Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy 1)

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 fuck,” 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 for

ward, 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 fucking 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, asshole,” 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 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.