Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)(49)
Which was why—once this mess with Wyatt was finished—the most selfless thing he could do for her was let her go.
* * *
SAMANTHA TOSSED AND turned in bed, mentally exhausted but unable to fall into a deep sleep. It was nearly two in the morning, and while she’d drifted off a few times since lying down, she’d been jolted awake by terrifying images of the man who’d come into the bar the previous afternoon. Horrific nightmares of him stabbing Clay in the stomach while Samantha sat helplessly by, watching him die.
After Clay had sent her upstairs and she’d called for help, she’d gone back down and listened at the door. And that’s when she’d heard the threats the man had issued if he didn’t get fifty thousand dollars—money Clay insisted he didn’t have—in the next few days. She’d been included in that threat, but she couldn’t bring herself to think about that. All she could concern herself with was Clay.
Not for the first time, tears and emotions jammed in her throat. The fear of something bad happening to Clay was real—she’d seen the evil look in the other man’s eyes. And she couldn’t just do nothing. She couldn’t risk him seriously hurting or killing Clay. Just her brief glimpse of the man from a distance convinced her he was capable of that kind of violence.
She blinked back the burn of tears, more memories returning. The cavalry had arrived soon after she’d called—Mason and Levi, along with Katrina, who’d stayed with her in the apartment and calmed her down. Finally, Clay had come up much later to check on Samantha and let her know that there was an undercover cop in an unmarked car in the parking lot outside, to make sure she was safe at all times.
He’d also informed her that he didn’t want her working in the bar for a few days, and then he was gone, storming out of the apartment and headed God knew where. After a while, Katrina had had to leave, and Samantha had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening alone, unable to even focus on a TV show, since she’d had a continuous running loop in her head that kept replaying the entire confrontation with Clay and the man. And the end result she’d conjured in her mind had her nearly sobbing every single time.
Staring at the ceiling in the dark, her mind working overtime, she finally figured out a plan. Tears trailed down the sides of her face because she knew what she had to do. The decision hadn’t been an easy one to make, because she understood what the repercussions of her choices would be. But when it came to making sure Clay was safe, she would sacrifice herself, her life, her freedom. Even her own dreams. And she didn’t kid herself that she was overreacting. Because once she asked her father for the money Clay needed, the price wouldn’t just be the life she’d fought so hard to create. The cost would be giving up Clay himself. Her father would see to that.
Another half hour had passed when she finally heard Clay come into the apartment. She waited for him to walk into the bedroom, but it didn’t happen. She gave him another fifteen minutes before tossing the covers off to take matters into her own hands.
It was obvious that he was avoiding her again, but they needed to talk about what had happened at the bar, whether he liked it or not. Harder still, she needed to tell him she was going to go home, which brought on another surge of waterworks. There was no way she could leave without him finding out, not when he had her so well protected. And besides, he’d been so good to her she owed him the truth about where she was going—if not exactly why. The fifty thousand he needed would arrive after she was gone, allowing him to get that awful man out of his life.
She couldn’t do it any other way. If she told him about getting him the money now, he’d fight her. A proud man like Clay wouldn’t like accepting a handout any more than he’d want her bailing him out. She only hoped that when he received the cash, he’d take it and know that she’d done it because she loved him.
Without turning on the bedroom light, she quietly opened the door and glanced around the adjoining living room. The entire place was dark except for the beam of moonlight coming in through the kitchen window that illuminated Clay’s form. He was facing away from her, shirtless and just in his jeans. As she silently approached, she could see that he had his hands braced on the counter and his head hung forward, as if he was exhausted and defeated. It was the latter emotion that made her heart ache for him.
She moved closer, intending to slip her hands around his waist and hug him from behind so he didn’t feel so alone, but she stopped short when she saw at least two dozen round scars all over his back, which were about the diameter of a pencil. Shock rippled through her, and that’s when she realized that despite all the times they’d been together and all the times he’d been without a shirt, she’d never seen his bare back before—something he’d obviously and deliberately kept from her gaze so he didn’t have to explain how he’d gotten those burn marks, which she suspected were from the tip of a smoldering cigarette.
She reached a hand out to touch his back. The moment the tips of her fingers grazed one of those scars, he spun around so fast she gasped, and before she could exhale a breath, he locked her wrist in his strong hand. His expression was dark and fierce, his gaze glittering with such savage intensity it was as if he didn’t recognize her. He looked like a man emotionally tormented and broken. This normally undaunted man who was so strong for everyone else and never showed any weakness now looked stripped bare. And she wanted to do whatever it took to soothe his anguish and pain.