Page 13 of Crushing Clover

“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.

Chapter 5

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.

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