by Lora Leigh
Heather turned back again as she watched Helena approach her. She was still breathing hard, sweat gleaming on her face as her blue eyes regarded her with a laughing glint.
Heather shook her head as she took a deep, weary breath.
“Men should be outlawed,” she bit out. “Excuse me, Helena, I’m going to go see if I can find out if anyone, anywhere, has any idea what the hell happened to security tonight.”
Not that Heather had much hope for answers at this point. All she had was questions. The least of which, was how the hell the stalker had gotten on that damned hill without being spotted. And had he even been on the hill? That bullet had been too close, the aim too precise. Somehow, it wasn’t adding up.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Heather couldn’t forget her confrontation with Sam in the pool area the night before, or the stalker and how easily a bullet could have taken out the back of his head. Chills raced over her body each time she thought of it, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Sam were killed, then the August family would be irreparably damaged. Until they all faced the past, there would be no true healing for any of them.
The three men had formed an exceptional bond together in their sharing, one Sam had denied all but once over the past months. He hadn’t gone to his brothers’ women, and his brooding anger had only intensified.
The conversation the night before between her and Sam wore at her suspicions regarding them all. She had noticed over the months the lengths the other men went to in protecting Sam, in keeping the memories carefully hidden. She had thought it had been a form of mercy. Their own memories were brutally clear, she believed. She had believed they hadn’t wanted that for him. But now she knew it had to go much deeper.
She knew Sam didn’t possess many memories of the time spent confined in his abuser’s basement. He knew what happened, he knew the pain, and he remembered clearly the first weeks there. But after that, she knew that many of the events were hazy.
Cade had not been very forthcoming with Rick on actual events. The notations in the files Rick made available to her the next day showed an incredible amount of frustration regarding the information he was given. It had taken nearly a year to track down anyone who could have known or seen any of the events that happened that summer. And it was taking even longer to track down the missing Jennings brother.
The old servant of Marcelle’s that Rick had tracked down had provided information on the drugs Marcelle had used on the men. Potent drugs that sustained a sexual erection for hours, even days, on end. Keeping their cocks in a state of readiness, no matter the state of their minds. They had been young. Brock and Sam were still in their teens, Cade barely over twenty. At a time when their manhood was most important, it had been stripped from them.
Reginald Robert Jennings, the man suspected now of threatening the family, had attempted to follow his brother’s footsteps in a medical career, but had been unable to succeed. Marcelle himself had been a well-respected member of the medical community for decades before an early retirement beneath a cloud of suspicion that arose in his final years. Suspicion of drugging several of his male patients and abusing them. Rick had found the men who first made the complaints and learned they had been generously paid to retract their statements. But it didn’t change the stories they had to tell, or the hazy, drug clouded memories of abuse.
The suspicions of sexual perversions hadn’t abated then. The winter before the brothers had been sent to his ranch, Marcelle had visited a doctor in Madison for a broken nose, cracked cheekbone, and severe bruising. A result of Sam’s rage after the bastard had snuck into his bedroom during a visit to the August ranch.
Cade had known what had happened, but when his father ordered them to the Marcelle ranch to learn a new technique in ranching, his father had assured the boys they could leave the moment any impropriety was suggested. Old Joe August had sworn the ranch’s livelihood depended on those new techniques. The only techniques available for them to learn, though, had been those in pain and torture, Heather thought as she finally closed the last of Rick’s files.
The servant’s accounts of those days were frightening. The screams that filtered from the basement, the horrendous amounts of blood sometimes shed, was reported as sickening. As a doctor, Marcelle had known how far he could abuse their bodies and yet keep them alive, and he had pushed them to their limits. Especially Sam. It had always been worse for Sam.
The files she had managed to dig up on Raider gave her no evidence, period, to suspect the other man of having a reason to want to hurt the Augusts. Russell “Raider” Kincaid was known for his loyalty, his abilities, and his determination to get the job done. Considering his credentials she couldn’t help but believe if he wanted Sam dead, then Sam would be dead.
Heather tapped her fingernails against the table she was sitting at as she stared outside the RV the Agency was using on the August Ranch. Heat rose in waves outside the air-conditioned comfort of the motor home. Horses dozed beneath the shade of several large trees, as cattle lay in small gatherings along the shaded stream that ran through the pasture.
It was late afternoon, and the ranch had settled down as the heat built outside. Late summer was a scorcher in Texas, and this wasn’t turning out to be any different.
She drew in a hard, weary breath as she shook her head. Where did she go from here, she wondered? Obeying his every sexual command didn’t set well with her. Especially those in the written note he had left on her pillow when he had slipped into her room around daylight. She snorted. The directions were explicit, the reasons clearly explained.
An inflatable butt plug had accompanied the note. How to prepare her body for him and keep it ready to accept his pleasures. She shook her head mockingly, did Marly and Sarah actually put up with that nonsense? A mild anal douche, a tube of lubrication, directions on how to use the butt plug, how often, for how long, when to prepare… The sheer arrogance of it amazed her. But the depth of strength it had taken to survive, even at these extremes, made her heart clench.
“Sam’s heading back, Heather.” Rick’s voice was soft in the comm. link at her ear. “You have twenty more minutes.”
Heather had been hesitant to go through the files at a time that Sam could come looking for her, possibly even surprise her in it. She still remembered the shame that flared in his eyes after Rick had returned from Utah and began giving his report.
The three men’s expressions had been cold, emotionless, but their eyes had swirled with shame, guilt and remembered pain. It had been more than she could bear. And sometimes she wondered how Marly and Sarah held up under the pressure.
“I’m heading back in, Rick,” she told him as she restacked the files and stored them back in the security box Rick used.
She locked the box and shoved it back beneath the bench before leaving the motor home and locking the door behind her. Rick met her at the front of the RV, his brown eyes dark, questioning. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
She tucked the mic up, cutting off sound from the other members of the group. “No,” she sighed. “Just more questions.”
“See if you can get any of them answered, Heather,” he told her softly. “This is dragging on too long. At this rate, Jennings could attack and easily catch us off guard due to sheer boredom, just like he did last night. The men are getting tired of playing cowboys, and the Augusts are damned tired of being confined to the house. We need more information if we’re ever going to make headway here.”
“Unless Jennings messes up,” she pointed out.
“Unless he does,” Rick nodded. “Which could be anytime, or a year down the road.”
“Or whenever he figures out Sam has taken me,” she said softly. “That he’s happy.”
Tension thickened between them as her implication widened Rick’s eyes.
“No.” He gripped her arm firmly, staring down at her with a hint of anger. “Marly and Sarah barely escaped the bastard, Heather, and you know yourself just h
ow serious he is. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way.”
“I’m already there, Rick,” she reminded him bleakly. “Jennings just thinks he has time. He thinks Sam is suffering and he’s reveling in it. As long as that comforts him, he won’t mess up. He’ll plan carefully and meticulously until he takes Sam out. We can’t allow that.”
Heather could feel that knowledge gathering inside her. He wouldn’t come after anyone, not seriously, as long as Sam suffered. He had to be convinced Sam was no longer paying for whatever crime he imagined Sam had committed.
“What do you have in mind?” Rick asked her carefully.
“I’m not sure yet. Give me a little more time, and I’ll let you know.” She pulled away from him as the Augusts rode into the ranch yard.
Her eyes met Sam’s across the distance and her body tingled in awareness.
“Whatever it is, be damned sure you let me know,” Rick bit out. “Don’t go off half cocked, Heather. Tara and Sam both would kill me if anything happened to you now.”
“I promise, I’ll be careful.” She moved away from him, aware of Sam’s eyes following her, but not just Sam’s. The combined heat of three men, watching her, wanting her, followed her into the house.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sam’s gaze sliced to Rick as Heather disappeared into the house. He could sense the tension in the other man, the suspicion in his gaze. Dismounting, he led the horse into the stables, ignoring Cade and Brock as they watched him curiously. They were tense, had been for days, and it was only building. He knew the cause and would have welcomed the relief. He needed the relief, the escape from the burning awareness inside his own body. The escape from the brutal memories, the twisting shadows, the knowledge that his escape from the hell of the past was about to backfire.
“I hate checking fences,” Brock muttered, as he threw his saddle over its rack and handed the horse into the capable hands of one of the ranch hands.
“Someone has to do it,” Cade growled as he did the same and began unbuckling the leather chaps he wore over his jeans.
“We have ranch hands, Cade,” Brock reminded him tersely as he removed his own chaps.
Sam could feel the tension building between the two men, and it tightened his own body. He sensed the needs swirling between them all. The effects of ignoring the past, and the need to understand the future. Weariness lay on all their shoulders, but it only served to strengthen the needs rather than to weaken them. It strengthened his own sexual aggression, his need to hear the trembling, erotic cries that poured from Sarah or Marly as they shook in passion.
“You’re getting lazy, Brock,” Cade snapped. “All this laying around the house is making you soft. You’ll survive.”
Sam unbuckled his own chaps and threw them on a convenient hook. He was silent, but he had welcomed the physical labor for a change. A chance to get away from the house, to ease the battle waging between himself and Heather. He grimaced. No, the fight wasn’t with Heather; it was between his arousal and his conscience, which was even worse.
“Goddammit, Cade, it’s dangerous to leave like this,” Brock finally snarled. “We left the women alone. What if the bastard strikes while we’re gone?”
“It’s not the women he’ll go after.” Sam raised his head, watching them both as he spoke softly. “They’re safe for now.”
He watched his brothers’ expressions tighten.
“And you aren’t making things any easier, Sam,” Cade said darkly. “Stop stomping around the house like a bear with a sore paw. Do something about it before you drive us all crazy.”
Sam faced them, aware of the building tension growing between them. It had been there before, he knew, but he hadn’t noticed it, hadn’t really been aware of it before now. It was an anger, a steady remorseless anger that was growing. But not at each other. Sam sensed no anger toward him from the other two men, and he knew he wasn’t angry with them.
It crept through them though, steadily building in strength until they relieved it with the cries and sexual release that spilled from the bodies of the women they shared. Then it would still. Quieting for a while before it began to build again.
“I can’t,” he finally answered Cade’s demand. “You know I can’t, Cade.”
He turned from them, leading his horse to its stall and a supply of oats and water. He could feel his body tightening, needing. In the back of his mind he could almost hear Heather screaming out her release for the three of them. It was a tempting thought, but one he knew would never come to pass. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, place her in danger again.
Behind him, Cade and Brock were silent. It wasn’t the first time he had refused to participate, but he knew the time was coming that he wouldn’t be able to deny it any longer.
“She knows, Sam,” Cade bit out.
Sam shook his head. She knew, but there was no way she could understand. Hell, sometimes he didn’t understand it himself and for months now he had been fighting to make sense of it.
“I know that, Cade.” He shrugged as he turned from them and headed back to the house, and hopefully a cold shower. “I’m more than aware of what Heather knows.”
As he walked away from his brothers, his memories kept returning to the first time, the very first time he and his brothers had shared a woman. It wasn’t after the abuse, but before. Several months before Joe had sent them to Utah. Cade had been more than a little drunk that night, and his partner was more than a little easy. They had all been skinny-dipping at one of the ponds several miles from the ranch house. An evening away from the callus, bitter old fool they called their father.
A little too much beer and raging hormones had triggered the sharing. But Sam remembered afterward more than anything. Something had changed within them. They had always been close, but after that, the bond had felt deeper, stronger. Then after the hell of that summer was over, it had been there to draw them together again.
Sam remembered the bleak isolation of those days, before Cade brought the first woman home. They made certain to never touch each other, so terrified that even the smallest touch would bring back the pain that they had been forced to inflict on each other. Not that it was ever forgotten. It was always there.
He jerked his hat off as he stepped into the house, breathing in a sigh of relief as the cool air slid around his overheated body. Sleep came hard most nights now, and he felt tired to the bone. Tired and horny and aggravated, a hell of a combination. As he closed the door, Sarah stepped from the stairway, looking toward the door curiously.
“Brock coming in?” She was dressed in one of those short, gauzy skirts that looked so damned good with her long tanned legs. A matching peach tank top brought out the honey color of her tan on her shoulders and neck.
“Yeah, he’ll be in soon.” His hand tightened on the brim of his hat. For all her sweet gentleness, Sarah was a wildcat, and he could use the aggressiveness right now. Her nails biting into him, her teeth nipping at him.
“You okay, Sam?” She walked to him easily, comfortably. There was no hesitation, no reluctance as she came into his arms. There was no fear. And it never ceased to amaze him.
“Whoa, I’m hot and sweaty, hon.” He dropped a kiss to her smiling lips. “I need a shower before I dirty you up.”
“You look so sad, Sam.” Her gaze was compassionate and a little aroused as she stepped back from him. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, darlin’.” He attempted a smile, but her expression never changed. “If you want the truth, I want to fuck you silly, but the middle of the hallway might be the wrong place for that.”
“Liar,” she whispered. “You’re after that hot little redhead that escaped into her room to apply her Pocket Rocket before you got here.”
Sam blinked in surprise.
“How do you know?” He glanced to the stairs, wondering if he could catch her in the act. Damn, he would give anything to see that.
“Sam, hon, I’m a woman,” she laughed as she patted h
is chest in comfort. “Besides, somehow Marly found out that was the only toy the poor little thing possessed. We’re thinking of giving her some of the new stuff you boys ordered.”
Sam’s body tightened. “The Rabbit,” he whispered. “Give her the Rabbit.” He spoke of the exceptionally powerful dildo that vibrated, rotated and stroked deep inside the vagina as the soft ears pulsated against the clit. The twin sensations drove Sarah and Marly crazy. “Do that for me, Sarah, and I’ll owe you.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t know, Sam, that might be a little advanced for her…” Her voice sounded hesitant.
“Sarah, give her the Rabbit,” he told her desperately, fighting to keep his excitement, his need under control. “Do this for me.”
“Sam.” She shook her head in confusion. “Why don’t you satisfy her? The woman needs a man, not a chest of toys.”
He needed to. God help him, he wanted to, more than anything, and it terrified the hell out of him. The thought of hurting her, of being the reason she was hurt, was more than he could bear. His brothers had damned near been destroyed because of him. What if that fucking stalker hurt Heather in a similar way…more than she had already been hurt? And yet, he couldn’t restrain his needs. Couldn’t restrain at least a small part of the pleasure that zipped through him at the thought of Heather and those toys.
“Sarah.” He gripped her arm imperatively as his cock thickened and throbbed beneath his jeans. “Do this for me. Promise me.”
She watched him, tilting her head as her gaze held his.
“You can’t fight it forever, Sam,” she finally said softly. “You can give her all the toys in the world, but you won’t be satisfied until you take her yourself. You know that.”
“I need this, Sarah.” His voice was just as low. “More than you know. She won’t take them from me, but she would from you. Do this for me. Please.”
She sighed deeply as she shook her head. “I’ll do it, Sam.”
