Chapter 28 – Clover
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Clover
Does Thomas seriously think he can follow me for eight hours and I won’t notice? I just have to hope he’s not dumb enough to mess up my plan. Stay in the shadows and watch me handle this shit…
I press my back to the floor of the studio and reach into my leggings for the long knife I…
obtained from Jude Fox’s bedroom. My mama always taught me to go through a man’s things the second I set foot in his room.
I plied him with drinks until he had to pee and then I searched the whole damn place top to bottom, making it easy as hell to steal his nine inch hunting knife when I needed it—the few minutes Thomas’ stalker ass was stuck in class, I pretended to go to the bathroom and committed some light theft. Jude lowkey deserves it.
Thomas made a good point about the four inches. I hear the footsteps and I know they aren’t Thomas’. He’s too big. This person is much smaller. I stand up and try to sound scared. Bitch, I’m gonna get your ass.
“Hello?”
“Hello, who is it?”
I feel the air move around me and I duck, lunging forward and hitting something.
There’s someone in the room with me and they’re fighting me with…
a chair? Fuck. I know this room like the back of my hand.
I planned for this. I walk towards the window, where the light comes in from the street lamp outside. If I could just see their face.
Once I step into the light and away from the window, my attacker follows, but they’re not stupid enough to have their face uncovered.
At least I can see the weapon now. Not a chair.
In some cruel fucking irony, it’s a cricket bat.
My attacker swings at my torso and I roll out of the way, rushing them and holding my knife just out of sight.
Get close and I’ll get your ass...
When the second swing from the cricket bat doesn’t work, they toss the bat aside and rush for me.
Huge mistake. I slash the knife out, but miss and the attacker shoves me over.
I grunt as I hit the ground. Fuck. That wasn’t part of the plan.
At least I have my grip on the knife. I slash again and scream as the attacker’s hands wrap around my neck.
“GET OFF ME! I’ve got a knife!”
I slash again and get their arm – I think. My attacker moans and I shove them off with my feet. Then I hear an annoying, stupid, idiotic sound.
“Clover! Get out of here!”
Fucking Thomas. He rushes toward me and my attacker shoves him out of the way, sprinting out into the gym hallway.
“GO AFTER THEM!” I yell at Thomas.
“Are you fucking hurt?” he yells back.
“GO NOW!”
I race toward the door and try to get past him, but Thomas grabs my shoulders and catches me in his arms. He’s not wearing thick layers of clothes. I could easily knife him and race after my attacker. Why the fuck did he ruin this?
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Thomas yells, gripping my shoulders harder and practically shaking me.
I drop the knife and he glances down at the ground. The traitorous street lamp seems to create a beacon directly over my knife. Well, the knife I stole from Jude.
“You’ve got a knife?” He yells.
“And I would have gotten our damned blackmailer too if you hadn’t ruined everything!”
I shove him off me, but Thomas is huge. He doesn’t budge and he keeps looking at me like I’m crazy.
“Turn the lights back on,” he snaps, like some type of angry dad or something. He doesn’t have a right to burst up in here and act like I’m doing something wrong. Maybe if British people had the dang second amendment, he wouldn’t stay worried about my self-defense tactics.
“I didn’t turn them off. He did.”
“Are you sure it’s a guy?”
“I don’t know. I slashed their arm.”
“You could get in huge trouble for this,” Thomas hisses.
“Says the man who stalked me all day.”
“I was not stalking you,” he says, emphasizing every word. He talks so slowly. It would be peaceful if he weren’t always hanging around pissing me off.
“Right. You were just ruining my plan.”
“I thought you were hurt. Pardon me for wanting to step in and protect you.”
“I have a knife. I’m fine.”
“You were knocked down in under thirty seconds and despite having a knife, failed to actually stop your assailant. I saved you.”
“Saved me from putting that damn blackmailer in their place.”
He shakes his head as if he just can’t deal with me. Um, hello, Thomas… You’re the problem!
“Do you promise you’re fine?”
Ugh. Why is he acting like he cares?
“I’m fine.”
“Come into the light,” Thomas says, stepping into the beam coming in from outside. “Let me see you.”
I don’t want to get any closer to him, but there’s still adrenaline surging through me and no assailant, so I should probably calm down and rethink this.
This whole thing probably pissed them off.
I step into the light and see Thomas smiling.
He never smiles, but when he does, he looks less like a terrifying tatted up monster and more like a gentle giant.
“You’re fine.”
“I told you.”
“Bit ironic about the cricket bat.”
“Shut up.”
“I still have my bruises.”
He must know what he’s doing. Thomas lifts his white polo shirt and exposes not just his bruises, but the tattoos covering his torso.
The large knife. The leaves spiraling up his obliques from his waist. I should be looking at his scars, but his body draws my eyes to his bulging well-formed muscles.
He looks ripped after practice and I’m a gross, sweaty mess.
“Ouch,” I whisper once I see his bruises, my chest still pulsing with agitated breath. “Do they hurt?”
“Dunno,” he mutters. “You can try touching them.”
Normally, I would press on them hard, to exact as much pain as possible onto Thomas. This time, my hands rush forward tenderly and I gently press on his purple and yellow bruise. Thomas’ face knots.
“Not bad,” he winces.
“Sorry.”
“I earned those,” he whispers.
“We should get out of here. I lost spicy freak and whoever it is will probably put a rat in my cereal next or something. They were serious.”
“I could stay over again,” Thomas offers, all too eagerly.
I know I should turn him down, but when I turn to him, another consideration enters my mind.
* * *