking at her. She rushed for the front door and out it.

Once outside, she realized that her hands were shaking, but she made no attempt to stop them or calm herself down. It had to look good in case Frankie was watching, but she thought that even if he wasn't, he'd hear all about what happened from Claire after one of her pass-around friends called her to report about what had happened, or at least that was the hope.

If this didn't work, Drea didn't know what would, so she needed it to work.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

It had only been three hours since the mock fight with Drea, and Monroe already missed her. He'd been surprised just how hard it was to watch her walk out the front door. Knowing that she was out there alone made him feel restless.

“Yo, Monroe,” Shawn called out. “I need some help.”

“What's going on?”

“This wall needs to come down. I need another set of hands, if you're up to swinging a sledgehammer,” Shawn said.

“Yeah, I could do that,” Monroe answered, already picturing the wall as Frankie's face. There would be something seriously satisfying about smashing it down. “Hold that thought,” he said as his phone rang. Ace had hooked him up with a replacement moments after Drea had shattered his at the clubhouse, with the same number so that if Claire tried to make contact she could get through. He didn't recognize the number, but answered anyway. “Hello.”

“Monroe?” It was Claire on the line. “Monroe, can you come and get me?”

“Claire? Where are you?” Monroe looked over to Shawn, who nodded and took out his own phone to call Buster.

“I'm at The Loop,” she said, naming a hotel near the casinos which charged by the hour. “Please come, please hurry. It's room 211. Please.”

“Give me twenty minutes, I'm coming.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Monroe ended the call, looked over to Shawn. “She's at The Loop, room 211. Wants me to come there.”

“Could be a setup.”

“Could be,” Monroe agreed. Odds were that it was. “Can't risk going in full force, just in case someone is watching.”

“You can't go alone,” Shawn countered. “That's just fucking stupid,” he lowered his voice. “I don't want to have to tell your old lady that you got dead. What's the play?”

“You're coming with me,” Monroe told him. “What did Buster say?”

“He said to tell him what you need.”

<#<#<#<#

The Loop was the sort of place where you didn't actually have sex in the bed because you couldn't be sure the last time the sheets were changed. It wasn't the sort of place where the clerk behind the desk asked any questions. The lobby smelled like stale beer and dirty feet as Monroe came through the front door. There were several threadbare chairs in the lobby, along with a couch that was listing to one side. The elevator didn't work, not much of a surprise there, so he took the stairs. The smell was worse than the lobby.

Before he reached the door to the second floor, Monroe prepared. He took out his gun, checked that there was a spare clip in the pocket of his jeans just in case things got ugly. Actually, he expected that things would get ugly, but he had the advantage, with years of training and experience. Fear didn't enter into the equation at all, it was simply what needed to be done.

The hallway was dimly lit, with doors set about every four feet. Room 211 was at the end of the hall, to the right. Monroe slowed his approach as he saw that the door was actually ajar. He entered the room cautiously, swept his gun from one side to the other. There was no sign of Frankie, but he saw Claire slumped in a heap on the floor next to the bed.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed as he glanced between her prone form and the bathroom door. Monroe went for the closed door, saw there was nowhere to hide in the minuscule space. Claire hadn't moved a muscle or made a sound since he'd spotted her. Sure that she was dead, he approached her.

Her pulse was faint, but it was there. Behind him, the floor creaked. He turned, ready to fire, but lowered his weapon as he saw Shawn. “We clear outside?”

“Yeah, we're clear. You want me to call Jillian?”

“I think this is beyond Jillian,” Monroe replied. “She needs a hospital.” He sat back on his heels with a sigh. “Call 911. Be sure to tell them that she's pregnant.”

The ambulance came much faster than he'd expected; it only took ten minutes. By then, she'd started to move a little. Her eyes opened once the EMTs put an oxygen mask over her mouth. Monroe knew the moment that she saw him because she smiled slightly and held out her hand. “If you're coming with us, we need to move now,” the EMT snapped.

<#<#<#<#

Without Maggie to ease the way, Monroe found himself waiting in the lobby for hours before a doctor finally came out. Claire was resting comfortably with a slight concussion and a broken wrist. The baby's vitals were slightly erratic, so the doctor wanted her to remain in the hospital so she could be observed. Once she was settled, they let him sit at her bedside. He sat. He waited.

Eventually, she opened her eyes. “You're here.”

“I am,” Monroe confirmed. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess. A little weird.” She shifted in the bed, winced as she looked down at her hand. “Well, that sucks.”

“What happened, Claire? Was it Frankie?”

“No. It was Drea,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Your old lady did this to me.”

Monroe knew that she was lying. Drea was capable of a lot of things, but she'd be no more likely to assault a pregnant woman than he would, even if Claire did make it very tempting. “How did she find you?” he asked instead of calling her a lying whore.

“I... I don't know, really. Do you think that I could have some water?”

“Yeah, of course.” Monroe rose, grabbed the pitcher and poured a glass. “I need you to tell me what happened, Claire.”

“I told you, she attacked me.” There was a defensive tone to her voice. “Are you saying that you don't believe me?”

“I didn't say that, did I?” Monroe put a straw in the cup and carried it over to her. “I'm just asking you what happened. I want to know.”

“It was horrible. I don't want to talk about it.”

“Claire, I'm here with you. You understand what that means, right? You heard my messages. I'm here, but I need you to talk to me.”

“I understand. Fine. I was in the room, just minding my own business. I needed to get away, to ignore the world, and I figured that no one would think to look for me here, but the next thing I knew  Drea came to the door, which is when I called you. I opened the door, she barged right in and just started hitting me. I don't remember much after that. I shouldn't have opened the door.”

“You didn't answer when I called last night. I even went by your place. I didn't think that you wanted to talk.”

“The reception at the hotel was horrible, I hardly ever had a signal.”

Monroe had checked his phone numerous times at the hotel; each time, he'd had full bars. Claire was just racking up the lies, digging herself in deeper and deeper. “You should try and rest some more now. Don't worry, I'll be here. I've got to step outside, though, make a few calls. I'll be back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay.” Claire leaned back against the pillows. “Don't be too long.”

Monroe waited until she'd closed her eyes before he left the room. He took the elevator down to the first floor, walked out the doors and dialed Buster. “It's me,” he said shortly. “She's awake and the kid is okay. Says it was Drea who attacked her, which is obviously bullshit, just another fucking frame job.”

“You sure about that?”

“You think Drea magically found her and beat the shit out of her? No. No fucking way. This has Frankie written all over it. He's somewhere in this town, and we need to find him.”

“Everyone is out now, talking to everyone and beating the bushes. If anyone has seen him, we'll have him. Keep me updated with what's going on over there. I'll do the same.”

Monroe remained downstairs even after he'd ended the call with Buster. He smoked a cigarette and told himself that this was no different from any time he'd ever gone undercover while on the force. Claire needed to believe that he was there for her, that he wanted her. She needed to trust him enough to tell him the truth and to give up Frankie.

“Monroe,” Shawn said from behind him.

“Jesus Christ, we're going to have to put a bell on you.” Monroe had been so deep in thought he hadn't heard the man approach.

“My bad. I just wanted to come and tell you that Drea's back at her place. Everything seems quiet. I'd have stayed and kept an eye out, but if someone else is watching...”

“I get it. Thanks for checking on her.” Monroe was glad to know that she was home, but at the same time it made his stomach tighten because her house wasn't home anymore. She'd cleared most of the furniture out in anticipation of Casey moving in. There was electricity and water but no television or internet to keep her occupied. Drea's mind could go to strange places when she wasn't occupied.

“No doubt. Hey, you want some food or something? Hospital food sucks.”

“Actually, yeah. Food would be good. I'm not even picky about what it is.”

“Claire likes Mama Jade's,” Shawn said. “Go up and tell her that you ordered dinner for the two of you. She'll eat it up.”

“Yeah, she will.” Monroe sighed. “I need to go back in. She's in room 301.”

“Give me half an hour and I'll be back with the food.”

“Thanks,” Monroe replied. He watched Shawn go and headed back inside. When he got out of the elevator on the third floor, he felt a sour sick pit form in his stomach at the idea of having to play nicely with Claire. He was glad to see that she was sleeping when he returned to the room, so he sat, quietly, and hoped that she'd sleep the rest of the night away.

<#<#<#<#

The doctor cleared Claire's release first thing the following morning. Unable to bring himself to take her to the home he'd made with Drea, he took her to a hotel instead. Her place wasn't an option. Matt was still there, rotting away.

Once Claire was settled on the bed, nestled on the extra pillows she'd had the front desk send up, Monroe decided it was time for a little talking. “You know, when I went by your house the other night, I might have let myself in.”

She paled slightly. “So, you found him.”

“How the hell did a dead guy end up on your floor?” he asked. She sighed in response. “Come on, Claire. There's something you're not saying. Say it. I'm starting to get pissed off.”

“After the lockdown, Frankie called me. Wanted to meet,” she admitted. “I told him to fuck off, but I kept the number. I don't even know why.” Monroe was pretty sure he did. Claire had found her back-up plan with Frankie. “I called him after we fought. Set up a meeting with him.”

“What did he offer you, Claire?”

“Money,” she said hesitantly. “We were supposed to meet again to finalize things, but instead, the night before, Matt showed up. He was drunk, or something, ranting and raving.”

“You shot him?”

“I told him to stop. Told him to just leave.” Claire's voice trembled.

Monroe moved to sit down on the bed next to her. Her eyes went wide at the contact and she came towards him. Almost instantly, he regretted the choice. “I'm so sorry he made you do that.”

“I didn't know what to do after. I freaked out. I called Frankie and we went to The Loop. He said that no one would ever suspect they'd find us in that shit hole.” She pressed her face against his chest. “I'm sorry, Monroe. I should have called you.”

If she had, he wouldn't have answered. “It's okay. It's all going to be okay. Right now, you need to try to calm down. Getting worked up isn't good for the baby.”

“Our baby. Actually, our son.”

“Son?”

“They told me at the hospital earlier, when you were down grabbing coffee. Once they said that they were releasing me, I totally forgot about it until right now. Our son.” Claire reached out and grabbed his hand. “I knew that we'd end up like this, from the very start I knew. I love you, James Monroe. I love you so much.”

Monroe knew what she needed to hear, so he said the words that couldn't be further from the truth. “I love you, Claire. I'm sorry that it took us so long to get here.”

“Don't be sorry. Don't. I can see how Drea would have clouded your judgement. She's beautiful, even if she really is dead inside. That's what Frankie said. He said that she could never love anyone because of the way she'd been raised.”

“You and Frankie talked about Drea?”

“Yeah, a little. He thought that it was funny she was married to you but I was pregnant by you.”

Of course he had. Monroe vowed to kill Frankie slowly, in a way that would make Train queasy. “Let's not talk about her anymore,” she suggested. “I can think of better things to do than talking.”

“Remember what the doctor said,” Monroe reminded her. “No strenuous physical activity.”

“We can just go nice and slow,” she said with a pout.

“I wouldn't be able to be nice and slow,” he said as he felt his cock shrivel at the mere thought of being inside of her. “So, we'll have to wait.” Monroe shifted his hand to her stomach, felt the firmness of her belly. She'd always been on the thin side so soon her bump would be noticeable. “I'm going to run out and grab something for us to eat while you shut your eyes and rest. Any special requests?”

“Ice cream and whipped cream.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of food,” he told her.