Dirty Sexy Sinner (Dirty Sexy 4)

From his sitting position at the very end of the counter, he watched as a young couple entered the bar and took a seat at one of the round tables in the main area. They were the first customers of the evening, which meant Clay was that much closer to arriving. He finished off his Bushmills and pushed the glass away.

“Clay is a little rough around the edges,” Tara went on as she tucked the towel into the waistband of her jeans. “But he’s a really great guy once you get to know him. Around here, he has the nickname of Saint Clay because he’s something of a do-gooder.”

He rested his arms on the counter, his curiosity

getting the best of him. “A do-gooder, huh?”

She picked up his empty glass and put it in the sink beneath the counter. “Yeah. He’s someone who genuinely wants to help out other people because he knows what it’s like to struggle. Most of us who work here were hired because we really needed the job for one reason or another.”

The underlying gratitude toward her boss in her tone spoke volumes and hinted at Clay’s influence in her life. “Including you?” he asked.

“Yeah, including me,” she admitted softly.

He wondered about those shadows in her eyes, wanted to know where they’d come from and what she’d been through, but she quickly blinked them away before he could analyze those emotions any further.

“Clay’s like a brother to me,” she said with a shrug, her words helping to explain her loyalty to her boss. “Actually, all three of them are like family. They’re very protective, but it’s kind of nice knowing that someone has my back, and I always know that they’ll be there for me if I need anything at all. That’s just the kind of guys they are.”

He didn’t miss the fact that she said nothing of her own family. “And Mason? He owns a tattoo place, right?”

“Yeah. He’s the hell-raiser out of the three. Smart mouth. Womanizer.” She set a glass pitcher on the base of a blender, continuing her bar setup as she talked. “Well, he was a player until he finally came to his senses and realized that his best friend, Katrina, was the only woman for him. It’s actually quite amusing to see him so mellow and wrapped around Katrina’s finger.”

The fondness in Tara’s voice made Jackson smile.

“Then there’s Levi, who couldn’t be more different than his brothers,” she continued, more animated now. “He’s a police officer with Chicago PD. He’s quiet and reserved but intense in his own way. He may not say much, but he doesn’t miss a single damn thing going on around him.”

All interesting facts about each brother that Jackson made a mental note of. He had a feeling all those details would come in handy very soon.

“Tara,” a deep male voice called out from the other side of the bar. “Where’s this person who’s here to see us?”

The beautiful bartender standing across from Jackson had been so caught up in their conversation—hell, he’d been just as engaged—that her entire body visibly jolted in surprise when someone called her name. Before Jackson lifted his head to glance toward the entrance area behind her, Tara’s big, wide eyes already told him who had arrived. Clay. And judging by the word us that he’d just used, he’d brought his brothers with him as she’d requested.

He exhaled a calming breath as Tara turned around and addressed the three men waiting to find out who their visitor was. She took a small step to the side, blocking their view of Jackson to give him another moment to collect his composure before they caught a glimpse of him. It also gave him the chance to slide off his stool and stand up so he was on an even playing field when he came face-to-face with his twin.

“He’s down here, guys,” she said, her voice steady and even, but the way her fingers were twisting around the hand towel she’d tucked into her jeans gave her own nervousness away.

A handful of seconds later, the three men rounded the bar at the far end, and Clay came to an abrupt stop when he looked at Jackson’s face, which was an exact reflection of his own. Just as suddenly, his brothers halted beside him as they realized the same thing. Hell, even Jackson was taken aback by the identical appearance of the man standing in front of him, and he’d had warning.

Physically, they were the same tall height, their bodies the same solid build. Both of them had dark brown hair, though Clay’s was a bit longer and more disorderly than Jackson wore his. They possessed the same color eyes in a dark shade of brown flecked with gold, but it was their prominent facial features that provided irrefutable evidence that they’d shared the same womb at the same time over thirty-two years ago—the exact same rugged angle of their jaws, the strong line of their noses, and the shape of their mouths. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing a reflection of himself.

Clay blinked and shook his head, his expression dumbfounded. “What the hell . . .” Confusion deepened his voice as his words trailed off.

Tara bit her bottom lip, her gaze shifting from Clay to Jackson and back again to her boss, who was still staring at him in stunned silence, as if his brain was trying to catch up to what his eyes were actually seeing.

“Clay, this is Jackson Stone,” Tara said, breaking the strained silence that had descended between them. “Your twin brother.”

“My twin brother?” Clay exclaimed incredulously as he looked him up and down, taking in his expensive suit and no doubt judging Jackson before even knowing him. “Jesus Christ, how is that even possible . . .”

“No fucking way.” The sibling with the sleeves of tattoos on both arms—Mason, he guessed—stared at Jackson as if he were a sideshow freak.

The brother with the lighter blond hair—clearly the cop—remained quiet, but he was no less aware as he observed Jackson through those shrewd, light green eyes of his.

Taking advantage of Clay’s shock, Jackson stepped forward and extended his hand toward the other man. Hesitantly, Clay shook it, but Jackson didn’t miss the immediate wariness darkening his gaze, just as Tara had warned him would happen.

“It’s good to meet you. All three of you,” he said, looking at each of the brothers flanking Clay as he released his twin’s hand.

“We don’t have a brother, so who the fuck are you, really?” the tattooed one said, his posture defensive and guarded. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

Jackson was tempted to laugh at the absurd question, but knowing that Mason was grasping at an explanation for what he was seeing, he didn’t so much as crack a smile. “No. I promise, this isn’t a joke.”