Page 5 of Crushing Clover

My new owner’s back was to me as he sat at his desk, as though he didn’t consider me a threat.

The fresh bruises he’d given me this morning proved I wasn’t.

I glared at the back of his dark hair, and was glad I didn’t have to school my features. His evil face made me want to vomit.

I could feel the phantom twinges and aches from where he’d hurt me. He hadn’t made me bleed, but I had no doubt this man was capable of killing me without a second thought.

Warren’s office had been designed to be intimidating.

The desk was a heavy, ornate wood, and so well waxed it could probably be seen from space.

Maybe the wax made it easier to clean when he got blood on it.

Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined two walls.

The sunlight pouring through the windows baked my back, and the heat felt good on my sore muscles, even though it was making me sleepy.

Why was I even standing in his office if he was planning to ignore me? Was it to show me who was the boss? It seemed pointless. I wobbled on the heels I’d been given, but righted myself before I fell off them. I’d never been good in heels.

“Mister Saint John, sir,” a uniformed servant announced.

The most cruelly sensual man I’d ever seen strode into the room.

Mister Saint John’s dark pants and button-down shirt sheathed a lithely muscular frame.

The air of intensity surrounding him suggested murder was on his mind.

His dark, longish hair would have made most men jealous, and his perfectly sculpted lips held a twist of derision.

And his eyes—good lord—they were a midnight black and held a mean, calculating gleam.

He was the sculpture a master would carve if they had secret, shameful fantasies about Satan.

His gaze landed on me, and his expression slid from nasty to completely pissed.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded quietly, looking at me as though I were a giant, steaming pile of shit.

Sure, the yellow dress the auction people had given me was obnoxious and went terribly with my hair, but wasn’t his reaction a bit much?

“Saint John, why don’t you have a seat.” The suggestion was a thinly-veiled command.

Seething, the newcomer sank into a chair, looking as lethal as the man who now owned me.

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

The older man shrugged, amused. “I thought you might want her.” He gave a delicate cough. “I didn’t think you’d want me to leave her where I found her.”

His sharp jaw moved as though he were grinding his teeth. “Why would I care?”

Warren chuckled. “It’s easy to see that you do. She’s for you. A gift.”

What?

Getting away from Warren sounded great, but this guy looked worse.

Also, I was being given with all the smugness of a man bestowing a louse-ridden mattress on his worst enemy. Like some sort of weird revenge.

Warren beckoned me with a hand, and I stepped forward, not sure what he expected me to do. Twirl?

He rose and took me by the hand. Revulsion at his touch made me want to pull away, but I allowed him to lead me around the desk to Saint John and perch me on his knee.

I could feel the anger rolling off the younger man and tried to sit as unobtrusively as possible.

Unfortunately, I’d never been the type of girl who could disappear.

“I don’t want her,” Saint John grated.

“This isn’t the kind of gift you can turn down. She’s yours. A pet, if you will. You need to keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t escape and make sure she doesn’t gossip about her situation to other people.”

“This is—”

“A business obligation.”

“Some strings make the original deal not worth the hassle.”

“Keep her, sell her, kill her. It’s all your choice, of course.” Warren shrugged. “Whatever you do, don’t set her free.”

“How did she even get mixed up with you?”

“Oh, this isn’t Arabella. Only an unfortunate lookalike.”

If possible, his knee went even harder beneath my ass. The younger man didn’t turn his head to look at me, but I could feel all of his attention focused my way.

“The resemblance is striking, though, isn’t it? When I saw her, I knew we had to have her.”

“I don’t want her.”

“She’ll be good for you.” Warren reclaimed the chair behind his desk. “You haven’t been the same since she left you.”

“You can’t make me take her, old man.”

“Our bargain comes with obligations. This gift is one of them.”

“I agreed to all of the terms in the contract you drew up. It didn’t mention this.”

“You’ll keep her for the next six months, until the loan is repaid in full.”

“Or what?”

Lines of irritation bracketed Warren’s mouth. “Or I sell the building, and you go back to your meager beginnings.”

“We’re only a few months away from paying off the loan, and you’re going to tack this on as a condition? Now?”

Warren picked up the tumbler on his desk and sipped at the amber liquid—feigning a calm control belied by the tension in his frame. “Interest rates fluctuate. It just so happens that your bank is a little more creative than average.”

The knee I was sitting on disappeared as Saint John rose abruptly from his seat. I slid to the floor and landed with a hard thud. The taste of hot metal filled my mouth, and the pain in my tongue felt like I’d bitten a chunk from it.

“I won’t take her,” Saint John said coldly, looming over his side of the desk, and also me.

I scrambled to my feet and tried to get out of the way before someone took a swing.

“Your choice.” Warren picked up his cell phone and typed something before holding it to his ear. “Susan? Yes, I have a piece of property to put on the market.”

“No. Stop.” Saint John slammed his hand down on the desk, making everything on the heavy wood surface rattle.

Warren put his hand over the phone. “Six months.”

“Six months,” Saint John agreed murderously.

I stayed as still as possible.

Half a year with a man who obviously despised me even though he didn’t know me? It sounded like a nightmare. And what would happen to me after that? Maybe that was the nightmare I should be more worried about.

As much as I detested Warren, I’d been lucky to end up here. Things could have been far worse.

Without a word of explanation or warning to the woman on the phone, Warren ended the call. Saint John stared down at the phone as though he were crushing it with his mind.

“What’s the point of this?”

“The point is that you do as I say.”

The two of them glared at each other. What was their deal? This felt far more personal and complicated than a simple business relationship. Were they enemies? Family? They looked nothing alike except maybe in the sharpness of the jaw, but genetics could be weird like that.

“Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“That’s going to be next to impossible,” Saint John objected.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The tension between them was as chewy as cheap steak. “Don’t hesitate to make use of her.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted.” Saint John’s tone was acerbic enough to dissolve an inconvenient body in a barrel.

“Maybe it’s exactly what you need.”

“Being left alone would be even better, but I guess I’ll never have the pleasure.”

Warren sniffed in irritated amusement. He tossed back the rest of the alcohol in his glass as Saint John threw a thick envelope on the desk, grabbed my arm, and hauled me toward the door.

“You’re dismissed,” Warren called after us.

“Up yours, old man.” He led me into the hall with a painful grip on my arm. “I don’t know what your deal is, Arabella, but I’m not interested in playing games.”

“My name is Clover.”

“Whatever.”

Apparently, he didn’t believe me, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on it, considering how fast he was walking.

I was tripping over my own feet trying to keep up.

He was tall. I wasn’t short myself, but compared to Evil Adonis I was pretty shrimpy, and these fucking shoes were going to break both of my ankles.

“What room are you in? Where’s your shit?”

“I don’t have any shit.”

I thought of my apartment and all my abandoned possessions.

Most of the contents were thrift store finds, even though I’d done my best to make the space cute.

The only thing that really would have mattered to me, though, was my shitty phone.

All my personal photos were gone forever.

Sure, most of them included Noah, but without them it felt like my history had been erased.

“That eyesore is the only thing you own? Fucking great.”

He steered me out the front door and down the steps to a pickup truck, of all things.

Considering the house’s gleaming marble, I’d expected him to drive a pricey sportscar.

He opened my door and practically tossed me up into the seat, then went around to his side and got in, starting the vehicle without acknowledging I was present.

Unfamiliar music blared to life along with the engine, drowning out anything I might have thought to say. The music was dark and brooding, and a good match for the man with the black hair, and the silver earrings.

He drove. I watched scenery and signs flash by.

We were in California?

Wow. I’d never been this far from home.

I tried to think of what time it would be for Noah but couldn’t remember how many time zones there were.

Was he even sorry?

After fifteen minutes or so, too many hours awake caught up with me. The motor’s vibrations and lack of conversation dragged me down into sleep.