Page 58 of Crushing Clover

Warren’s dining room was as intimidating as his office.

I’d assumed I’d never be back in Saint’s father’s house, but for some reason all four of us had been expected at this awkward, stuffy meal.

This was supposedly to celebrate the guys making their last payment on Cygnet, but it felt anything but celebratory.

Warren’s soliloquy on business droned on, and several times I fantasized about stabbing him in the eye with my fork.

For Saint, though, I could sit through this and pretend Warren was a stranger, and not an old man who’d bought me at an auction and banged the hell out of me before handing me over to his son.

At my right, I could almost feel Lucky’s impatience.

“Can we go home yet?” he whispered to me in a voice so low, there was no way Warren could hear him. Even so, Warren had to see him whispering. On my best behavior, I didn’t respond, keeping my attention on my plate and Warren’s words, in case there was a quiz later.

I wanted to go home, too, right after kicking the old man in the nuts.

It was hard not to worry that any time now, the topic might turn to me. If Saint was planning to hand me over to his father tonight, Lucky didn’t seem to know about it.

Servants bustled in and out, removing dishes and refreshing drinks.

I adjusted one of the shoulder straps on my little black dress, and took a small sip from my water glass, not trusting the wine.

Warren’s speech had moved from business buyouts to home foreclosures—while the rest of us finished our meals and occasionally gave each other the side-eye.

By the time we moved into Warren’s office, I was ready to club him over the head with the fireplace poker, if only to get a moment’s peace.

It felt like I’d met Saint in this very room only days ago, but it also felt like I’d been with the three of them forever. I glanced at Saint, wondering if he was thinking about that day, too, but all his attention was focused on his sperm donor.

“The last of the money,” Saint said when Warren stopped talking long enough to pour himself a drink. He tugged an envelope out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and smacked it down on the desk.

“Most restaurants don’t even break even for the first few years,” Warren grumbled. “Stupid business to go into.”

“We’ve made enough to pay you back. I wouldn’t say we’re doing too bad for ourselves.” Saint looked completely unaffected, even though Warren and his know-it-all attitude was obviously getting under his skin.

Forty-five minutes later, as Warren continued to pontificate about business, I excused myself and headed down the hall toward a bathroom I remembered from the time I’d spent here.

Being in the same house as Warren was making me ill, and listening to him preach at my guys about business, as though they didn’t know what they were doing, was aggravating.

“Don’t kill him, Clover,” I told my reflection as I washed my hands. “He’s not worth the jail time.”

I stepped back into the hall, wondering if Lucky was still behaving, and bumped into someone. His black suit didn’t hide his muscle.

“Sorry.” I stepped back, not liking the way he was looking at me.

I tried to edge around him, but he moved to block my path.

“Can I help you?” I demanded, proud to get the words out without my voice trembling. I was used to the guys looking at me like I was prey, but it was different with them. It was a natural part of our relationship. This was a stranger.

“If you’ll come with me, please, miss?” He said it as a question, but it felt like a command.

“Where?”

“I was told to bring you around front.”

“Oh.” I followed him, wondering if the guys had found a polite way to extricate us, or if Saint had a fight with Warren.

We walked out into the chilly dark. My thin dress wasn’t enough to keep me warm against the sudden temperature change. I should have brought a sweater.

“Where are they?” I asked, turning aside to look for the truck. There was a car, but not one that belong to us. “Um...hello?” I said, my stomach dropping.

He herded me toward the car. “This way please. I’ve been directed to take you to the airport.”

“The airport? Why am I going to the airport? Where is Saint?”

Where were any of them?

“Mister Saint John has paid off the debt, and so arrangements have been made to bring you to your next situation .”

My next situation?

I froze, horrified.

Was he saying I’d been sold?

“Where am I going?” I asked, feeling suddenly faint.

“Bulgaria.”

I stared at him in disbelief, not moving.

“Miss, you need to get in the car.” I didn’t like the way his gaze lingered on my cleavage.

He was fucking lying.

My breath clogged my throat, choking off my words.

This had to be a trick.

I didn’t think even Saint hated me this much anymore—to allow me to be sold off and abused by strangers.

This couldn’t be true.

Tears welled, burning my eyes.

Lucky would never allow this.

Rush would never allow this.

But what about Saint? Would he make a secret pact with Warren to get me out of his hair? This morning, I would have said no, but tonight’s evidence was damning.

I swallowed down the sob that threatened and turned away.

Stupid, to think he was starting to care about me. There was an ugly, emotional knife in my chest—in my back—and I couldn’t breathe. A keening sob cut the night air, escaping my strangled throat.

If they didn’t want me, what was the point of going on?

What kind of life could I have without them?

The pain of it was incomprehensible.

My heart was being crushed under Saint’s spit-shined boot.

“Miss!”

I ran.

My stupid pretty sandals slapped at my heels as I bolted across the grounds in the deepening darkness, not sure where I was going. From the road, the property looked like it was completely walled in, but maybe there was another way out—a back entrance, or a gap.

I heard the man swear at my back. Pounding footsteps followed me. Was he alone, or had there been another man in the car? I hadn’t had time to assess the situation.

Although the grass was mowed, there were many trees and ornamental bushes, potentially shielding me from sight. I kicked off my sandals, and threw them into a hedge, trading their protection for silence.

This was something I was good at. I could run, and if the guy was alone, maybe I could fight. And if he got pissed off and killed me? Maybe that would be for the best.

I ran until I reached the back fence, but it was high and slick, and topped with vicious-looking wire. I had nothing to throw over that wire to shield myself, and it was hard not to envision the man catching up to me and yanking me back to the ground as I tried to climb.

I kept going, following the fence while also trying to keep to the trees. How many cameras were back here, and where were they?

Tears blinded me.

I could almost feel Warren watching, laughing at me. I was penned in like a dog.

“Bitch!” I turned to see the man launch himself at me, his warning coming a moment too late for me to avoid him. He tackled me to the ground, and I fell flat on my back. The breath whooshed out of me, and my head bounced hard off the manicured turf.

Even so, I fought. Adrenaline and desperation made me stronger than either of us anticipated, and I bucked him off, kicking him away. I scrambled, trying to regain my feet, but he was fast and crushed me to the ground again.

“Stay the fuck down.”

I wriggled and bucked beneath him, but he slowly pushed his way between my thighs, pinning me to the ground with his body.

He caught at my flailing arms as I hit him in the face and neck—my blows landing too wildly to be effective.

I knew how to fight, for fuck’s sake! I balled my fist and launched a better punch, but I had no momentum, and he caught my wrist in a hard grip.

“Give it up, you stupid cunt. Where do you think you’re going to go?” He was a solid presence between my thighs, crushing me against the ground. “I was told to get you to the airport, so that’s what we’re going to do.”

I tried to bite his cheek, but he jerked his face away, grinding his conspicuous erection against my privates. My dress had ridden up when I’d fallen, and the only thing between us was his pants and my impractical gauzy panties.

“Be a good girl, and I won’t have to hurt you.”

I stared up at his bulk in the shadowy dark, not sure what to do. Trying to push him off made him grind harder against me.

“Let me up!” I demanded, because what else could I do? “If you don’t let me go right now, my boyfriend is going to be pissed.”

“Your owner is the one who sold you to us, sweetheart.”

My heart felt sick. But what about our conversations? What about the way he watched me when I was sleeping? That had to mean something, right?

Even if Lucky and Rush were in the dark about this plan, I couldn’t believe Saint didn’t feel anything for me.

I loved him.

What if he didn’t like me at all?

What if it had all been manipulation to make me behave?

I bit my lips together, trying to stop them from trembling.

What if he was getting rid of me because it was easier than caring about someone?

“You owe me a taste for all that trouble.” He was reaching between us, fumbling with his zipper, then ripping my gossamer thin panties away with a rough jerk, burning my hips as they tore free.

“No!”

“Shut the fuck up.” He transferred both of my wrists to one hand and clamped the one he’d freed over my mouth as I tried to scream. The sound died behind his meaty hand, and the residual sound was swept away on the wind.

No, no, no!

The tip of his cock pushed against me, slipping in the slickness Lucky had left me with earlier.

I sobbed in helpless anger. My brain was trying to shut down—to deny this was happening.

His dick wasn’t big, but he was mean about it, jamming it in crooked and using the pain he inflicted to subdue me.

He transferred his grip to my hips to fuck me hard and fast, trying to intimidate me, but his grunting red face told me he was about to lose control.

I tried to headbutt him, but he jerked aside and gave an ugly laugh.

“Such a tight little whore. Why isn’t Warren keeping you for himself?”

“You’re a dead man,” I said, trying to sound tough. I sneered at him, and he slapped my face so hard my ears rang. The sting lingered like nettles. I was going to have a hand-shaped bruise on my face.

In moments, his punishing pace slowed slightly, and he grimaced, fighting his orgasm. I clenched my inner muscles, trying to get things over with. It worked. His sigh was half satisfaction, half disappointment his fun hadn’t lasted longer.

He disguised his apparent embarrassment by clearing his throat. “In a few weeks, you’ll be looking back on this fondly. Probably the last time you get dick without a fucking bag over your head.”

Slowly, he eased out of my aching body. His satisfaction dribbled out of me, leaking down the crack of my ass.

I fought the urge to turn my head away. I glared at him with loathing, refusing to be intimidated.

He got to his feet and zipped his dress pants before reaching down for me. I lay there, contemplating my options and pretending I’d been cowed. The heat of my rage should have ignited the lawn.

“Now you’ll behave.”

I drew up my leg and kicked out, catching him in the groin with my full strength.

He went down onto his hands and knees, and I stumbled to my feet and spat on him. I was going to kick his fucking head in, bare feet or not.