Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
SHAW
I don’t understand why the fuck I’m so mad; there’s no reason to be. I’m being paid to protect her, not claim her. But damn, after our kiss this morning, I really thought we were on the same page.
Growing up, I never considered myself a romantic.
Hell, even as an adult, I haven't been. At least, I don't think so. I’m not some player looking to fuck every girl I see, but with Monroe, something’s certainly different.
From the way she communicates with Mari to the way she ponders every word she speaks.
Monroe is methodical, yet na?ve. Vulnerable, yet worldly. A complete contrast to what I thought someone with her background would be. Her fragility shows in every bone in her body, and I’m drawn to how possessive of her it makes me.
When I took this job, spending more than five minutes talking to her was not a consideration; now, I find I can’t go more than five minutes without thinking about her.
Needing to clear my head, I take out her file and open Draven’s emails containing the background checks, and the more I learn, the more I lean towards it being her mother.
The stalking started about two years ago—around the time Monroe would have turned eighteen, making her a legal adult.
At first, it was light-hearted, just flowers and love notes left at the door of her hotel rooms. Always anonymous.
Never reported to the police because Helen insisted it was all harmless.
A short while after Monroe refused to commit to last year’s Miss Universe pageant, things escalated.
And if I had to guess, that’s when she expressed her wish to leave pageant life.
She likely spoke to her mother about retiring and using her winnings to settle down and figure out her life.
But little did Monroe know, her mother burned through those savings almost as quickly as she won them.
My girl… shit …has been used and exploited in some of the worst ways.
After the last threat, a note stating that Monroe had better give herself over to her admirer or risk being kidnapped, Claire insisted on calling Banks Protection Services at Lorie’s referral. Pointing me back to Helen as the perpetrator.
Giving Draven a call, he answers with, “Hey man, how’s it going?”
I respond, “Monroe is different,” and huff out a breath.
“Not surprising. She hardly spoke two words to me yesterday, and when she did, that mother of hers talked right over her. You got my emails, I take it?”
“Yeah. Look, the more I check into this, the more I’m convinced the mother is behind it all. And Claire is the one who insisted on hiring us.”
“Makes sense. What do you need me to do?”
“Can you look further into Helen’s background? Military deep dive. See if you find anything about Monroe’s father too. Maybe he has information we can’t access.” I find it hard to believe that a father would just abandon his daughter so effortlessly.
“I can do that. Anything else?” He waits as I stare out the window at the girl quickly taking over my life.
“Honestly, man, I’m not sure. This morning, I caught her slicing her cheek open with a small pair of scissors.” Which still bothers me.
“What the fuck?”
“She said that nobody would want her if she wasn’t pretty.” And I fucking get it. She’s been a piece of meat almost her entire life.
“Jesus Christ. She needs anything, Shaw, say the word, and we’ll help however we can.” His incredulity matches mine.
“Thanks. I’m going to go talk with her, see if she can shed some light on these messages. If I can get her away from that damn cow of mine.”
Draven chuckles as he hangs up the phone.
No one understands why I saved the mammoth. I can’t do anything with her, and she’s noisy as hell, but I’ve grown fond of the beast.
Picking up the files containing copies of the notes, threats, and images Monroe likely has no idea were taken, I head for outside. Pleased when I pass through the kitchen and see she’s eaten something this morning, at least.
Stepping onto the porch, I see Monroe sitting on the ground facing Marilyn, faintly humming. How fucking odd that they share the same damn name. When I gave it to Mari, it was only because there’d been a tabloid about Marilyn Monroe in the gas station I stopped at on the way home that day.
Fate. My mom’s voice whispers through my mind. The crazy old bird would tell me it’s written in the stars that Monroe and I share such an odd commonality.
Maybe she’d be right, maybe she’d be wrong.
I’m sure she’ll get a kick out of it once she finds out about Monroe.
“Hey,” I call softly, and both of them turn to look at me. Monroe spins around on her ass, leaning against the post, giving me her complete attention. “You up for some questions?”
She shrugs again. Damn her and her shrugging.
Sitting in front of her, I lift her legs and drape them over mine. I don’t like the idea of being so close and not touching her, even in a simply innocent way.
“I’m sorry I stormed off this morning.” She looks up at me, her face a mask of indifference.
If not for the flicker in her eyes, I’d think she doesn’t care one way or the other.
“I spent a lot of years fighting for our country's freedom. Learning that someone I care about has endured a lifetime of dictation isn’t an easy pill to swallow.”
She just nods, and I force back my anger. Not at her, but at why she behaves this way.
“Tell me something, Monroe.”
“Tell you what?” Her eyes lift as her fingers play with the blades of grass next to her hips.
“Anything you want.” I need to get her to open up to me, and so far, she’s been harder to crack than any safe I’ve encountered.
Braving a quick look over her shoulder, she whispers, “I like your cow.”
Huffing a short laugh, I say, “Yeah, I figured that out. What else?”
“I really wanted to eat that bacon this morning.” Her chin wobbles, and I want to pull her into my chest, but I get the feeling she’ll clam up again if I do.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask instead, knowing I’m going to hate the damn answer.
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth before responding, “I could hear my mother in my head, yelling about how fat I would get. I could feel the beating she gave me when I was nine and gained ten pounds. I could feel the dizziness of so many days being starved because I would look at a pastry.”
My throat constricts with volatile emotion as Monroe confesses to her imprisonment. Because that’s exactly what her life has been… A prison.
Curling my fingers along her jaw, I tilt her head, growing angrier by the minute, watching her struggle to keep tears from falling. Likely terrified of another reprimand.
“Baby, listen to me.” Her glossy gaze meets mine. “This is your life. You are free to do as you wish, and so long as you’re here, I will protect you from anyone that tries to stop you.”
I realize she won’t believe me at this point. It’ll take time. Something I have plenty of.