Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)

by Carly Phillips

  Clay barked out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t have that kind of fucking 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 fuck 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.”

  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 fucker’s neck and choke him out. “I should have fucking 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 fuck 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 fucking 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 fuck 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 asshole,” 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.”

  Clay knew that Mason wasn’t joking, but the way Mr. Law Enforcement crossed his arms over his chest and glared at their hotheaded brother told them that killing Wyatt wasn’t an option. Levi was a by-the-book cop all the way.

  Mason sneered at Levi. “You’re such a fucking killjoy.”

  Levi shrugged. “I’m just trying to keep a pretty boy like you out of prison and from becoming some guy’s bitch.”

  Mason huffed out a breath and went to the bar. “I need a goddamn drink.”

  Knowing the three of them had a lot to talk about, Clay sat down at one of the tables, and Levi took the seat next to him, his gaze concerned.

  “You okay?” Levi asked.

  Clay couldn’t believe that just a few weeks ago, he and Levi had had a heated conversation about Wyatt, and now he was back in their lives. How ironic was that?

  “I’ll be fine.” It was the best assurance he could give his brother right now, until they figured out a legal way out of this mess.

  They waited for Mason to return, and when he did, he had a full bottle of premium bourbon tucked under one arm and was carrying two shot glasses and a drink for Levi in his hands. He set the shot glasses on the table, followed by the liquor, then handed Levi the other glass filled nearly to the brim.

  “I thought you could use something stronger than your normal pansy-ass spritzer,” Mason said in a mocking tone. “Orange juice, straight up.”

  “Always a comedian, aren’t you?” Levi drawled and downed half the glass in one long gulp while Mason poured the Knob Creek Single Barrel Reserve into the two shot glasses.

  Clay tossed back the bourbon the same time that Mason did, then got down to business. “There’s more I need to tell you two.” Both brothers immediately gave him their undivided attention. “Wyatt gave me three days to come up with the cash, and he seemed desperate, so I’m assuming that he’s in some kind of trouble.”

  “Yeah, well, he can rot in hell for all I care,” Mason said, already consuming his second shot.

  When Clay didn’t respond right away, Mason frowned at him. “You’re not t
hinking about giving him the money, are you?” he asked incredulously.

  “It’s not my first option, but he threatened Samantha,” Clay told them, his stomach knotting all over again at the other man’s intimidation tactics. “Said if he didn’t get the cash by the end of the week, he’d get fifty grand from Samantha on the black market.”

  “Jesus,” Mason breathed in disgust. “The fucker is now into human trafficking?”

  “That’s what he implied, and we all know what Wyatt is capable of,” Clay replied.

  His brothers nodded their agreement, and Levi continued to listen to the conversation in that introspective way of his. Clay had no doubts Levi’s sharp mind was working to figure out a legitimate solution to their problem, and he hoped to hell that he came up with one soon.

  “Bottom line, I can’t keep Samantha locked in my apartment forever to protect her. And if I don’t give Wyatt what he wants, and anything happened to Samantha because of me, it would kill me.” Just the thought of anyone hurting her made a sharp-as-a-knife pain stab through Clay’s heart.

  “Nothing is going to happen to her.” Levi finally spoke up.

  Clay had always been the caretaker in the family, the protector, and for the first time ever, he found himself looking to Levi for advice, hoping and praying that his youngest sibling would truly be able to find a way to put an end to this insanity.

  “What do you have in mind?” Clay prompted.

  “Let me run his name through the system and see what comes up,” Levi suggested. “I’m sure he has a rap sheet a mile long, which doesn’t do us any good, but there might be an outstanding warrant for his arrest. When he shows up again, we can take him into custody and charge him for blackmail and extortion, too.”

  “So he can get another slap on the wrist and be out on the streets in a few weeks?” Mason scoffed.

  Understanding flickered in Levi’s gaze. “I know it’s not ideal, but give me a day to see what I can come up with, and we’ll go from there.”

  “I like my idea of feeding him to the sharks much better,” Mason muttered irritably.

  Clay agreed that Levi’s scenario wasn’t the permanent solution that he’d been hoping for. Sooner or later, Wyatt would get out of jail and come after Clay. Or worse, Samantha.

  He glanced at Levi. “I don’t care what happens to me, but while this is all going down, I need to know that Samantha is safe at all times.”

  “Consider it done,” Levi said with a nod. “I’ll get a security detail on her ASAP.

  “Thank you.” Other than making sure that he did everything in his power to protect Samantha, there was nothing else Clay could do. And he hated feeling so helpless when he preferred being a man of action. The gnawing worry for Samantha was something new, too. Something, he realized, he’d gone out of his way to avoid ever feeling. But Samantha had barreled into his life, filling his dark, monotonous days with color and light. She gave him something to look forward to each day. Hope, he realized, was something new to him, too.

  But, as he’d always known, she didn’t belong in his life for long. She deserved so much more, so much better than he could ever give. And hadn’t Wyatt’s sudden appearance and threats proven that in spades?

  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.

  “Clay,” she said, loud and firm enough to snap him out of whatever memories or trance he’d been lost in. “It’s me. Samantha.”

  He blinked in the dim light, his gaze clearing and focusing on her face as recognition chased across his features. “Jesus,” he swore harshly, and released her hand, though the grim frown remained, as did the tension stiffening his body. “What the hell are you doing up?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said, refusing to recoil from the snap in his voice. “Just like you.”

  “Go back to bed, Samantha,” he said gruffly.

  She swallowed hard and remained standing right where she was. After what had happened today, his walls were a mile high. And even though she knew it wouldn’t change anything about her decision to leave in the morning, she wanted that guard down between them now. Just this once. She wanted him to trust her with his pain, with all the horrific things he’d suffered through. All the horrible things she knew he never talked about because the memories were too terrible to bear.

  Determination made her brave, and she lifted her chin to let him know she wasn’t going anywhere until he talked. “Tell me how you got those scars on your back.”

  His jaw clenched at her insistence, and a spark of fury ignited in his gaze. “It doesn’t fucking matter.”