Dirty Sexy Sinner (3 page)

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.”

“Jesus, Clay,” Mason said, scrubbing his fingers through his dark hair, his disbelief still evident. “He looks
exactly
like you.”

“That’s because I’ve got a goddamn fucking
twin
,” Clay replied, his raspy voice rising in volume as the reality of the situation finally started to sink in.

“How about we take this somewhere quiet and more private?” the other brother, Levi, suggested in a rational tone.

“That would be great. Thank you.” Relief flooded through Jackson. At least they weren’t kicking him out of the place or refusing to hear what he had to say. Hell, they could still decide that they didn’t want to have anything to do with him, but once they learned the truth about the past, he hoped they could at least form some kind of relationship.

At the moment, though, these three men seemed anything but welcoming. Not that he could blame them for being cautious.

As his brothers turned around and motioned for him to follow, Jackson cast a quick glance at Tara, who’d witnessed the whole exchange. He didn’t miss the worry creasing her brows, and he smiled to put her concern at ease.

“Good luck,” she whispered to him.

Her support warmed him. At least he had one person on his side.

“Thank you.” He mouthed the words back to her. He had a strong feeling, with these three close-knit brothers, he was going to need all the positive reinforcement he could get.

A
s soon as
the four of them entered a small office in the back area of the bar, Clay closed the door for privacy and waved a hand at one of the two chairs in the room.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Clay’s tone was business-like as he rounded an old, scarred wooden desk and settled himself into a worn leather chair.

Lowering himself to one of the armchairs, Jackson made himself as comfortable as possible considering he felt as though he were facing a firing squad. Levi sat to his right in the other vacant seat, while Mason had brought in a wooden chair from the bar to sit in. He turned it around, straddled the seat, and rested his arms across the top, a frown on his face.

There was nothing fancy about the cramped, windowless room they were in, not compared to Jackson’s luxurious private office in downtown Chicago, complete with a million-dollar view of Lake Michigan. Everything about these three men spoke of hard-working, blue-collar roots, and he suddenly felt very out of place in his tailored suit, designer tie, and shiny Ferragamo loafers.

Shit. Maybe he should have changed from his work clothes into something more casual before coming to the bar. Too late now, and judging by the way Mason was eyeing him up and down through his narrowed gaze, the other guy had already sized him up and come to his own conclusions about Jackson.

“What proof do you have that you’re our brother?” Mason asked abruptly, confirming that despite Jackson’s identical looks to Clay, this other sibling wasn’t going to make anything easy on him. “And what the fuck do you want with us?”

“Jesus Christ, Mason,” Clay barked out in a sharp, reprimanding tone. “Cool it with the interrogation, will you? You’re
looking
at irrefutable proof that he’s my twin.”

Mason glared at his brother, then turned that hard stare back to Jackson that was steeped with distrust and suspicion. “I want to know why he’s here and what he wants.”

“I don’t want anything from any of you,” Jackson said, his own voice brusque. “I’m here because I thought maybe you’d like to know that you had another brother.”

Levi sighed, as if they were used to dealing with Mason’s hotheaded behavior. “Look, I know we
all
have a lot of questions, and I’m sure Jackson will answer them, but how about we have this discussion in a civilized manner?” he said, deliberately directing the words toward his testy sibling.

“Then by all means, Mr. Calm and Rational Cop,” Mason said, sarcasm lacing his voice, “since you’re the expert, why don’t
you
lead the interview?”

Oh, yeah, definitely a smartass.

Levi smirked and gave a
whatever
kind of shrug before glancing back at Jackson. “How long have you known about us?” he asked, his question much more logical, and far less confrontational, than his brother’s.

“Not long. It’s only been a couple weeks since I found out I was illegally adopted and where I came from.”

“
Illegally
adopted?” Clay echoed his words as he sat up straighter in his chair, his dark brows pulled into a confused frown. “How?”

Jackson definitely had everyone’s attention. Three pairs of eyes were trained on him, waiting to hear the details. “My Aunt Becca, on my mother’s side of the family and who I’m very close to, told me about the adoption. My mother passed away from breast cancer when I was ten, and she made my aunt promise to never tell me the truth, but Becca felt I had the right to know about my past.”

He didn’t need to explain why it had taken his aunt so long to tell him the truth or how guilt had eaten away at her until she couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. None of those details mattered right now, and they were personal and private to him, anyway.

He glanced across the desk to Clay, the brother he’d never known, and met his gaze. “Two weeks after I was born, our birth mother sold me to Leila, the woman who raised me as my mom, for three grand.”

Clay’s jaw dropped open. “She fucking
sold
you?” he asked incredulously. “For three fucking grand? Jesus Christ.”

“Probably for drug money,” Levi said quietly, but there was no concealing the bitterness in his tone. “I can’t say I’m all that surprised.”

Mason nodded in agreement, his lips stretched into a grim line. It was the only emotion he showed to indicate that their mother’s heartless actions actually affected him in any way. “If you don’t already know, our mother—and I use the term very lightly—was a crack whore in every sense of the word.”

Jackson nodded. His aunt had told him as much, not that it made him feel any better. He should have been grateful that he’d been spared a junkie as a mother, yet there was no denying that he resented the fact that he’d never known his real brothers, one of whom was his twin. Instead, he had a sibling who was just as much of an asshole as the man who’d unwillingly raised Jackson and a father figure who’d never wanted him to begin with and made sure Jackson didn’t go a day without making sure he
knew
he wasn’t wanted.

“What about a birth certificate?” Clay asked, clearly trying to make sense of it all.

“My mother had one forged that I’ve used all my life, but my aunt gave me my original and legal birth certificate when she told me everything a few weeks ago.” Withdrawing the document he’d brought with him, Jackson unfolded the piece of paper and handed it to Mason first. “Here’s the proof that you wanted to see.”