Page 5 of Crushing Clover

I gave him an unfriendly smile and took a step back from the bed. I’d been hovering over him and arguing with him longenough. The man would never see reason. “Shiloh doesn’t want to see you again, and neither do I. We’re done.”

I dug my backpack out of the closet and started stuffing things into it.

“Where are you going?” Now, he wasn’t sounding quite so cocky.

I didn’t bother answering. The truth was, I had no idea where I was going.

“You can’t take our stuff. There’s no proof you bought any of it.”

“We both know I pay for everything, but you can go ahead and keep it. Don’t bother calling me for money or cigarettes, or anything else you might happen to run out of. Rent is paid for this month and next month, but that’s the end of your free ride.”

I put my ID, the forty bucks I always hid under the Lysol wipes, and a few toiletries into my bag, as he watched in disbelieving silence. When I headed down the hallway toward the front door, he seemed to shake off his shock.

“Clover, wait.” He stumbled out of bed and tried to take the sheet with him to wrap around his waist, as though I hadn’t seen him naked a million times.

“What am I waiting for?”

“You can’t leave.” His bravado had faded, and his voice held an edge of alarm. His sandy blond hair and big blue eyes attempted to tug on my heartstrings, but it was like trying to play a waterlogged guitar—there was a bit of a twang, but it only set my teeth on edge. “You always say I’m your rock.”

“You were my rock,” I agreed as I opened the door and stepped out into freedom. “It just took me a few years to realize you were tied around my neck.”

I closed the door quietly behind me and headed into the morning.

Chapter 2

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.”

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