Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)(46)
“Well, well, well,” the man with the dark, slicked-back hair drawled with unmistakable arrogance. “If it isn’t Clay Kincaid, all grown up with a bar of his very own.”
“Get the f*ck out of here,” Clay said in a low growl so vicious and mean Samantha couldn’t believe it had come from the man she knew.
Her panic now justified, Samantha curled her hands round the edge of the bar, the hair on her arms standing on end. She’d never seen or heard this side of Clay before, and it frightened her beyond reason. She wasn’t scared of him, she was scared for him, she thought, watching the scene play out in front of her.
The light in the hallway illuminated the other man’s ugly features, and there was absolutely nothing redeeming about his scary, intimidating expression. Greasy hair fell around his face, his nose was crooked, and a long, thick scar started at the corner of his left eye and ended just below his cheekbone. And when he gave Clay a malicious smile, she could see that he was missing teeth, and the ones he did have were dark in color, decaying disgustingly.
Terror kept Samantha frozen on her seat, her insides quaking with fear.
The scary man ran his index finger along that awful-looking scar. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
“Get out now!” Clay roared, his entire body vibrating with barely suppressed rage.
The other guy had balls of steel, because he didn’t so much as flinch. “Not until we have a little chat.”
His seedy gaze deliberately slid past Clay and focused on her. He blatantly leered and licked his lips, and Samantha’s stomach roiled in disgust.
“Nice piece of ass you got over there,” the man taunted.
Lightning fast, Clay’s hands shot out, shoving so hard against the guy’s shoulder the man grunted and stumbled backward, nearly falling on his ass. He caught himself just in time and straightened. Clay stepped toward him to do more damage, but the other man drew a switchblade, and Clay stopped short.
“You always were a stupid little f*ck,” the man spat viciously, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Touch me again and I won’t hesitate to gut you, just as I should have done all those years ago. And your whore over there can watch you bleed out.”
Samantha sucked in a breath, tears coming to her eyes, her throat full and burning. She’d never felt so helpless at the thought of anything happening to Clay.
“Go upstairs, Samantha,” Clay ordered in a shockingly steady voice, though he never took his eyes off the knife-wielding man in front of him.
Without hesitation, she jumped off the chair and did as she was told, hating that she was about to leave Clay alone with a man who was clearly an unstable monster.
She had to walk past the standoff in order to head down the hallway to the stairs, and as she did, the nauseating scent of body order combined with whiskey and bad breath made her stomach lurch.
Her eyes connected with the man’s, his gaze pitch-black, as if he had no soul. His smile was just as evil. “Don’t worry, I won’t stab lover boy unless he gives me a reason to,” he sneered at her as she rushed past.
As soon as she reached the door heading up to the apartment, she wrenched it open, not trusting herself to glance back at Clay. Despite her legs feeling like Jell-O, she managed to run up the stairs, the tears she’d been holding back rushing forward, and she sobbed as she dug through her purse for her phone.
With shaking hands, she called one of the very few people she’d put into her new contact list. Katrina.
Samantha was a blubbering mess by the time the other woman answered her phone, much too cheerful when Samantha was falling apart. “Send Mason over to the bar immediately. There’s a man here who is threatening to kill Clay.”
Then she disconnected the line and called the police.
Chapter Twelve
WITH SAMANTHA GONE and safe upstairs, Clay ignored the nausea churning in his stomach as he stared down his worst nightmare—the man who’d made his and his brothers’ childhood a living f*cking hell. The vile piece of shit who’d kept their mother doped up on meth and pimped her out to any random stranger for cash and narcotics, until their mother was arrested and sent to prison for an eighteen-month sentence for drug possession and prostitution.
That’s when the real horror had begun for Clay and his brothers.
Wyatt Dawson was pure evil. A man without a conscience or morals, and that made him a dangerous son of a bitch. And he’d stopped by to talk, which Clay suspected meant he was here for one of two things: extortion or blackmail, because that’s how corrupt men like Wyatt operated.
“You and I have nothing to talk about, *,” Clay said bitterly.
“Oh, but I think we do.” Wyatt smiled insolently, but despite the man’s outward bravado, Clay caught a hint of desperation in his gaze. “I need some cash. Fifty grand, to be exact, and you’re going to provide it by the end of the week.”
Clay barked out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t have that kind of f*cking money,” he lied, hoping like hell that Wyatt hadn’t somehow found out about the inheritance from Jerry. “And even if I did, you are the last person on earth I’d give it to, so get the f*ck out.”
“Not so fast,” Wyatt said, much too patiently as he twirled that sharp, glinting knife between his fingers like a threat. “You will give me that money, unless you want something to happen to this bar, or more importantly, that sweet, blonde thing with the wide, innocent eyes. She’d fetch at least fifty grand on the black market.”