Heather's Gift (5 page)

The door slammed shut behind him. He breathed out roughly, closing his eyes in an attempt to shut out the reality he was being locked into. He shut out the sounds around him, the flashing lights and the knowledge of what could be coming. Instead, he thought of her. Heather.

She would be sleeping peacefully at the ranch house, her long red hair haloed around her head, her soft face flushed and too damned innocent. Was she wearing another of those sexy little nighties he had caught her in the other night, he wondered. Sure she was, he convinced himself. Silk, of course…maybe that green one. The silk and lace teddy that made her look so damned pretty. Her eyes, sparkling like emeralds and tempting him, her smile honeyed, promising the sweetest secrets. Lora Leigh

Heather’s Gift

27

Dear God, he should have never left tonight. Should have ignored Tate when he called earlier instead of leaving the house like a fool and charging over here. This wasn’t one of the smartest moves he had ever made in his life. He hadn’t been gone long, he assured himself. He had talked to Cade and Rick before leaving the house, though they had been unaware where he was going. He had come straight over here, hadn’t stopped anywhere. He wiped his hands over his face, disgusted with the fine, cold sweat he wiped from his forehead. God, this couldn’t be happening.

Heather. Her name was a mantra, whispering through his mind. Silken skin, and hot kisses; something else denied him. He grimaced. Something he denied himself.

“Sam?” Josh opened the driver’s seat door and slid into the cruiser. “I’ve got to take you in, buddy.” He turned, staring through the cage, his brown eyes somber. “It’s going to take a while to dust for prints and the like. It’s an unholy mess in there.”

“Josh.” Sam flinched at the graveled sound of his own voice. “I didn’t do it. Just let me go home. I’ll be there if you need me. I promise.”

Josh sighed, shaking his head as he pulled his door close. “One of the boys will bring your truck in. We’ll have to search it, and let the investigator finish his job. I have to hold you till then, Sam. I don’t have a choice.”

Hold him. In a cell. He could feel the sweat building on his face, his body. Dammit straight to hell.

“You can call Cade from the office…”

“Goddammit, I don’t need Cade,” Sam bit out, then tightened his body, fighting for control. Control. He wouldn’t survive without it. “Sorry, Josh.” He pushed his fingers wearily through his hair as Josh watched him, his expression clinical, emotionless. “Not everyday you see something like that.”

But it hadn’t been the first time he had seen so much blood, either. Not the first broken and mangled body, bones broken, blood flowing. Nausea welled up inside him as scattered images flitted through his mind.

“Hell no, it ain’t,” Josh grunted, turning around. “Hopefully, they’ll have things settled by morning though.”

Sam prayed they settled sooner than that.

Lora Leigh

Heather’s Gift

28

Chapter Six

It was a cage. A cell. Bars surrounded him, enclosed him, nightmares twisted at the edge of reality and caused sweat to dampen his body, his clothes. It ran down his face in slow rivulets, despite the air conditioning. A cage. Bars that were locked. He was unable to escape, unable to run from the monster who would slowly destroy them. Sam shook his head, fighting the nightmare images, the sense of unreality that surrounded him. He clenched his fists. He was older now, stronger, and a hell of a lot meaner than he had been then. Besides, this was the county jail, not the basement of some bastard’s mansion. There were windows here.

He stood and paced over to it, trying to ignore the bars there as well. He stared down at the parking lot as he ran his hands through his damp hair. Dammit to hell. He had to get out of here. He could feel his throat closing up on him, and terror roaring at the edges of his mind.

He wiped at his forehead, grimacing at the cold sweat that wet his hands. He could feel it all along his body. His back. His chest. He fought to shake off the fear. Dammit, he wasn’t a kid anymore. He could handle this. Sheriff Martinez would check things just like Sam had told him, and he would release him. But what if the proof didn’t show? That insidious thought rocked his mind. His stomach roiled, pitching in terror at the thought. God help him, he couldn’t stand it here much longer.

You ain’t goin’ nowhere, boy.
The ghost of his nightmares sounded in his brain.
You
had a chance, Sam-boy… I offered it to you, and you didn’t take it.
Sam shook his head. Memories better left forgotten slipped demonically through the veil that often hid them. He didn’t want them to escape, didn’t want to remember the dark, agonizing pain of those months he and his brothers had been held captive.
It’s okay, Sam. I killed him. I killed him, Sam. Remember that. Remember, Sam.
Cade’s voice was savage, determined. Blood surrounded them, but none of it marred Cade. Sam’s hands were stained with blood. His nude body, nearly flayed to the bone, crisscrossed with vicious welts and deep cuts. He hurt. God he hurt so bad, and there was so much blood.

He shook his head.
It’s over, Sam. I killed him. Let it go. It’s over.
Cade’s voice was insistent as he used the tone that the younger brothers knew brooked no refusal. He swallowed the bile in his throat. It was over. Years past. In a time as dead as the bastard who had tortured them. The cells were gone, the house destroyed, all of it wiped away as though it had never been. Wiped from everything but their memories. Lora Leigh

Heather’s Gift

29

He collapsed on the cell cot, holding his head in his hands as he fought the lash of memories that were as brutal as the whip that had once been used on them. He didn’t remember it all. He never did. The rapes he remembered. The drugged, hallucinogenic hours that they were forced to…

Bile rose in his throat. He had screamed that first time. They all had. And the bastard had laughed. Sneering as he forced them to hurt each other. He swallowed tight, hard. He had destroyed them in ways he could have never imagined. Even his death hadn’t stopped the horror.

God, he wished Martinez would hurry. Goddammit, how long did it take to dust the fucking place and check fingerprints? Hell, it should have been pretty damned easy to tell he had just arrived there.

He had no idea how Mark Tate had finally found his just reward, but it was no more than he deserved. Not that Sam wouldn’t have killed the bastard if he’d had the chance. He tightened his hands as they dropped to his knees. Opening his eyes, he stared down at his fists as though they belonged to someone else. For just a moment, they were dripping with blood—his and someone else’s. Then he shook his head and the blood was gone. All he saw was the faint, thin lines that crossed the backs of his broad, rough hands. They criss-crossed back and forth like a design of horror. A reminder. A signature of evil. The same small, spider-thin scars covered other parts of his body. Tender, sensitive parts.

He breathed in hard and deep. If he didn’t get out of here, he was fucking going to go crazy.

“Sam.” Sheriff Martinez stepped into the cell area, leaving the main door opened as he approached.

Sam raised his head slowly, fighting for control in front of the other man. Josh Martinez had gone to school with the August brothers, knew them all as well as anyone did, Sam guessed. But the other man didn’t have a clue the hell he was going through right now.

“Let me outta here, Josh,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t kill the bastard. You know I didn’t.”

“Forensics didn’t find any of your prints, and whoever called and reported the murder hasn’t come forward. I’m letting you go, but I’d suggest getting a lawyer, man.”

He unlocked the door, the keys rattling, taunting Sam with the misty memories that wailed in his mind.

Sam fought to keep from shaking as he rose from the cot and left the cell. The air was oppressive in the cell area, thick, menacing.

“I don’t need a fucking lawyer,” Sam bit out as he strode quickly for the door. “I told you, I didn’t do it.”

Not that the bastard didn’t deserve to die, Sam thought vengefully. Mark Tate had been a waste of human flesh.

Lora Leigh

Heather’s Gift

30

“That’s not good enough, Sam.” Josh slammed the outer door closed behind them, following Sam through the small sheriff’s office as he walked quickly for the exit. He needed air, and by God, he needed it now.

“It will have to be.” Sam turned back, ignoring the frustration he glimpsed on the sheriff’s face. “I wasn’t there, Josh.” But he knew he would have killed the bastard if he had the chance.

“It’s easier than you think to frame a man, Sam,” Josh warned him quietly. “Be careful that you don’t let someone do it to you. If your prints had been on just one thing in that room, then I would have had to arrest you.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Coincidence,” he muttered.

Josh shook his head slowly, his brown eyes narrowed, thoughtful.

“I don’t think so. I checked it out myself. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like you were there. And a lot of trouble to make the scene as bloody as possible.”

Sam’s stomach rolled. He remembered the blood, dammit. So much fucking blood.

“Bastard put up a fight, though. No way you could have fought him without at least a bruise. So I’m letting you go. But watch your ass,” he warned again. “Next time, you might not be so damned lucky.”

Sam nodded shortly before he flung himself out the door. If he didn’t get out of the stifling atmosphere of the sheriff’s office, he would disgrace himself by vomiting all over the waxed floor in front of the door.

Outside, the sun shone down on him with blistering intensity as he strode quickly for his pickup. Son of a bitch, Sheriff’s department had been going through it, he knew. His fists clenched at the thought.

The door was unlocked, his keys hanging in the ignition. Sam jumped into the black, four-door Explorer and twisted the key furiously. The engine caught immediately and he would have torn out of the parking lot then if he hadn’t remembered his wallet. Josh still had it, lying on the desk, taken from him just as his keys had been. He grimaced. Leaving the vehicle running, he jumped out and strode quickly for the door again. Maybe he could get Josh to just toss it to the door. He was starting up the stairs when the explosion rocked the ground, throwing him through the air with a blast of heat that took his breath.

Sam hit the ground hard, his shoulder slamming into the pavement, his head scraping a low wall as the lights went out. His last thought was praying his truck hadn’t been damaged too badly. Dammit, he had just bought it. Lora Leigh

Heather’s Gift

31

Chapter Seven

“Sam, at this rate, you’re going to top my record of the most hospital stays in a year,” Marly teased him as they sat in the back of the limo, heading for the ranch several days later.

The truck was totaled. The explosive had malfunctioned, otherwise… Sam grimaced. Toasted August served up for the pleasure of the bastard who had most likely been watching the whole show.

Sam grinned his normal, reckless grin deliberately. There was nothing to say though. Not even to Marly. Mark Tate was dead, his truck was destroyed, and according to Cade, they had lost more than forty head of stock the night before to some maniac who had picked them off one by one before Rick and his men could do anything to stop him.

Twelve fucking bodyguards and no one could catch the son of a bitch. It just didn’t make sense to him.

“Sam, why didn’t you call the house while you were in that fucking jail?” It was Cade’s voice that drew him out of his thoughts.

The tone was dark, angry. Sam looked into his brother’s face and saw the fury reflected there. Sam shrugged. “I’m a big boy now, Cade. I can take care of myself.”

Blood covered his hands.
He looked down at his hands as the vision flashed before his mind. No blood, just the scars.

“You spent the night in a fucking jail cell and didn’t have the good sense to call your family?” Cade bit out roughly. “What the hell’s got into you lately?”

Sam could hear the echo of Cade’s nightmares in his voice. A cell. The pain, the rage, and a madman’s laughter.

“I don’t need you to baby-sit me, Cade.” Sam almost winced at the sound of his own voice, but a cold, hidden core inside his soul suddenly hardened further, making itself plainly visible.

Cade’s eyes flashed silver with his anger. His expression hardened, his large body tensing as Marly watched them both in confusion.

“Sam, we were concerned.” Marly’s softly spoken chastisement pricked at his conscience.

He wiped his hands over his face, shaking his head as he tried to still the demons fighting inside him.

“I’m sorry,” he bit out. “It’s been a helluva week.”

Lora Leigh

Heather’s Gift

32

“Sam.” He felt her move, his arms going around her instinctively as she moved into his lap.

Oh God. He trembled, feeling the warmth, the gentle weight cuddling against his chest. He opened his eyes, looking directly into those of his brother. There was no jealousy, no anger that she was in his arms. Cade watched his lover with lust mixed in with his anger at him, for him. A lust Sam felt for her. A lust he felt for Brock’s lover, Sarah. Needs and desires both men, he knew, shared for the woman Sam had yet to claim for his own…Heather.

For now, Marly was in his arms, and as always the demons stilled, though his heart ached. Ached for himself, for Cade and Brock, and for Marly. He felt her lips at his neck, as soothing and soft, as hot and sweet as they would be for his brother.

“Marly.” He swallowed tightly, his hands tightening on her waist as she moved to straddle his body.

The soundproof window was secured between the back and front of the limo. The special design of each compartment afforded the brothers their privacy from the bodyguards in the front.

“Sam.” She clasped his cheeks between her slender hands. Her blue eyes were wide, bottomless and filled with such love. She knew his needs. She knew of the dark demons, the nightmares, the anger and fear that filled all of them. And he wanted to scream out in agony. It shouldn’t be her place to ease his pain. And yet she did. God help him, but it did ease him. It eased his soul. He laid his head against the back of the seat, feeling her lips move over his neck, her fingers loosening his shirt. His hands tightened on her waist as her tongue stroked over the vein throbbing at his throat. Her teeth scraped it, sending his blood pressure soaring.