Page 20 of Sterling Clay

“Considering I had Rohypnol in my system and Dutton was in the house, I can’t rule out that Wesley wanted to take everything from me. My home. My life. My son.” Tears well once again.

I shouldn’t be sitting here. I shouldn’t be back in Sterling Falls.

I should be dead. And so should Dutton.

Chapter 8

[Clay]

Holy fuck. Just holy fuckity fuck.

What a mothertrucking— I grunt. As if the silent words I’m trying to restrain are a punch to my gut.

This poor woman. This beautiful, strong survivor sitting on my couch, staring sheepishly at me like she’d done something wrong when her life had been a living hell.

Wesley Holland, if that even is his name, was a dick of immense magnitude. The fucking bastard is trotting all over this country, staking claims to innocent women, making babies, and building homes on bottomless pits of promises.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.” The words are weak in comparison to how I feel. My future sister-in-law had gone through something similar but still not half as bad as what had happened to Mavis. Men can just be worthless pieces of—

I exhale and swipe my hand down my face again. Then I finish off my beer. I might need another to cool the volcanic acid bubbling inside me.

If I ever saw Wesley Holland— If he dared to return to this town—

“So now what?” I ask, a thousand times calmer than I feel.

“I took a loan from my parents to pay off the debts.” Mavis shakes her head. Her eyes still glisten. “I don’t even know if half the contractors were legitimate, but I had invoices and receipts.”

“Give me their names. Contacts. Anything. I’ll check them out.” I have extensive connections within the surrounding area, and I’ll know within days if someone Holland hired took advantage of Mavis. Or if the person has an association with the thief. Because that’s what Wesley is. He stole this woman’s soft heart and used it against her.

“I was stupid to trust him.” Her voice lowers.

“Don’t do that,” I snap, then take a calming breath. “Do not take the blame for his . . . his . . . his asshole-ness. He’s a crook. A liar and a thief. A con artist.”

“Well, I was conned,” she states, her head lifting. Her voice rises. Guilt is written on her stunning face. She feels guilty for falling for him, but I refuse to let her accept fault. Maybe she’d been duped. Maybe she believed in false words, but that didn’t give him permission to insult her or her child. To lay his hands on her or that kid.

Hastily, I press myself up off the couch to pace. I want to throw my bottle against the brick fireplace. I want to shatter something, but I don’t want to scare her. She’s had enough violence in her life.

He drugged her. Did he plan to burn them alive in that house?

Had he hoped the fire would take them out along with the property?

A home in her name which meant she’d have nothing once it was ashes, as if they never existed in his life.

How could a man be so cruel? Even my own father hadn’t been that conniving, that hateful. He’d turned into a mean-ass drunk, who went too far with my younger siblings, but I believe he had regret. I believe he’d lost himself and didn’t know how to swim out of the bottle he’d chosen to drown in.

And I never, ever take the blame for my father’s behavior.

And Mavis should not fault herself for another man’s evil ways.

Suddenly, I push the coffee table out of the way and lower to my knees before her, clasping her hands in mine and lifting them to my mouth. My lips linger against the knuckles. An incessant need to touch her takes over me. A need to press my lips to her skin, and inhale her intoxicating scent into my lungs, reaffirming she’s alive.

I flip her hands, opening them to see her palms, and place another kiss against each of them. She’s a fucking warrior of epic proportions and I want her to know that I worship her strength and resilience.

“I’m so sorry for all that happened to you, beautiful.” I shake my head, shattered by her past.

The entire night’s confession was so much more than I thought she’d share, as if the moment she began, she couldn’t hold back. The truth spilled forth like a river of relief. What was left now was a muddy, dried riverbed, one thirsty to be refreshed.

Mavis had a look in her eyes I recognized. One I couldn’t quite explain but empathized with, knowing that something would restore her confidence. Revive her spirit.