by Fox, Logan
It’s full of water. There are things drifting on the surface.
Flowers. Leaves. Bits of bark.
Bathe.
Exactly when did I turn into Hunter’s pet? I know I was all sitting up and begging and shit yesterday but…
But what?
But I was under the influence of some hectic shit.
My mind is clear now.
Very, very clear.
I test the water with my foot. It’s the perfect temperature, which I find hard to believe but can’t deny.
Look, I do need to wash my hair, and the water feels glorious.
A deep, shuddering sigh escapes me as I sink into the fragrant water.
I drift off and then snap awake a few minutes later.
Five minutes.
I’m sure it’s been longer.
I stand and move to pick the flowers from my skin. A square of white catches my eye, and déjà vu floods me. I stare at the folded piece of paper for the longest time before I take it from the top of the tub’s bronze faucet.
Don’t dry.
Don’t clean.
The Clover Vos I know and love would have crumpled that note in her fist, grabbed the closest towel and—
Ah. There are no towels. Guess Hunter wasn’t taking any chances that I would disobey.
Well, if he wants his carpets ruined, that’s his fucking problem.
I pad back to the closet, consider the pale, beaded kaftan hanging from the door handle and snort. I run my fingers over it. The delicate fabric slips like silk through my fingers, light as air. It’s not quite opaque—when I slip a hand beneath the fabric, the color of my skin shines through. Wooden beads—some as big as a penny—form an intricate pattern around the neckline.
He’s obviously dressing me up for something, but what?
Well, guess what? Not my style, Hunter. In fact, it’s so far from my style, I’d rather wear nothing at all.
I smirk to myself as my hand falls away from that sensuous fabric.
Challenge accepted.
The house is so quiet, I can hear birds chirping from the trees outside. I guess Hunter’s waiting downstairs, so I head for the only other room up here to snoop around.
It’s locked. Not only locked, but there’s a keypad next to the door with a number pad.
I try 1-2-3-4, but nothing happens. So I try 4-3-2-1, and then four zeros and then just a bunch of random numbers.
Nope.
I try the handle again, but it’s still locked.
Damn.
I’m starting to itch as I dry, and the urge to peel a bright yellow petal from my left breast is almost impossible to resist.
Instead, I take the stairs.
I do hope we’re all alone—I’m not exactly one for public displays of nudity. Then again, I almost wish he’s having a business meeting downstairs so I can walk past a bunch of astonished suits and be all like, ‘You wanted me, Sah?’
Hunter’s in the kitchen, his back turned to me as I come down the stairs. It looks like he’s cooking something on the massive range taking up one side of a kitchen that’s too large for a single person.
But he isn’t alone anymore, is he?
You are going home, Clover. Home with me.
That bit I remember. Okay, there are a lot of bits I remember and would rather not. Especially all that shit that went down when I was sixteen.
I watch Hunter for a few seconds as he moves around, oblivious to my presence. He’s wearing three-quarter shorts the color of dried mud, and a floppy, dark green vest.
There are scars on his shoulder blades. Faint, but visible.
At least, I fucking hope they’re there. Could I still be hallu—?
“Take a seat.”
I flinch. “You sure?” I ask, hooking my hands behind my back and swinging from side to side.
Hunter glances over his shoulder and then does a double take that’s so fucking satisfying, I almost want to forgive him. That won’t be possible, of course, but it’s nice to think a world exists where we could be friends or lovers.
He points a spatula in my direction. “The flowers remain potent as long as they’re in contact with your skin,” he says, and it’s as if—despite the lack of a suit—he’s back to being Dr. Hill again.
“Potent?”
He’s staring so intently into my eyes, it’s as if he’s schooling himself not to look at my naked body.
Game. Set. Match.
“Their cleansing properties,” he says, but in a distant kind of way. “The floral bath cleanses you from residual negativity after an Ayahuasca ceremony.”
I snort at him and walk over to a barstool. It’s some kind of shiny white plastic and my damp ass squeaks when I hoist myself onto it. “You call what happened a fucking ceremony?”
I might be imagining it, but I swear there’s the slightest flinch in his eyes at my statement.
“You should be hungry,” he says, which is Hill for ‘would you like breakfast?’
“I’m not.”
“You will eat.”
Another command. I shift on the stool, pouting when it doesn’t make any more inappropriate noises. I glance back the way I came and see a trail of flower petals and leaves scattered on the floor.
Not my problem.
“What if I was allergic to something?” I ask, trying not to sound like a child and probably failing miserably.
“You’re not.”
Oh, right. Dr. Hill knows Clover’s entire medical background, and more.
“How did you find out so much stuff about me?” I ask as Hunter dishes up whatever he’s prepared into two bowls.
Dr. Most Eligible Bachelor of Mallhaven’s going to have breakfast with me?
What a fucking honor.
He sets down our bowls and slides onto the stool beside me. “The government does an excellent job of keeping track of its civilians.”
I stare into the bowl. It looks healthy, smells delicious, and would be the last thing I ever want to eat.
Normally.
My stomach grumbles, and I curse it for being so goddamn self preserving.
At least it’s not raw.
“What is this?”
“A nutritious breakfast.” Hunter puts a forkful of it in his mouth and chews as he watches me from the corner of his eye.
“With a dash of horse tranquilizer? Or is it roofies this time? Acid?” When he says nothing, I tip the contents of my fork over into the bowl. “Give me a clue, at least.”
I freeze when Hunter reaches over to me. Hating myself for it, of course, but unable to unfreeze until I know his intentions. There’s a damp leaf smaller than my pinkie finger still plastered to my upper arm. He peels it from my skin, tips back his head, and eats it.
“Hey! That was mine. It’s supposed to be all potent and shit.”
“Are you expecting an apology from me, Clover?”
I hate how goddamn officious he sounds right now. “No, but I think it’s about time you called me a cab.”
He eats another mouthful of his food—Jesus, how can something smell so goddamn delicious?—and sets his fork down with exaggerated care.
“Am I keeping you from something important?”
Asshole!
“Yeah,” I say, pushing away my bowl and sliding from the stool. “My fucking life, you psycho.”
I turn for the door and then remember I’m naked. Not just that—the only thing for me to wear is that filmy Lawrence of Arabia harem outfit.
No worries, I’ll grab something of his to wear. But that means going upstairs, and I have a feeling he’s going to follow me.
I go upstairs, my hair standing on end as I strain for the sound of him following me.
Nothing.
I fling open his closet, and then take a long, slow step back. Every inch of my skin prickles with fire and ice.
A shadow darkens the door.
I didn’t hear him coming closer because the blood roaring in my ears is so fucking loud.
There are a handful of suits, some still in their plastic baggies. Two pairs of dress shoes. More of the type of clothing he’s wearing now though—casual, colorless shit. No name brands.
But that’s not what makes my breath stall in my lungs.
The other half of the cupboard is full of clothes too. Dresses, jeans, some nice tops. Bras and panties and socks. More shoes than he owns and two of each kind—boots, sneakers, sandals.
“What. The. Fuck?” I turn to him.
My hair’s still wet, coiling against my neck and shoulders. He takes a stray strip and tucks it behind my ear. The gesture is so intimate that I shiver when his fingertips brush my earlobe.
He gives me a smile that’s neither warm nor cold, neither cruel nor kind. “Welcome home.”
Chapter Seventy-One
Hunter
I don’t appreciate the tone in Clover’s voice. I expected surprise, not disgust. She turns to me from the closet, her mouth in a sneer.
“What. The. Fuck.”
I’m really starting to deplore her use of bad language. I realize it’s how she expresses herself, but I have no liking for it.
“Welcome home.”
Instead of understanding, something approaching fear fills her Bluestar irises.
“You knew.” She takes a step back, swatting away my hand as her eyes narrow dangerously. “You knew I’d come home with you.”
I shrug. “Where else would you go?”
Astonishment widens her eyes. “That’s it? Because a stray like me has nowhere else, you just expect me to stay? What’s next? Do I gotta roll over and let you scratch my fucking tummy whenever you want?”
I frown at her. “You’re being unreasonable.”
“No.” She takes another step back. “This is me being pissed off.”
I want to focus on her eyes. I want to take stock of her emotions as they flicker across her face if only in an attempt to understand this strange creature standing in front of me.
But she’s still naked. Magnificent in her fury.
My gaze runs over her body, and as if that was exactly what she was waiting for, she darts forward, snatches the kaftan from its hook and bolts past me as she tugs it over her head.
With a nimble twist of her body, she evades my grasping hand.
By the time I reach the top of the stairs, she’s already headed for the front door.
I don’t bother giving chase. I can lock the door from here. I reach into my pocket for my phone, but realize too late that I left it on the kitchen table.
Clover wrenches open the front door, throws me a victorious scowl over her shoulder, and disappears.
I reach the door seconds later, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
My heart thunders in my chest. I press a hand to it, willing it to calm.
No.
Not now.
I was so fucking close.
I grit my teeth and go back inside, slamming the door behind me.
She won’t get far.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Clover
As soon as I’m out of Hunter’s house, I head straight for the road. But then I realize he’ll be able to see me a mile away, and detour for the forest running alongside.
I almost seize up when those cool shadows fall over me, but I force myself to keep going.
You did this once. You can do it again.
As long as I keep the road in sight, I’ll be fine.
I keep to a run, but I eventually slow to a jog. It’s that or pass out.
My jog just slowed into a fast walk when I hear a faint, mechanical growl in the distance. I pause, holding my breath so I can hear what—
Fuck. He’s coming after me.
I surge into a run, heading deeper into the forest so he can’t see me from the road.
As long as I keep my head, I’ll be able to find it again.
Please, God, let me find my way back.
Leaves and branches slap and scratch at me like a feral cat, but I’ve been through worse. The kaftan snags and tears on just about everything, and for a wild second I consider taking it off.
But as little as I want to be in a forest, I know I definitely don’t want to be naked in a forest.
Bugs.
Mud.
Poison ivy.
I shudder as I run, my brain serving me a particularly vivid flashback of me ripping a millipede from my hair.
My stomach’s cramping.
Fuck, why didn’t I eat that bowl of food? My body feels weak. After all, I’ve barely had anything but drugs the past two days. After six months of proper nutrition, my body seems unable to cope with starvation.
I can still hear him in the distance, but I think I’m losing him. I slow down, and change direction. I want to loop back to the road so I don’t get lost.
I doubt there’ll be any yellow arrows this time around. Which mean I’ll probably die.
That distant motor cuts off.
Shit, does he realize I’ve gone into the forest?
I guess he could see far enough down the road to figure out that…
I stop walking.
A fragment of a memory from my time in the forest comes back to me.
I thought you put a tracker on me.
My hand goes to the kaftan’s neckline.
More specifically, to the largest of the wooden beads sown into the neckline. My bracelet clacks against it as I try to rip the bead free.
Shit.
Shit!
That’s how he knows where I am. He knew I’d have to put this on so, even if I bolted, he could find me.
I try to tear that big bead off, but it refuses.
Maybe I’m too weak from hunger.
I laugh, hurriedly cut off the sound, and yank the kaftan over my head. I lurch forward, jaw clamped against the feel of the air sliding over my skin.
Well, at least I can tick, ‘running naked through a forest’ from my bucket list.
Clover: consider your life lived to the fucking fullest.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Hunter
By the time I get the four-wheeler out of the garage, Clover’s nowhere in sight. I open the throttle and tear down my road, glaring through the trees for a sight of the white dress.
As much as Clover thinks I had this all thought out to a tee, she has no idea how far we’ve veered from my original plan.
Luckily, some things never change.
Like my trust issues.
I park the four-wheeler, yanking my phone from my pants pocket. I open the tracker app and take a moment to orientate myself before heading into the forest.
I’m right behind her, and closing in.
Why did you run, Clover?
I don’t want to have to chase you, but you leave me no choice. I need you close at hand to study the effects of your Ayahuasca experience, can’t you understand that? If I were to let you leave without knowing you’ve been cured…
There will be no one to claim your body if you overdose.
You have no mother.
No father.
No siblings.
Gail will never see you again.
I’m all you’ve got.
I’m all you need.
Why can’t you understand that?
Wait…are you changing direction? Why? Do you think you’re heading back to the road?
You’re not, Clover.
No. Clover. Fuck! You’re going the wrong way!
The tracker slows. Slows. Stops.
I break into a run, but I already know I’m not going to reach her in time.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Clover
I wish I could say I saw this coming, but I really fucking didn’t. I mean, here I am, right, running naked through the forest. I think the worst thing I have to deal with right now is psycho hippy Hunter Hill.
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False.
So fucking false.
There’s a barbed wire fence and a gap where something tore a hole through it.
Bear.
I dodge through a little gap with little more than a scrape on my left calf.
Where the fuck is the road?
I should have hit it by now.
Nope. Still running.
The forest clears out. I suddenly become very aware of how naked I am and how little foliage there is to cover me. Morning sun basks on my skin, and I start slowing down.
I finally take stock of my surroundings.
There are still trees and shit in the way, but I see a building up ahead.
Not a cheery little cabin way too small for seven little dwarfs or any of that shit.
Oh no.
This is a big building. It even has like a little tower.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was a church.
But a church in the middle of a forest? I mean, come on.
Even if I’d turned around right then…they would still have caught me. But when I see the first humanoid shadow disentangling itself from a nearby tree trunk, I spin around and head back the way I came.
If I’d been an Olympic sprinter, I might have made it. And, if I hadn’t run away, I would never have seen Hunter.
He’s still following me. Somehow managed to find me. Did he track me by studying broken twigs and shit?
Doesn’t matter.
He’s too far away to help.
Not just that—as soon as we make eye contact, his gaze flashes away.
To the guy chasing me.
A pair of rough hands grab my waist and throw me to the floor.
Hunter slips behind a tree trunk.
Hiding?
He’s fucking hiding.
“Let go!” I yell, kicking and squirming like my life depends on it.
Well, it probably fucking does.
I got a brief glimpse of the grunt on top of me. He’s dressed in dark clothes, a bandana over the lower half of his face. Hair unruly, and—from the stink—as recently washed as the rest of him.