Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)(47)

White-hot rage boiled through Clay’s veins, and it took every ounce of restraint he had in his body not to wrap his hands around the f*cker’s neck and choke him out. “I should have f*cking killed you while I had the chance,” he spat in a low, feral tone.

“Yes, you should have. But you didn’t, and here we are, having a nice little family reunion  .” Wyatt smirked. “Fifty grand in cash, and you have three days to make it happen.”

Clay caught another quick pass of anxiety on Wyatt’s face, leading Clay to believe that the other man was tangled up with someone or something as evil and sadistic as himself. “How about I just let natural selection take its course,” Clay goaded, because he had a damn good hunch that if he didn’t come through with the money, whomever Wyatt owed it to would wipe him off the face of the earth.

Wouldn’t that be poetic justice?

“Do not f*ck with me,” Wyatt snarled like a rabid dog as he touched the tip of his switchblade to Clay’s chest, the wild and crazy look in his eyes edged with a hint of panic. “Make it happen, or you won’t like the consequences. I’ll be in touch.” Wyatt turned around and left the way he’d come in, out the back delivery door.

Once he was gone, Clay walked over to the nearest chair and dropped into it. His heart was still pounding so erratically it felt as though it would burst out of his chest, and he scrubbed his hand down his face, waiting for the adrenaline rushing through him to subside.

“Fuck,” he muttered, feeling as though his entire world had just been shaken and dumped upside down.

In the past hour, he’d been delivered a one-two punch. He’d been reeling from Samantha’s announcement that she was leaving soon, and then Satan himself had been resurrected from his childhood. He honestly didn’t know which one was worse or more painful. Dealing with Wyatt and his demands or knowing that the woman who’d come to mean so much to him would walk out of his life.

After the confrontation with Wyatt, it was abundantly clear exactly why Samantha didn’t belong in his world. One tainted by hatred and violence—ugly, vile things that should never, ever touch Samantha in any way. And they had.

A deep, dark groan escaped his throat. What a goddamn mess, and now Samantha was caught in the middle of his horrific past that was colliding with the present. He didn’t doubt for a minute that Wyatt’s threat toward Samantha was real. The man was capable of all sorts of heinous crimes, and the fact that he’d mentioned human trafficking told Clay he probably had a hand in it, too. He gagged, sick and furious as hell that this man was still hurting other people. Other women.


One of those wouldn’t be Samantha. There was no way in f*cking hell he’d ever let Wyatt touch her, let alone come near her again. He’d kill the other man or die himself protecting the woman he loved.

His stomach flipped in his belly as the word popped into his head so easily, so quickly, so damned naturally, he grew dizzy. Clay had sworn he didn’t know what love was, let alone what it felt like, yet he understood with certainty that Samantha was the very first woman, the only woman, he wanted in his life. And not just as a temporary diversion.

Shit.

The back delivery door slammed open, and Clay jumped to his feet, his hands instinctively balling into fists to defend himself if he needed to.

“Where the f*ck is he?” Mason bellowed like an enraged and reckless bull. He charged into the bar area, followed closely by a more reserved but still clearly worked up Levi, who was in uniform and had his service pistol drawn.

Relief poured through Clay, and he wasn’t at all surprised that his brothers knew who’d been here after Samantha had called them for backup. She’d have his back in any way she could. He only thanked God she’d chosen the safest, smartest route.

“Wyatt’s gone,” he said, confirming what they suspected.

Mason looked around, his expression fierce. “Where’s Samantha?” He demanded. “Is she okay?”

Clay nodded, realizing just how much they’d all come to care for her in such a short time, especially Mason. There were very few people his middle brother was protective of, and Samantha was clearly one of them.

“She was down here when Wyatt came in and saw him at his finest,” he said in disgust.

“Fucking *,” Mason said of the man who’d tormented all three of them.

Clay couldn’t argue. “I sent her upstairs as soon as I could.” Once again, he thanked God that she’d listened to him. “I’m assuming she called you.”

“She called Katrina,” Mason muttered. “She insisted on coming with us, so I sent her up to the apartment the back way so Samantha wouldn’t be alone.”

Knowing that she had someone to talk to, to keep her calm, enabled Clay to remain down here with his brothers. “Thanks.”

Levi, still in his quiet, serious mode, secured his weapon back into the holster at his side. “After all these years, what the hell did he want?”

“Money. Fifty grand, to be exact,” Clay told his brothers. “Somehow, he found out I owned the bar. He obviously needs a quick infusion of cash, and he expects to get it from me.”

“Fucker!” Mason smacked a fist into his other palm, the anger and energy vibrating off him nearly palpable. “You should have killed him, Clay. You know I would have helped you bury the body or feed him to the sharks.”