EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

Maxwell Hardden was aroused. The sight and scent of blood always turned him on. Removing the cigar from his mouth, he picked up a glass and took a long swig of whiskey.

Clay Stanton tasted the blood running from his mouth. After Maxwell’s man had given his face a good going-over, the next blow had been to his gut. With his hands tied behind his back, he couldn’t even thwart off the attack. He would have bent over in agony from the wrenching pain if not for the other man holding him up.

“That’ll teach you to try skipping town without paying me my money,” Maxwell said, breaking his silence. “You shouldn’t have tried to welsh on your loan.”

Maxwell’s hired thug stopped when he heard his bosses’ voice. In the time that Hardden granted him, Clay had to make his case good or they’d kill him.

“Let me go. If not for my sake, then for your brother and my son. I swear, I’ll get the money if you give me more time.”

“Those boys don’t carry any weight around here,” Maxwell scoffed around the cigar in his mouth. “My brother doesn’t have any interest in my business and your son is a fucking painter. Don’t use them to hide behind.” He looked at his men through a cloud of smoke and smirked. “Boys, he needs more persuasion.”

His excitement grew as he watched his man repeatedly pound on Clay. All too soon, old man Stanton slumped over, ending Maxwell’s enjoyment.

He heard a horrified cry from the door, and turned toward the sound.

Shaking like the wimp that his brother was, John sobbed again and rushed away. Maxwell heard the closing of the door a moment later.

Swearing, he reached for the telephone. “Joe,” he shouted in his haste. “My brother will be high-tailing it out of town. Follow John, and don’t lose him. As always, I want pictures, and report all of his activities to me.” He slammed the receiver down into its cradle. I’ve been too lenient on that boy.

Annoyed, he took a drag on his cigar, and looked at his men, then the dead man. “Get him out of here. I don’t care where you dump the bastard.”

Watching them dragging the body away he picked up his glass and toasted his success in not getting his money but the satisfaction of the kill. When they were gone, he called his servant into the room. “My guest was rather messy and spilled blood on my rugs.” He laughed at the man’s sudden pallor. “Get on it, Jim” he ordered before reaching for his phone to conduct more business that night.