Who the hell did he think he was, still ordering Clay around? His daddy was on his way out of this world and not a minute too soon for Clay.
The old bastard had gotten soft this last year. Fighting cancer had beaten him down. There had been a time when nobody messed with Cyrus Cooper. His very name had instilled fear in this whole damned county. But now he was nothing but a shriveled-up old man in a wheelchair.
If Clay was smart he’d put the old bastard out of his misery and be done with it.
But he had no desire to go to prison. Hell no.
Clay grinned as he stood outside the door to his daddy’s house. Hell yeah, and he was too smart to end up the target of a DEA investigation like his stupid-ass brother—God rest his soul—had been. And he damned sure didn’t have no soft spots like his daddy.
Wasn’t nothing ever going to own Clay that way.
No way in hell.
He jerked the door open and stalked inside.
“He’s waiting for you,” Everett announced, then gestured to the parlor.
Clay just stared at the man like he was an idiot or something. Of course his daddy was waiting for him. Where the hell else would he be?
No damned where.
Clay shoved the doors apart and stepped into the place where his father spent most all of his time when he wasn’t in bed. “You called?” He didn’t try to disguise the sarcasm in his tone. Soon, very soon, this shit would be over, and Clay couldn’t wait.
The old man looked closer to death every day.
Thank the good Lord.
“Sit.”
Clay banged his chest. “Do I look like a dog to you, old man?” What the hell? Sit?Shit.
“Clayton,” Cyrus boomed, “sitdown.”
Clay rolled his eyes and collapsed into the closest chair. “What?”
“Have you been harassing Addy?” He glared at Clay as if that look alone would pull the truth out of his son. “I received a call suggesting you have.”
“Depends upon your definition of harassing.” Clay stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles. He didn’t miss his daddy’s glance at his healthy legs.Yeah, look, old man. You’re a cripple and I ain’t.
Cyrus smiled then. “You are quite the cocky fellow, aren’t you, son?”
“Learned it from the best.” Clay grinned. “You and my brother.”
“And just look what it got your brother.”
Fury shot through Clay. “It was that bitch’s fault.” He wanted her dead so bad he could taste it. She didn’t deserve to be breathing when his brother lay under the cold ground in that damned cemetery.
Cyrus squared his shoulders, the only part of him that still worked worth a damn. “You will leave her alone. If you or any of your friends touch her, you will regret it for many years to come.”
Yeah, yeah. The old bastard never failed to remind Clay that he still held the purse strings. “That’s one thing you don’t have to worryabout,” Clay assured him. “I’m not going to lay a hand on her. None of my friends will, either. I’ll see to that personally.”
“What about her tires?” Cyrus’s gaze narrowed. “You told me you had nothing to do with that.”
Clay shrugged. “I didn’t. I ain’t touching her or her shit.”
His daddy studied him a long minute. He knew Clay was lying. But surprisingly, he let it go. “You are my only flesh and blood.” He heaved a big breath. “You’re all I have. But I will not watch you go down that same path your brother took.”
“You mean the path you provided him the map for?” Dead silence filled the air.