by Carol Lynne
“Holy fuck!” Cecil barked.
“I need to bring Santana into the club, but I need your permission first. She needs to see Doc.” His attention landed on a dark patch on the rotting porch floor. He reached in through the broken screen door and turned on the porch light. Blood. He didn’t know how badly she’d hurt Gordon, but it appeared to be more than a mere scratch.
“Ellie’s dead?” Cecil asked.
“Yeah,” Stake confirmed, knowing Ellie was the reason the club had turned their back on Santana in the first place.
“Bring Santana in. I’ll start a pot of coffee for Doc.” Cecil sighed. “What’re you going to do about Ellie?”
“I don’t know yet, but there’s something else you should know.” He took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure how Cecil was going to react to the news about the sheriff. Although the two men didn’t appear to be friends, they had worked together for years. “She managed to inflict at least one knife wound to Gordon before he got away.” He couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he realized how brave the woman was. “There’s blood on the porch.” He turned back to the house. “And a pool just inside the front door.”
“I’ll send someone over to take care of it,” Cecil replied, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.
“Thanks.” Stake hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He knew the situation would put the club in the middle of a shitstorm with the sheriff and possibly, the Broken Ridge Police Department. The fact that Cecil was willing to help said a lot about his feelings toward innocents. The Kings had always protected the women and children of the club, but Ellie had made it impossible for the brothers to look after her and Santana after Smash’s incarceration and subsequent death.
Stake returned to the bedroom and found Santana sitting up, staring down at her mother, that goddamn knife still clutched to her chest. “Let me get Ellie back to bed. Then, I need to get you to Doc.”
“We can’t just leave her here.” She used the wall to brace herself as she struggled to get to her feet.
It was further proof that he needed to get her out of the house and to the club as soon as possible. “Let me take care of you first. Then we’ll figure out what to do about Ellie.” He settled Ellie onto her bed and pulled a sheet up over her body. He noticed the bottles of pain pills on the bedside table. “She’s not in pain anymore,” he reminded Santana.
The comment seemed to help because she nodded, dislodging the blanket enough to remind him of what she’d gone through. Christ, the bruises and bloody streaks fueled his anger once more.
He readjusted the blanket, making sure her breasts were covered before gently lifting her off her feet and into his arms. When she started to protest, he shook his head. “Let me take care of you.”
* * * *
Santana rested her cheek against Stake’s muscled thigh as they road down the back roads to the Kings’ clubhouse. Each time he hit a pothole, he would brush the back of his hand down her arm and apologize. She didn’t have the heart to tell him her entire body felt numb. It seemed to make him feel better to pity her, so she’d let him.
“After Doc examines you, I’ll take you to my place. I’ve got a spare room that you can have for as long as you want it.” He began to pet her hair away from her face. “We need to talk at some point soon before we get to the club about what happened. Cecil will want to know, and I’d rather be the one to tell him.”
She nodded. Despite Stake’s familial connection with Cecil, she couldn’t stand the man. For reasons she couldn’t put her finger on, she didn’t trust the Prez. Maybe it had been the way the club had treated her father or the way Cecil had often looked at her mother when Smash had still been a member of the club. Whatever it was, she had no desire to tell the Prez what his paid sheriff had done to her.
“Can you tell me?” Stake asked.
She lifted the blanket to cover her face. She was nothing, had been for years, but it had taken Gordon’s treatment to solidify her place in the world. “It doesn’t matter.”
They rode for another minute or so before he let up on the gas and the truck slowed to a stop. “It matters because you matter.” He uncovered her face and stared down at her. “As soon as I get you settled, I’m going after that bastard. Do you really believe I’d do that if you meant nothing to me?”
She gazed up at the handsome man. What could she possibly say that would make him understand? He meant well, she knew he did, but had the attempted rape happened two days earlier, he wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help her. The truth hurt. “Why’d you stop coming over when Dad was convicted?”
He released his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel to rub his face. “Ellie. She blackmailed the club. Told us if we didn’t stay far away from both of you, she’d tell the cops everything she knew. We had two choices, kill her or do what she’d asked. It was out of respect for Smash that we chose the second option, but don’t you believe for a second that it was easy. I even talked to Smash shortly after he went to prison about her demands. He told me that you needed your mother, and I should do what she asked.”
Stunned at the news, Santana broke eye contact and turned her attention to the set of keys dangling from the ignition. She wondered what kind of information her mom had used to blackmail the club. Growing up with Smash as her father, she’d had no illusions of what kind of men her dad hung around with. “So you walked away.”
He blew out a ragged breath. “The first year or so, it was hell, not knowing if Ellie was taking care of you. It got so bad, that I began to volunteer for every road trip the club needed to make.” He brushed Santana’s cheek. “It wasn’t easy. I promise you that. You were just a skinny teenager back then, and I saw you as a kid sister or something, but things have changed.” He removed his hand. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she mumbled. It wasn’t, of course, but she didn’t dare tell him that she’d continued to fantasize about him long after he’d stopped coming around. “It’s been years. I can’t expect you to feel the same way about me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he growled, clearly upset. “You’re a woman, and that’s how I see you.”
Confused, she pushed herself up to a seated position. “I don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t.” His cell phone rang, cutting off further conversation. He glanced at the display. “It’s Cecil.”
She scooted over and leaned against the passenger door, making sure to keep the blanket wrapped tightly around her while still clutching the sheathed knife.
“Yeah,” Stake answered. “Shit, what do you want me to do?” He nodded and glanced at her. “Okay. Yeah, no, I understand.” He ended the call and shoved the phone back into the pocket of his black leather cut. “Birdie, Hog’s wife, called and said the Gordon was just brought into the hospital. A Broken Ridge cop spotted him slumped over the wheel at the edge of town. According to Birdie, he’s on his way into surgery.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. She’d never be sorry for stabbing that fat pig, but the fear of going to prison was enough to steal her breath.
“Cecil thinks it would be best for me to take you to a hospital in San Antonio. Cops in the city won’t be as likely to bow down to Gordon.”
“No cops. He said he’d kill me if I went to the cops,” she argued.
“I know he did, bug, but you need to trust that we can keep you safe.” He put the truck in gear and continued down the road.
Santana had little choice but to trust Stake. She had no one else, and she couldn’t imagine going up against the county deputies as well as Broken Ridge cops without having some kind of protection.
“Once we tell the hospital why we’re there, they’ll call the police, and hopefully, they’ll bring someone in for you to talk to.”
She studied his profile in the faint green glow of the dashboard. She’d been alone for years with no one who gave a damn about her. “I don’t need anyone to talk to.”
�
�Of course you do.” He reached over without taking his eyes off the road, and placed his hand on her arm.
“People don’t…,” she stopped herself before she could say more. How could she explain that she’d become so used to being invisible to those around her that any kind attention made her feel anxious? Simply put, people didn’t care about people like her. It had been a hard truth to accept, but she had done so years earlier, and the last thing she needed was Stake or the police trying to make her feel otherwise. It wouldn’t last anyway, and she’d be back to living her life alone. Better to put an end to his protective instincts.
“Gordon didn’t rape me,” she said after a moment.
“What’re you talking about?”
“He couldn’t…” She groaned. It was torture to realize her body wasn’t even good enough for a man like the sheriff. “He couldn’t get hard.” She shook her head.
“Thank fuck,” Stake growled.
“So there’s no need to take me to the hospital. They won’t find anything,” she explained.
“You’re kidding, right? You’re covered in cuts and bruises. It doesn’t matter whether or not he stuck his dick in you.” He turned off the gravel road onto the county highway that would take them to San Antonio. “He attacked you in your home and you fought back. No judge in the country would fault you for what you did, and that’s why we need documented proof of your injuries.” He reached across the seat and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Can you tell me exactly what happened? I’m sorry, but Cecil will want to know in case Gordon tries anything.”
It was obvious he was going to keep up the protector gig, so she decided to give him what he asked for. “I was getting ready to burn some stuff in the barrel out back when Gordon came out of nowhere. He hit me and knocked me to the ground. That’s when he tore my shirt off,” she said. The unemotional quality of her own voice as she ticked off the events like a shopping list should have worried her, but the opposite was true. She’d get through this and go on like she always did.
They rode for another minute or so before he prompted her again. “How’d you get inside?”
“I stabbed him with a stick, and I ran,” she whispered, hoping the softer tone would hide her indifference. She should be angry or sad or…something, but she felt removed from the night’s events, like they’d happened to someone else.
“And Gordon followed you into the house?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he break the door?”
“No. He pushed me through it. Then he handcuffed me to the leg of the couch.” She remembered the way he’d used her own knife to cut her. “I think he wanted me to be afraid. To scream.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “But he couldn’t…” The image of Gordon’s flaccid cock came to mind. His anger at his own inability to grow hard seemed to fuel his rage toward her.
“Get hard,” Stake added.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “He said it was because I disgusted him. He uncuffed me and told me to get on my hands and knees because he couldn’t look at my face any longer.” She closed her eyes, experiencing the humiliation all over again. “He’d used the knife earlier, and then forgot about it. I moved to my hands and knees like he’d ordered, but instead of waiting for him to hit me again, I grabbed the knife.”
Stake made a sound deep in his chest that she didn’t understand. Was he angry? Had she been wrong to fight back? “I cut him,” she confessed.
“How bad?” he growled again.
Santana flinched and plastered herself against the passenger door. “I don’t know.” Oh God, what had she done? “They’ll arrest me, won’t they?”
“Not if I can help it. That’s why I’m taking you to San Antonio.” He reached over and set his hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing.”
“Did I?” She wasn’t sure. She remembered his threats. “He said he was going to kill me whether I let him fuck me or not. I begged him to do it before he touched me. I think that was the wrong thing to say.”
“Nothing you did was wrong.”
She looked at him. His jaw was clenched and his grip on the steering wheel had grown so tight his knuckles were white. She wondered if he was sorry he’d been the one to find her. “Why’d you come back tonight?”
“Because I needed to apologize for the way I left. I hope you understand why I had to back away before, but Ellie’s not around to keep me away now.” He held out his hand. “Will you let me back in?”
She stared at the large hand, knowing he was the only person who stood between her and the rest of the world. Without her mom, she had no one. Taking a leap of faith, she put her hand in his. “I still don’t understand while you’re helping me, but thank you.”
“Don’t.” His throat moved as he swallowed several times before continuing, “Don’t thank me. I’m just grateful that you can forgive me enough to let me help.”
Chapter Three
The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when they pulled to a stop in front of the house. Stake turned off the engine and looked down at Santana, sleeping fitfully with her head on his thigh. By the time she’d finished talking to the doctor, police and rape counselor, she’d worn herself out, and the last thing he wanted was to wake her, but they both needed a shower and a warm bed.
“We’re here,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face. He barely recognized her delicate features under the bruises. Thankfully, the police had been as disgusted by the sight of her wounds as the hospital staff and had promised to do everything they could to build a case against the sheriff. Because the crime had occurred outside of their jurisdiction, the San Antonio Police Department had contacted the Texas Rangers.
Although Cecil might not agree with his decision, Stake had taken off his cut before carrying Santana into the hospital. He loved his club, but he didn’t want to draw unwanted attention to it in case the brothers had to step in to deal with Gordon. As it was, the police had eyeballed his ink. Luckily, his T-shirt hid the Kings of Bedlam tattoo that covered his entire back.
With a groan, she sat up. “At your place?”
“Yeah.” He climbed out of the truck and went around to open the passenger door. “The yard’s uneven, so it’ll be easier if I carry you.”
She slowly shook her head. “I can walk. Just help me get out, and point me in the right direction.”
Fuck, he silently cursed. After her meeting with the rape counselor, she’d seemed distant. She might have given in enough to rest her head on his thigh for the drive home, but she’d barely said two words to him. As her current caregiver, he’d also had a few words with the counselor. He’d been told to be patient with her, but not allow her to shut down.
“Come on,” he urged, holding out his hand.
In her borrowed light blue scrubs, she ignored his gesture and clutched Ellie’s blanket in her arms. “Are you sure it’s okay if I stay with you? It might be better if you took me home.”
“I’m not taking you back there. Besides, the cops’ll be all over your place processing the crime scene and taking care of your mom’s body.”
Several tears dripped slowly down her face. “Where will they take her?”
“To the funeral home in town. I told ‘em I’d call later today after I had a chance to speak with you.” He held his hand out again, hoping Santana would let him help.
“She wanted to be cremated and her ashes sprinkled over Dad’s grave, but I’m not sure if they’ll allow that.”
“Probably not, but I tend to make my own rules.” He reached for her. “The faster we get inside, the sooner you can take a bath or a shower, whichever you prefer.” Although the knife wounds and scrapes from the door had broken the skin, none of her injuries had required stitches.
“I think a shower first,” she replied, bracing her hands on his shoulders.
“Okay.” He lifted her out of the truck and set her gently on the ground. “I’ll make you something to eat while you do that.”
“
You don’t have to,” she argued.
He turned her to face him and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’ve never in my life wanted to take care of someone. Until now,” he added. “Don’t fuckin’ push me away.”
Her tongue darted out to slide over the split in her lower lip. “I don’t know how to let someone take care of me, but I won’t push you away.”
He pulled her closer and held her for a few moments before kissing her forehead. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he was too old to second guess himself. Santana needed to heal physically and emotionally before he could even think of taking it to the next level, and although it might kill him, he’d give her the time.
* * * *
Santana exited the bathroom, wearing a faded Harley T-shirt Stake had loaned her. The hot shower had soothed her aching muscles but had done little to ease her mind. So much had happened in the last twelve hours, and while she should be grieving for her mother, all her thoughts centered on Stake. She assumed that made her a selfish bitch, but she didn’t give a fuck. He’d shown her more kindness in a day then she’d received in years.
“You hungry?” he asked from the kitchen doorway.
She wasn’t, but how could she say no? “I could eat.” She glanced down, wondering if the hem of the T-shirt hit too high on her thighs. “Maybe I should put on some pants first.”
“I don’t have anything that’ll fit you.” He turned and headed back into the kitchen. “You used to like my waffles. Hope you still do.”
Unable to keep a smile from her face, she nodded. “I haven’t had them since you helped Dad get Momma into bed after one of her spells.” They’d always called her mother’s drunken tirades spells for some reason. She supposed it made her dad feel better about the woman he loved, but Santana had always seen them for what they truly were. Ellie had been a mean drunk who’d hated her own daughter and hadn’t been afraid to say it when she was at her worst. Between her mother’s words and her father’s punishments, Santana had never felt safe in her own home.
