Page 3 of Crushing Clover

I’d abandoned my entire life.

A sense of weird, panicky freedom came with that idea.

If I was frugal, I might be okay for a while.

Maybe I’d go back to the strip club and see if they would rehire me, since they hadn’t been willing to give me the month off to go to the resort.

Maybe I’d leave town and start over again somewhere else.

I took the bus across town to a small motel where Noah wouldn’t think to look. The rooms weren’t fancy, but they were relatively clean. I checked in, looking forward to sleeping for the next few days and trying to sort out my life.

The TV kept me company as I settled in, and when I switched it off, the unfamiliar quiet gave me the creeps. With the room-darkening curtains pulled tight across the dingy old windows, it could have been midnight.

As I drifted off, the weary, scrambled mess of my thoughts dragged me into nightmares.

A quiet sound woke me. I opened my eyes to darkness, struggling to remember where I was, and why all of the shadows were in the wrong places.

“Noah?” I asked, confused. Usually, he didn’t care if he woke me when he came to bed—if he bothered to come to bed at all.

I blinked, trying to convince my eyes they were superhuman.

The overhead light flicked on, bathing the room in nicotine-tinted light.

My eyes protested, and I squinted at the man standing by the light switch.

Shit. The motel.

Did the manager want me out for some reason?

I didn’t recognize him, but he was one of those average-looking guys who blended in—jeans, flannel shirt, ballcap. He had brown hair and eyes, and a short beard that mostly looked like he’d forgotten to shave.

“Clover. You’re not an easy girl to track down.”

Not a motel employee, then.

“I didn’t know anyone was looking for me.”

He exhaled through his nose, as though I were vaguely funny. “Annika wants to speak with you.”

“Annika?” Shit. This was so much worse than getting kicked out of the motel. Why the hell was Noah’s old supplier looking for me? The woman was terrifying.

“Get in the truck. I’ll take you to her.”

I slid out of bed on the far side, all too aware I was trapped. I could lock myself in the bathroom, but there hadn’t been a window in there.

Nerves had me twisting my fingers together in a fair approximation of what my stomach was doing. “But Noah isn’t selling anymore—and what does it have to do with me? We’re not even together.”

“It’s in your best interest to cooperate.” He moved his jacket aside to show he was armed. I stared at the gun in its holster.

Was I still having a fucked-up dream, or was this really happening?

“You getting dressed, or are you going in your nightgown?”

I glanced down at my oversized shirt with the picture of a cartoon bunny wearing a nightcap. Probably not my best look.

He let me use the windowless bathroom to both pee and change in private, which was more consideration than I was expecting.

“What’s this about?” I asked as I got into the silver-grey pickup.

“Don’t know. None of my business.” He threw my bag in the back and got behind the wheel.

What a shitty fucking month. It could end anytime now.

Clouds stuffed the sky like a bulky, grey duvet. It was still light out, but most of the rush-hour traffic had dissipated. My stomach growled, but that was the least of my problems.

The building he brought me to had a sign out front advertising space for lease and the price per square foot.

Aside from a coffee shop that was already closed for the day, the building didn’t seem to have any other tenants.

He rolled to a stop and put the truck in park directly in front of a store with windows tinted so dark there was no seeing inside.

He grabbed my backpack, and I trailed inside after him, my empty stomach trying to eat itself with anxiety.

“We’re here,” he announced to the empty store.

The space had once been a clothing boutique but it had been completely stripped, other than the mirrored changerooms on the right wall. Our movements were reflected back to me, like an amusement park’s not-so-funhouse.

Annika, a middle-aged French woman I’d unfortunately met before, appeared from the back storage area. Today, she wore a smart black skirt-suit and kitten heels, and her dark hair was swept up in a tidy bun. She regarded me with her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised.

“Clover. Thank you for agreeing to see me. I’d hoped we wouldn’t meet again.”

“No offense, but I’d hoped that, too.”

The situation had been scary, but she’d let me negotiate payments, and I’d made them faithfully. I wouldn’t consider her a friend, but she had been reasonable. I’d gotten the impression she’d sort of liked me—probably because I hadn’t made trouble.

She sighed. “Miss Clark, Noah owes us a metric shit-ton of money. More than the last debt you paid.”

Fear trickled through me, and I started to sweat, despite the air conditioning.

“But he stopped dealing,” I blurted.

“He came to see us when you left town for work. Now, our product is gone, and the money has magically vanished. He says someone stole it—probably you.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“No. The idiot probably used most of it himself, and he was also seen handing it out at a club like it was Halloween.” She sighed. “He probably figured you’d bail him out again.”

“Did he mention I left him this morning?”

“No.”

I thought of the money in my account, wanting to call Noah and scream at him for being such a jackass. Sure, I didn’t want to be with him anymore, but I also didn’t want them to hurt him. They were dangerous as shit, and Noah had sworn to me he would never get mixed up with them again.

“How much is it going to cost to make things right this time?”

She shook her head, the glint of sympathy in her eyes making my blood freeze in my veins. This was fucking bad.

“I have money.”

“Noah begged for a second chance, so the boss is pissed he fucked things up again. This time, there are only two options on the table—either he dies as an example to the others, or we sell you.”

What the fuck? Why me?

A hysterical laugh escaped my lips, but I got it under control. My head spun, and I felt like passing out, but, unfortunately, I stayed conscious. Maybe I’d have a heart attack right here. It felt like blood was about to come spurting out my ears, like the world’s grossest lawn sprinkler.

“Why not sell him ?” I asked, fighting down the feeling of disloyalty, but why did I have to lie in the bed he’d made for himself? “None of this is my fault.”

“We don’t sell men. Besides, he’s not much to look at. You? That red hair and the freckles?” She clicked her tongue. “You’re worth something.”

I swallowed and looked back at the man who’d brought me here. He was scrolling through his phone, looking bored by the exchange. How many times had he brought women to meetings like this?

“You talked to Noah about these two options already?”

“Yes. He sent us to you.”

I gave a short, sharp laugh, because of course he did. I could almost hear him begging me to fix this for him.

“How would you kill him?” I felt heartless for even asking.

“I don’t know. I’m assuming he’ll be shot. Maybe he’ll charm his way into an overdose, instead.”

“And if I choose to let you sell me? Then what?”

“Then, you’d go up for auction.” Her shrug was apologetic.

This was like the world’s shittiest gameshow.

I wiped my palms on my jeans. There was only one option. “I choose the auction.”

“Clover. Are you sure?” she asked, incredulous. “If the two of you were still together that would be one thing, but this is… Why do this for him?”

“I can’t let you kill him.”

“But you can,” she said, frowning. “If you’re sold at auction, it’s for your whole life. It’s not a few months, or even a few years. This might be worse than death.”

I felt like I was simultaneously going to throw up and shit myself.

We stood staring at each other for a long moment. She’d been clear about which option she thought I should take, but if I was alive there would always be hope. There was no way I could live with Noah’s death hanging over my head for the rest of my life.

“The auction,” I said more firmly. Maybe I’d get lucky and end up with some old rich guy who couldn’t get it up.

A pained look crossed the woman’s face. “Either you’re a saint, or you’re stupid.”

“I’m no saint.” I straightened my shoulders.

“Is he really worth this? He’s willing to let us sell you to save his own skin.”

“I’m aware.”

“And yet you’re still going to sacrifice your life for his?”

“I know this seems silly to you.” My voice was steadier than I expected. “This isn’t about what kind of person he is—it’s about what kind of person I am.”

“Altruistic little idiot.” She sighed, and gestured for me to follow her henchman out.