Dirty Sexy Saint: Chapter 13

The calm after the storm. That’s what it felt like as Clay lay on his back on the bed with a warm, naked Samantha curled into the crook of his arm and her head resting on his shoulder. While he was still worried about the situation with Wyatt, the anger and barely suppressed rage he’d been carrying with him all day and night were now just a dull ache in his chest. Thank God.

Samantha had gotten him through one of the worst days in recent memory, had given herself over to him so selflessly, her body and, he suspected, even more. She’d surrendered everything to him, not thinking twice about allowing him to slake his primal need inside her, to release all the pain he’d kept buried since he was a kid because he didn’t know jack shit about how to deal with his emotions. It had been so much easier to suppress the pain and misery, despite the dark memories lingering just below the surface, always there, silently festering, just waiting for the one trigger to cause an eruption when the past resurfaced again.

Seeing Wyatt after all these years, remembering all the horrific things he’d endured at the man’s hands, and him threatening Samantha, had been the catalyst, causing him to unleash all the ugliness in a firestorm of rage and bitterness that had threatened to consume him. And it would have, if Samantha hadn’t come out of the bedroom and been strong for him. She’d been the anchor he’d so desperately needed to keep him grounded when he’d been so damn close to losing his mind and fracturing in two.

She’d asked about the scars on his back, and after everything Samantha had just given him, along with the fact that Wyatt had her in his sights, she deserved to know the truth. About everything. But first, he owed her an apology for being so rough on her, for taking her like a fucking animal.

With her head resting against his shoulder, he lifted his hand and gently stroked his fingers through her soft, silky hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raspier than he’d expected it to be.

“I’m not,” she replied quietly, understanding the reason he was apologizing before he could even explain. “It was what you needed, and I’m grateful that I was here for you.” Her warm breath drifted across his chest as she spoke.

He was grateful, too, more than she’d ever know. God, she knew him so well. Had known what he’d needed even before he had. “Then I guess what I should say is thank you.”

Before she could respond to that, he quickly pushed out the next words so he couldn’t change his mind. “You asked about the scars on my back and what happened back when I was a kid.”

“Yes. Will you tell me?” She was quiet and hopeful but not demanding.

He realized she was giving him a choice, and for the first time in his life, he found himself wanting to share the most personal, private side of himself with someone. With Samantha. And so he did, starting from the beginning.

“My mother was a crack whore and a prostitute,” he said, bracing himself for some kind of negative reaction from Samantha—flinching, shuddering, something to indicate her disgust. But the only thing she did was rest her hand on his chest, right over his beating heart, as if she needed that emotional connection to him as much as he needed her.

He swallowed the thick knot in his throat and continued. “Mason, Levi, and I, we all have different fathers. Each time our mother got pregnant, it was with a different john, so we don’t even know who our fathers were. We never had a man’s influence in our lives. But there were many jerk-offs who lived with us in our one-bedroom apartment, and they were all drug addicts like our mother,” he said, unable to withhold the disgust he harbored. “And since she was never aware or conscious enough to take care of us kids, I took on the role at a very early age.”

“That must’ve been hard,” she murmured, her hand still lingering over his heart.

He didn’t acknowledge just how difficult it had been. “I was six when Levi was born, and even then, I was the one who made sure he had his bottle, and I changed his diapers the best I could. I made cereal and sandwiches for me and Mason—at least when we had food in the house, but a lot of times we went to bed hungry.”

She lifted her head and met his gaze, her blue eyes filled with compassion and a flicker of anger, too. “Why didn’t social services step in?”

He wasn’t surprised someone as pure and untouched as Samantha still believed in the system. “We lived in the projects, and nobody cared about what happened with their neighbors. Nobody noticed, so my mother was never reported. And in her lucid moments, when I complained, my mother instilled the fear of God in me, warning me that if I told anyone that she was rarely home or that we had no food, social services would come by—to take us away and split the three of us up forever.”

“That’s awful,” she said, her voice an aching whisper.

He shrugged. “That was my life.” Exhaling a deep breath, he gently pressed a hand to the back of her head and brought her cheek back to rest on his chest, and continued to stroke her hair. It was much easier to talk to her about his past without looking into her sad, somber eyes.

“So at the age of six, you became the caretaker for your brothers.”

“Mmm-hmm. And I went to school because I had to or someone would notice and they’d split us up. And I was a good kid because I was always so afraid that if I did anything bad, I’d lose my brothers forever.”

“They were lucky to have you,” she murmured.

He shrugged. “I did what I had to do. I raised Mason and Levi the best I could and tried to keep them out of trouble. Then, when I was fifteen, my mother got involved with Wyatt. He moved in and kept her even more doped up on drugs, pimping her out for cash while running his own seedy side businesses. And while she was out at night prostituting herself, Wyatt would terrorize us.”

A full-body shudder racked his frame at the memory, but he’d started this, and he intended to finish. “He was an abusive, sadistic prick who preyed on the weak, and because my brothers were still so young and couldn’t defend themselves, I’d deflect as much of the abuse as I could, turning it my way. And one of the things that Wyatt liked to do the most to assert his authority was to pin me down on the floor and press the burning end of his cigarette against my back, until it literally burned a hole in my flesh.”

Bile rose in his throat at the hellish memory, while beside him, Samantha stiffened and a soft choking sound escaped her throat. But Clay wasn’t done. “The sick bastard would get off on my screaming. The more I squirmed or cried, the more he’d laugh and press the cigarette harder and longer against my skin.” He closed his eyes, seeking to escape the memories he lived with every single day. “But at least he didn’t do it to my brothers,” he said, repeating the words that had gotten him through the pain and allowed him to take the abuse. “And though there were times when Mason and Levi watched helplessly, I’d warned them not to get involved.”

Samantha made another small sound of distress. She wrapped an arm around his midsection and cuddled closer to his side, holding him tight and silently comforting him. Her warmth and silent understanding soothed his frayed emotions, enabling him to go on. He felt like the story would never end, just as he’d felt while living the horror.

“This went on for months, until one day our mother was arrested for drug possession and solicitation. Since it was her fifth offense on various charges, she was sent to state prison for eighteen months.” He absently rubbed his hand along the arm still secured across his abdomen. “I don’t know the legalities, but somehow that stupid bitch was able to appoint Wyatt as our guardian until she was released, and during that time, the abuse only got worse.”

Samantha’s head abruptly snapped up, her expression horrified. “Why would she do that to you and your brothers?” she asked, appalled.

“I honestly don’t know.” And he never would. “But I’m guessing it made the most sense to her drug-addled brain. He lived with us anyway, and her kids had never been a priority or a concern. Her only worry had always been how she was going to get her next fix.”

“What happened to her?” Samantha asked.

“She’d served three months of her sentence when she had a fatal stroke and died. Probably because of the drugs. Anyway, that’s when Wyatt decided that we were now his property, to do with as he pleased.”

Samantha stared at him, her eyes wide and horror-filled. Someone like her, who’d been born into wealth and privilege, had never been exposed to such harsh realities, or the cruel reality of

living in poverty.

“The thought of Wyatt being our legal guardian, until each one of us reached the age of eighteen, scared the shit out of me. I knew he’d do everything he could to intimidate and corrupt Mason and Levi. I was afraid he’d turn them on to drugs, pimp them out, or worse. So one day, I stole a butcher knife from a store. Just in case.”

Samantha was watching him so silently and intently he had to glance away, unsure of whether he could admit to the rest. It had been the worst night of his life, and he hated that he’d had to resort to such violence. Yet he’d do it all over again to protect his brothers.

She touched his jaw and turned his face back to hers. “Tell me,” she said softly, her gaze imploring him to trust her with his past, his pain.

So he did. “One day, I came home and Wyatt had Levi cornered. He’d already backhanded him a few times. I told Levi to run and he did. He locked himself in the bathroom, and as soon as he was out of the way, Wyatt came after me like I knew he would. I pulled out the knife. There was so much fury running through me and I was so amped up that I swore I was going to kill the fucker. Back then, Wyatt was damned strong, and he came close to overpowering me.” Samantha sucked in a breath, remaining silent, waiting for the rest.

Clay swallowed hard. “Somehow, I managed to push back, and I used the blade to slice a deep cut along the side of his face.”

She blinked at him in disbelief. “You gave him that scar?”

“Yes.” He didn’t feel any pride in the memory. “I stabbed him in the arm, too, and it was enough for Wyatt to realize that he couldn’t screw with us anymore, and he finally left.”

Yet Wyatt was back in their lives, which once more told Clay he must be desperate. But Clay wasn’t. As a teenager, he wouldn’t have hesitated to slaughter the asshole if it meant keeping his brothers safe. But now he had way too much to lose to go to prison for the rest of his life for murdering the scumbag.

“Wyatt knew I was serious, and he left, and we haven’t seen him until now, when he obviously needs cash to get himself out of some kind of trouble.”

Samantha’s mind spun as she tried to process everything Clay had told her, unable to imagine all that he’d been through as a kid. Her heart felt torn in shreds, knowing that he’d endured so much abuse yet never hesitated to step up and be strong for Mason and Levi.

“Your brothers were still so young when that happened,” she said, curious to know how Clay had kept them together without any adult supervision or financial means. “So what did you do once Wyatt was gone?”

“Mason was twelve and Levi was ten. No way was I going to lose them to foster care,” he said gruffly. “So I did everything possible to make sure that didn’t happen. For two years, until I turned eighteen, I worked any kind of job I could to pay the rent and utilities and remain under the radar. Mowing lawns. Bagging groceries. Collecting cans and bottles and recycling them for cash. I’d even dig through dumpsters for food or other things we needed. And then Jerry hired me here at the bar and gave me a weekly paycheck. Levi was a good kid who did exactly as I said and made sure he stayed out of trouble. But Jesus Christ, Mason was a goddamn hellion,” he said with a self-derisive laugh.

She smiled at Clay. “So, he started at a young age, huh?”

“Yeah.” Clay sighed heavily. “With everything that happened, Mason had a lot of anger inside of him. And after our mother died and Wyatt left, he got worse. He tested my authority constantly and made it difficult to keep all of us off the radar, until I turned eighteen and could apply for guardianship for them both. And with Mason fourteen, those teenage years were a nightmare. He was such a fucking handful,” he said, humor in his voice now that his brother was a grown man and no longer his responsibility. “He was constantly sneaking out in the middle of the night, hanging with the wrong crowd, getting involved in drugs. When he was seventeen, he was arrested for spraying graffiti on public and private property, and because I knew he was headed down a really bad path, I didn’t try to stop it when he was sent to juvie for six months.”

Samantha could easily imagine what a delinquent Mason had been as a teen. “I think he turned out okay.” Thanks to his brother’s diligence and guidance.

“Meh,” Clay said in a teasing tone, then grew serious once again. “I really think that Mason constantly tested and defied me because he believed that I was going to leave him like our mother had. She might not have been part of our life in any way that mattered, but she was our mother. We didn’t have a father, and not knowing who his dad was, knowing that it was some random john our mother had screwed for a hit messed with Mason’s head, too. Still does, I think.”

“You did the best you could,” she said, gently trailing her fingers up and down his chest. “Both of your brothers turned out to be good men because of everything you did for them.”

He scrubbed a hand along the stubble on his jaw, suddenly looking tired and weary. “Except here we are, facing the man who fucked all of us up, when I thought we’d never see him again.”

A very dangerous man demanding a staggering amount of money that Clay didn’t have. The reminder made Samantha’s chest tighten and ripped her heart in two because of the decision she’d had to make. The only choice she could make to be sure that Clay, and his brothers, remained safe. Even if it meant leaving the one man who made her feel whole and complete. The man she loved with every fiber of her being and would never see again after tomorrow morning.

Clay frowned up at her, and that’s when Samantha realized that her eyes had filled with tears. And there was no way to hide them or blink them back.

“Hey, what’s with this?” he asked in concern as he wiped away one of the drops with his thumb as it spilled over her lashes. “Are you okay?”

She swallowed hard, pushing back an even bigger wave of emotion. “Yeah. It’s just been a long day and night,” she said with a tremulous smile.

He’d been through the emotional wringer, and she didn’t think now was the right time to tell him she’d be leaving in the morning. And selfishly, she wanted one last night in his arms. Because she didn’t want him asking any more questions, she kissed him in order to distract him and, more importantly, to keep herself from thinking about a life without Clay in it.

* * *

When Clay came out of the bathroom the following morning after taking a shower, dressed in just a pair of jeans, he found Samantha setting all her clothes and personal items on the bed, then transferring each pile into a large shopping bag. She wouldn’t look at him, and a frisson of unease coursed through him.

“Samantha, why are you packing?” he asked, wondering if she’d already found a place to live, which didn’t make sense. She’d just brought up the idea of moving out, then Wyatt had appeared. There was no way she had anywhere to go yet. And even if she did, he wasn’t letting her out of this apartment without some kind of security or protection.

When she didn’t reply immediately and just continued to pack her things, his concern increased. He closed the distance between them and gently grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him. “Samantha?”

She lifted her chin, and he immediately recognized that show of determination, but it was the anguish in her eyes that made his chest tighten with anxiety. The kind that came with knowing that his entire world was about to disintegrate and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“I’m going home,” she said, her voice raspy with emotion and pain.

Reeling in shock, he dropped her arm, feeling something substantial crumble deep inside of him. She was leaving him, and he was hit with a kind of desperation he’d never known before. The desperation to make her stay. With him. Forever.

And how fucking selfish was that considering everything he’d put her through in the past twenty-four hours alone?

“So you’re just giving up what you want and fought so hard for?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her composure, then picked up a folded pile of clothes and set it inside the sack. “It’s what I need to do.”

No other explanation, and he didn’t have the right to demand one. He clenched his hands at his sides to keep from touching her again. He understood her need to hightail it out of here and get far away from him. Her life had been threatened, and last night he’d used her in a harsh way she didn’t deserve, then he’d unloaded all his emotional shit on her. Stuff that never should have seen the light of day, never mind touched Samantha.

He’d always known his past was tainted with nothing but gruesome ugliness, and for that reason, from the moment she’d entered his life, he’d tried to keep his distance. He didn’t deserve her purity, goodness, or light. But dammit, he wanted it, anyway. And now his fucked-up past was going to cost him the best thing to ever happen to him. And he couldn’t blame her for leaving.

Samantha was his sweet, guileless cupcake, a lightweight in every way. He’d known from the beginning that their lives were too vastly different, that someone like her wasn’t cut out to live in his darkness long term.

By leaving, she was making everything easier, right? She would be safer at her parents’ mansion than she ever would be with him, and he could deal with Wyatt without worrying about Samantha’s safety. But knowing that didn’t stop his heart from splintering in two.

“Okay. Do what you have to, but I don’t want you leaving without some kind of security until the issue with Wyatt is resolved,” he said, his voice sounding like he’d just swallowed glass.

She tipped her head, her silky hair keeping her face concealed from his view. “I called my father, and he’s sending over a private car with his personal security. He should be here any minute,” she said in a tight voice as she swiped her fingers beneath her eyes in a way that led him to believe she was clearing away tears.

At least she was affected somehow. He couldn’t handle it if his was the only heart cracking into pieces. Then her words suddenly hit him.

She’d called her father.

Clay’s worst nightmare had just come true, the one thing he’d fought like hell to help her prevent. She

was going back to her parents and, ultimately, back to Harrison. She was going to marry a man she didn’t love for the sake of her father’s business—and give up her own identity in the process. That revelation had the worst kind of agony clawing through his stomach. But as much as he wanted to beg her to stay, he didn’t have the right. He never had.

Just as she finished packing, a knock sounded on the apartment door, and Clay’s heart slammed hard in his chest because he knew this was it. In another few minutes, she’d be gone, as if she’d never turned his life and emotions upside down and inside out.

She turned and met his gaze, her eyes filled with moisture and the same kind of dread that sat in his gut, holding him hostage.

“I have to go,” she whispered in an aching voice.

“I know,” he said, and did the only thing he could. He walked her to the door and delivered her to the man who’d come to take her home.