Limitless Love: A Lotus House Novel: Book Four

by Audrey Carlan

  “The fact that I have a big, strong, handsome, caring, and loving man to be there for me when I fall or have a hard time or a bad dream. Whatever it is, I’ve got you to lean on.”

  “And you always will.” His response was quick and to the point.

  I rose up on tiptoe. “Exactly.”

  He kissed me soundly and for a long, long time. So long that the queen had finished her carrots, the song had ended, and she wanted attention, as evidenced by her patting us both on the thighs.

  “Um…hello. The queen wants dinner.”

  “You do!” Clayton ruffled her hair, picked her up, and tossed her in the air. Then he caught her, pretended to drop her, but stopped and caught her. It was frightening to see my baby hurling in the air several inches above his head and then him catching her while she squealed in delight, but it was also the type of thing a father would do with his child, so I didn’t say anything. They needed to bond, and I had to allow it to occur organically and not butt in.

  While they were playing, the phone on the wall next to the counter rang.

  I went for it, figuring it was Mila asking what was for dinner. She did that often. Invited herself to dinner. Now that she was pregnant, she did it a couple times a week. She’d call, find out what we were having, and debate if she wanted that or something else. Neither Clayton nor I minded because we enjoyed having her around, and I loved petting the bump. Now closing in on four months, she had a perfect little cantaloupe going.

  “Hello?” I asked with a smile in my voice, watching my man and my kid run around the island.

  A broken, stuttered voice ripped through the line. “Monet…”

  Instantly the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. “Yes, this is she. Who is this?” I didn’t recognize the voice.

  “My God, Monet. He hurt me. So bad.” The sob coupled with sniffles allowed me to register the voice as one I knew all too well.

  Matisse.

  “Matisse, is that you?” I needed to confirm. I hadn’t heard from my sister since she and Kyle left the lawyer’s office, and that was a long time ago.

  The sound of a hacking, wet cough came through the line. “I’m hurt. I need help.”

  “Help? What happened? Where are you?” I asked, a frantic energy zipping up my spine and making me jittery.

  “In a hotel…” she croaked. “I don’t know where I am. He hurt me and beat me. Left me for dead.” Her sobs tore through the phone and went straight into my bleeding heart. Target obliterated.

  Clayton put a hand to my shoulder. His eyes were hard at the mention of my sister’s name.

  “Can you look at anything on the desk or the end table that says where you are? I’ll come get you,” I rushed to offer.

  Clayton shook his head. “Could be a trap,” he gritted through his teeth.

  I licked my lips and pressed my thumb and forefinger against my temples. “Anything?” I asked, my heart hammering out a beat so hard I could almost hear it myself.

  “Um…yeah. It says Berkeley Inn.”

  My eyes widened and Clayton scowled. “The Berkeley Inn? That’s not far from here. When did he leave you? Where did he pick you up?”

  Matisse sobbed some more and howled in pain. “I don’t know. Please, help me. I have nobody. He hurt me. He hurt me so bad. Monet, he raped me.” She cried out with a new round of emotional distress.

  He raped me.

  I gripped the phone so tight my hand started to throb. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and I ground my teeth and mouthed rape to Clayton. His entire face went from concerned to heated anger in a split second.

  “Matisse, I’m sending help. Look at the phone. What room number are you in?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Twelve,” I repeated to Clayton.

  He had his cellphone to his ear, calling the detectives on our case.

  “Yeah, Berkeley Inn, room twelve. Says she’s wounded bad. And uh, she told her sister she’d been violated. Yeah, okay, we’ll meet you there.”

  “Help is on the way, Matisse. We’re sending detectives right now, and they’re sending in paramedics. We’re going to meet you at the hospital.”

  “It hurts…Monet.”

  “I know, I know. I’m going to get you help and I’ll be there for you. I’ll be there.” All the times we weren’t there for one another rushed to the surface, my sisterly desire raging strong.

  “Stay on the phone with me. Please.”

  “Of course, honey,” I cooed, even though my heart was unraveling with every word.

  Another ten minutes of me whispering to her and finally I could hear the police knocking on the door. “That will be the help we sent. Go open it.”

  “Can’t. Too painful to move,” she whispered, her voice getting weaker.

  “She can’t open the door,” I told Clay.

  “Break it down,” he uttered into his cell phone.

  I heard what sounded like wood shattering and metal bending and then a variety of voices tending to Matisse.

  “See you soon,” I said.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Let’s go. We’ll have Mila meet us at the hospital to pick up Lily,” Clayton muttered, coats already in hand.

  I just followed along with whatever he said. All I could think of was my sister as a child and her growing up into a lovely woman. Talking about boys while we watched silly chick flicks. Her big, cheery smile. And then her words over and over.

  He hurt me.

  Left me for dead.

  He raped me.

  * * *

  The hospital was a madhouse, but we were able to meet up with Detectives Richardson and Bolinsky in the emergency room.

  “Where is she?”

  “Seeing the doctor,” the taller detective replied.

  “I need to go to her now.”

  One of the detectives led me to a private room and knocked on the door. A nurse opened it a few inches, her eyes turning hard.

  “We need privacy.”

  “Victim’s sister is here.”

  Victim. Again with that word. Couldn’t they use survivor? Sounded more appropriate than victim.

  “Your sister’s here. Do you want to let her in?” The nurse spoke to someone behind her. I couldn’t hear the reply, but she opened the door enough for me to slip inside.

  On the other side of the room was my sister. Her black hair, so much like mine, was a disheveled mop around her sullen face. She’d lost a lot of weight since I’d last seen her. She couldn’t have been more than a size two, if not a zero. Heavy bandages lined both her arms. Bruises were visible on her biceps and around her neck. Her lip was split and a dot of dried blood clung to the edge.

  I went to her and wrapped my arms around her small frame. She folded her thin arms around me and clung to me like her life depended on it.

  “Miss, you’re going to have to stand back while I do the exam. It will only be a few more minutes. You can hold her hand if you’d like.”

  I nodded and held Matisse’s hand. Hers was cold and frail. The nurse was efficient, and I watched while Matisse stared at the ceiling and tears fell down each side of her face. Anger simmered heavy in my veins, wanting an outlet, but I couldn’t go there. I had to be strong for her. Regardless of what my sister had done and how she’d betrayed me, she was still my sister, and I loved her. Warts and all. And she’d been beaten and violated. No one deserved that.

  Not being able to stop myself, I ran my hand through her hair and over her forehead, trying to calm her. She nuzzled into my palm, reminding me of better times when we were sisters who loved each other and told one another everything, not sworn enemies because of a manipulative psycho.

  When the nurse finished, I stayed while she gave her statement to the detective. Clayton stood like a sentry in the back of the room, arms crossed, stance wide and imposing, not saying a word.

  “After he strangled you, then what happened?” Detective Richardson asked.

  My sister swallowed and dipped
her head down. “He pinned me to the bed and pulled out his knife. About this big.” She held her fingers out, indicating several inches in length. Probably the same knife he cut me with, I thought but didn’t share.

  “Then he said he was going to play with me the way he played with my sister.” Her gaze lifted to mine and she choked back a sob. “He cut one arm and then the next. He’d stuffed a pair of socks in my mouth so no one would hear me scream.”

  I ran my hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her the only way I knew how. When she was a little girl and scared of her new family, this was what I’d done to settle her when the nightmares came.

  “Continue. We’ll get through this in one shot, ma’am,” Detective Bolinsky urged.

  She nodded, and I held her hand.

  The detective wrote down everything she said, including the details of her rape, into his notepad. “And where can we reach you if we need to follow up with you?”

  Her eyes widened and more tears fell. “He stole my purse. He knows where I live. He’ll come back. He’ll kill me for sure!” Her voice rose and fell until the emotional turmoil took her over in heaping, wracking sobs. She turned in toward my body, and I held her while she cried.

  “You’ll come home with us. Clay and I will take care of you.” I glanced over at Clay and his jaw hardened. That move meant he did not agree with my decision but wouldn’t say anything until we were in private. Which was fine with me.

  He’d get over it. My sister needed me, and I would take care of her. Then I’d figure out how to make my man not angry with me.

  “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  Matisse nodded into my chest and then slid off the bed, plastering her body heavily against my side.

  “Thank you, Monet. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  And I vowed to myself right then and there that I’d fix this relationship with my sister, get past it all, and she’d never have to find out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  You can easily spot a person with a guiding heart chakra because they will be hard-working, responsible, and will spend their free time on activities that enhance their character and make them into better people.

  CLAYTON

  The next day, I left a cruiser in front of Monet’s house while I went to pick up Lily at Atlas and Mila’s place. Lily clung to my leg while I sipped a cup of coffee. She rubbed her face against my thigh, wiping away sleep. She wore a full-body pink pajama set with white rubber nubs on the feet and a white zipper running from her chest all the way down to her left foot.

  I set my cup down and picked up my girl. “How’d you sleep, sweetie?” I asked, kissing her cheek.

  “I haded a dream that someone snuck in the door of the secret garden.” Her nose crinkled in concentration.

  “And then what happened?”

  She laid her head against my chest. “Then you gave them a taco and told them to leave.”

  Mila started laughing, perched on the stool at her island. Atlas blinked, a stupid look on his face, before he shook his head.

  “A taco?” I asked.

  “You make good tacos.” She said it as if that was the only answer needed.

  I petted her hair. “I’m glad you think so, my queen.”

  “How’s about PowPow makes you some pancakes and fruit?” Atlas offered.

  Her dark-blue eyes widened, and she kicked her feet to get down. “I help!” she said, eager to get to her uncle.

  Atlas bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty. I am but a humble servant at your service.”

  “’S’right! Don’t forget it!” she admonished, pointing one chubby finger at him.

  Mila flicked her arm out toward the living area, and I followed her. She wore a man’s silk robe over what had to be one of Atlas’s T-shirts, because it came down almost to her knees. Her legs were bare, as were her feet. Her pregnant belly was just barely visible. A barefoot and pregnant joke sat on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t dare. With Mila, she was liable to lob something at me when I wasn’t looking.

  “How are you feeling, Mila?” I asked instead.

  She lifted a hand and shook it from side to side. “Most of the time I’m fine. Hungry, pissy. Literally, I’ve got to piss all the time.” She placed a hand over her belly. “For the most part, I’m getting used to it. Weird though. You’ll figure it out when Monet gets pregnant again.”

  Monet pregnant again.

  The overwhelming happiness that flushed through my body was like an all-over feeling of rightness. I wanted to see Monet round with my child. More than once. I wanted a big family, and Lily would be an excellent big sister.

  “Did Monet have trouble getting pregnant?” I found myself asking for information I hadn’t realized I wanted to know.

  Mila obviously didn’t think it was an inappropriate question because she answered immediately. “Nope. The fucktard had bad sperm. Thank God she went to the sperm bank. Though it is kind of funny now that I look at you.”

  I frowned. “Why’s that?”

  “You fit the description of her donor. Over six feet, blond, blue-eyed, built. Monet wanted to pick a donor that resembled Kyle. Obviously, I encouraged her to embellish those traits a bit.” She chuckled.

  “Where did she go?” I asked, not really sure why I did.

  She snorted and put her feet under her ass, getting comfortable on the side of the sectional. “Why? You think you need to use the services of Berkeley Health and Reproductive Services?”

  The coffee I’d swallowed moments ago swirled acidly in my stomach, and my mouth started to salivate. I pushed back the gut reaction and breathed through the eerie feeling that made my skin feel moist and clammy. I had to get my shit together and fast. This was not the time to go there.

  “No reason,” I forced myself to mutter. It took everything I had not to ask more questions. Not because I didn’t want to know. I fucking did. Still, I thought I should ask those questions of the woman I loved, not her best friend.

  Mila fingered one of her brown curls and tipped her head assessing. She squinted and bit down on her bottom lip. “What’s the deal with Matisse being at your house?”

  I chuckled dryly. “Gotta love a woman who goes right to the point.”

  She shrugged. “Never pretended to be sugar and spice.”

  “More like hot sauce and a cold beer.”

  Mila smirked. “Spill.”

  I eased back, getting more comfortable on the couch, and sighed. “I don’t want her there, but Monet is not budging on the issue. I don’t know if she feels a sisterly pull or what the fuck it is. I just know I don’t trust her. Her eyes are blank.”

  Mila frowned. “Clay, she was violated. I imagine that messes with the light in one’s eyes.”

  I shook my head and rubbed at my face. I needed to shave. My whiskers were too long and abrading my woman’s skin. I didn’t want any more marks on her. That ex of hers had done enough damage. “I don’t know. Why now? She called Monet instead of the police when she woke up after being beaten and raped. Does that sound normal to you?”

  “No. It doesn’t.”

  “And then the fact that they hadn’t spoken since all the shit went down? He attacks Monet and makes it clear that he’s doing so in order to get Matisse the money. So what changed?”

  The more I thought about it, the more things didn’t add up.

  “I think those are all questions you need to ask Matisse. Only, go in gently. If she’s hurt as bad as you say…” Mila offered what I already knew.

  “See, that’s the thing. He didn’t hurt her as bad as he did Monet. She needed surgery and almost a hundred stitches. Could have bled out with the damage he’d already done, let alone what he planned on doing to her.”

  “Yeah. Sounds like knives must be his weapon of choice.” Mila’s jaw hardened, and one of her hands went into a tight fist on her lap.

  “Still, the knife wounds on Matisse are superficial. They didn’t even need stitches, just bandaging.”


  “But he didn’t rape Moe,” she whispered and glanced across the open loft toward the kitchen, making sure Lily was occupied. I respected her even more for that—thinking of Lily the way she always did.

  Mila made an excellent point. I couldn’t deny how devastated Matisse was while giving her statement. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that things were off.

  “I don’t trust her,” I admitted on a weighted sigh.

  Mila stood up, walked around the coffee table, and placed a hand to my shoulder. “You don’t have to. You look after Moe”—she flicked her eyebrows toward the kitchen—“and that little girl. That’s what you do. They are your priority.”

  “Thanks, Mila.” I placed my hand over hers.

  “Anytime, bro.” She winked and went toward the kitchen. “Baby wants pancakes and hot sauce,” she announced dramatically to the room while rubbing her belly.

  I burst out laughing and followed the crazy pregnant lady to check on my girl.

  * * *

  We were cuddled up in our bed, Monet’s bare leg flopped over my thighs, my hand on her ass. “That was phenomenal, baby.” She kissed my chest over my rapidly beating heart.

  Damn, she was not wrong. “Yes, it was.” I firmed up my grip on her ass cheek and hugged her close. I loved having her warm skin over mine like a blanket.

  She mumbled something sleepily under her breath.

  I figured it was the perfect time to dig for information. “What’s Lily’s blood type?” I threw out the question hoping she’d answer and not ask why.

  “Huh? What?” She clung to my ribcage more tightly.

  “Her blood type. I was just wondering what it is. Want to make sure I know the important details about our girl.”

  I could feel her grin against my chest. “Our girl.”

  “Yep. Our girl.”

  “Mmm. I like the sound of that.” She kissed my chest in a way that didn’t encourage after-sex cuddling and sleep; it said round two was well on the way.

  I locked my arms around her. “So what is it?”

  Her body relaxed and she rested against me again, her attention diverted for a moment. “It’s actually really rare.”