Page 6 of Crushing Clover

When I woke, we were stopped at a traffic light and the music had been dialed down. The sunlight was bright and cheerful compared to the mood of the man who apparently now owned me.

Should I offer to…brighten his mood? Offering him anything seemed like a bad idea. He didn’t want me around, and he didn’t seem to be attracted to me in the slightest—unless fantasizing about strangling me to death and eating my spleen could be considered attraction.

The main road we were traveling narrowed, and he took a left, then a right, slowing every time. He turned into the driveway of a suburban house with pretty curb appeal. It wasn’t a mansion compared to Warren’s estate but was nicer than anywhere I’d lived.

“Is this your place?” It looked like the kind of house destined to have chalk drawings in the driveway and parents who belonged to the PTA.

“No. I thought I’d start by driving around town, introducing my new burden to everyone I’ve ever met.” He probably meant for his sarcasm to be cutting, but I was used to people trying to hurt my feelings.

He sat there for a minute, ignoring me while scrolling through social media. My hands felt empty. It was amazing how bereft I felt without my phone. I’d never been a smoker, but I assumed the addiction was similarly difficult to break.

Hell, I would probably never have a phone again.

How did people from older generations pass the time? What would I do? Find paper books to read? Take up knitting?

Maybe I wouldn’t have time to do anything other than recuperate after this guy kicked my ass every day.

And how long would it take my old coworkers or school acquaintances to realize I hadn’t posted online in a while? I hadn’t had time for real friendships, and didn’t have family, but someone was bound to notice I was missing, right?

“Time to get this over with.” He got out of the truck and came over to my side as I opened the door. He helped me down but let me go so fast I almost lost balance. It was as though he couldn’t bear to touch me. What exactly would I be doing here if he couldn’t stand me?

We followed the pretty, curved walkway to the newish, two-story house. It had many windows, and the flowerbeds looked well-tended.

Saint John opened the unlocked front door and ushered me through, then closed it behind us. He tossed his wallet and keys in a bowl on the table in the entryway.

“That didn’t take long,” a man said. “You didn’t stay to eat?”

He didn’t live alone? Who was this?

“And break bread with that man voluntarily?” he sneered. “Shit went sideways, as it always does.”

A man with a towel wrapped around his waist glanced over from where he was flipping channels in an open-concept living room/dining room/kitchen.

He did a doubletake, then stood there with the remote dangling from his fingers.

Like Saint John, he was in his mid- to late- twenties.

He was slightly shorter than him, with an undercut and a stocky, athletic build.

Tattoos crept along his torso, along his limbs, up his neck, and there were even some on his face.

He had piercings in both nipples, as well as two silver hoops in his eyebrow and one in his lip.

“Arabella. What are you…” He glanced from me to Saint John. “Who bruised her face?”

Arabella? Did the chick look so much like me that everyone was going to mistake me for her? This was going to get old fast.

“This is—allegedly— Clover , not Arabella.” He said my name like it was a joke. “ Clover , this is Lucky.”

Lucky’s expression shuttered. “What in the actual fuck?”

“I don’t know, man. Warren gave me some story about finding an Arabella lookalike at one of those auctions he goes to. Apparently, he bought her to save her from certain death.”

“And he thought giving her to you would be better than certain death?”

“Right?” Saint John snorted. “And if we don’t—”

Before he could finish speaking, a third guy came down the stairs more quietly than anyone that big had a right to move. This one had long blond hair, a big beard, multiple ear piercings and two gorgeous tattoo sleeves that ran all the way down his fingers.

At the bottom of the stairs, he seemed to realize Saint John wasn’t alone. His eyes lit with unholy fire.

“What the fuck ?”

“Rush, this is Clover ,” Lucky said.

He strode toward me, not stopping until I’d fallen back a few steps and bumped into Saint John, who promptly pushed me away as if I had cooties. Rush was uncomfortably close.

“Clover, huh?” His blond brows were drawn down in disapproval.

“Not Arabella.”

The three of them exchanged glances.

“Right?” Saint John agreed with the suspicion on Rush’s face.

“If it’s true, it’s fucking uncanny.” Rush stalked around me, checking me from different angles, making the little hairs rise on my nape.

Too bad I hadn’t gotten eaten by sharks while working at the resort.

“So, we’re supposed to believe this isn’t her?” Rush snapped. “If you wanted us back that bad, Arabella, all you had to do was ask. I’d gladly tell you to fuck right off.”

“I’m—” I tried to reply.

“Cut the shit. We’re over you, woman.” He headed back toward the stairs.

“Hey man,” Saint John called after him. “Clover is a new condition of our loan.”

He paused with his foot on the bottom step, but didn’t turn to look over his shoulder. “We don’t want her.”

“If we don’t want to go back to running a food truck, we do.”

Rush strode back to us. “And what exactly does he expect us to do with her?”

“She’s ours. We can do whatever we want.”

They stood around me, glaring.

“I was thinking she can clean the house,” Saint John grumbled. “If she’s not locked up, she needs twenty-four-seven supervision.”

“For how long?”

“Six months.”

“What the fuck?” Rush shouted. “We’re already strapped for time. He can’t expect us to fucking babysit!”

“We’ve never made the rules where he’s concerned.” Lucky shrugged. “Seriously, though…free pussy for six months? Yeah, our life really sucks.” He headed toward the kitchen area and its large, marble-topped island.

“Who’s Arabella?” I asked quietly.

“You are, you dumb little shit. I don’t know what Warren’s game is by shoving you back into our lives, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Rush snarled. “Or be nice to you.”

Fantastic. This was going well.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rush demanded. “Really.”

They were angry, but how was I supposed to prove I wasn’t the woman they were so pissed at? “My name really is Clover—”

Rush got into my face so quickly, I flinched back.

“Stop with the lies.” He poked my collarbone, with a cruel finger. “What do you think gives you the right to show up here like this? I don’t care what stupid-ass name you’ve given yourself. You can’t fuck us up anymore.”

“I’m not fucking with anyone,” I blurted. “I was sold off to pay my ex’s drug debt.”

“She’s not here because I felt sorry for her,” Saint John reminded him.

“Warren is threatening to sell the restaurant out from under us if we don’t cooperate.

He did say, however, that we’re allowed to kill her and dispose of her if we want to.

How hard can it be to take her out in a boat and dump her overboard? ”

“What’s the big deal?” Lucky objected. “It’s six months.”

“We’ll never get rid of that bastard,” Rush spat. “He’s going to keep doing shit like this to us. He’ll always find some way to keep us trapped. But my question is, what does Arabella have to do with any of this?”

“I don’t think this is her,” Lucky said cautiously.

“Either possibility is so fucked up, I can’t decide.” Saint John narrowed his glittering black eyes. “Say something else, Clover .”

“Like what?”

His lip curled.

“I don’t know who Arabella is to you, but I’m not her.”

“Clothes off,” he barked.

Already?

My stomach dropped like I was hurtling down the first hill of a rollercoaster while fully aware the track was broken.

“Lucky, help her out.”

The most heavily tattooed one came closer, studying my face with his golden eyes. “Panties off, or everything?”

“Strip her naked,” Rush instructed. “Let’s see it all.”

Instinctively, I tried to bat away Lucky’s hands, but he caught hold of my arms and stripped off my hideous yellow dress.

My bra and panties were new, and at least the white fabric was less obnoxious than the yellow dress.

“That kid you pushed out didn’t change a thing,” Rush said.

“I don’t have a kid.”

“Keep going,” Saint John grumbled.

Lucky finished unwrapping me and I found myself blushing under their scrutiny. It felt judgmental rather than admiring.

“Is it just me, or are her nipples a different shade of pink?”

“Check for the birthmark.”

Lucky pushed me down on the cold marble and metal coffee table and spread my legs before I could stop him. I had the familiar guilt about letting someone other than Noah touch me before remembering we were history, and I was here thanks to his stupidity.

“No birthmark, and her pussy doesn’t look the same.”

The other two had followed us over and were examining me, too.

“Taste her.”

Even knowing I was here for them to use however they wanted, I tried to struggle off the table. The other two held me still and spread my thighs as Lucky crouched. Unfortunately, they were all bigger than I was.

“Trying to pass yourself off as a whore so you can dive back into our bed?” Saint John was glaring down at me, but then his attention was drawn down to where it felt like Lucky was inhaling the scent of my pussy.

“I’m telling you, it’s not her.” Lucky spread my labia with his fingers and groaned. “She even smells different.” He pushed his face between my thighs, making me squeak.

“Are you sure?” Rush demanded.

“There’s a reason I’m the one who does quality control.” Lucky swept his tongue over me, and I jolted at the sensation. Noah hadn’t liked doing oral, and I’d forgotten how amazing it felt.

Lucky paused, assessing my taste like a connoisseur as I gasped for breath. “Definitely not the same woman.”