“You act like I’m going to attack you.” Sam smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t do that, Sarah. Brock would kill me if I tried.”
“But you want to.” Her heart sped up. There was something about Sam that didn’t mesh with the laughter and amusement he usually portrayed to the world.
“No, Sarah.” He shook his head, his voice gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
There was weariness in his voice, the same sadness the others carried. He lowered his head, then glanced back up at her. The smile was back in place.
“Too late,” she told him softly.
He shook his head. His hand reached out, running over her smooth ankle before she could jerk away from him. The touch left a fiery impression that unsettled her.
“You remind me of a friend,” he said regretfully. “A very good friend, Sarah. She’s easy to talk to. Easy to be open with.”
“Then why aren’t you with her, Sam?” she asked him, wrapping her arms across her breasts. “Why are you here?”
“Because I owe them,” he whispered. “I owe them everything, Sarah, including my life.”
“What about your happiness?” She tilted her head, watching as a finger ran softly over the side of her sandal.
“If they want it.” He shrugged.
“What about what you want?”
“I want to know my brothers love me again,” he whispered darkly, secretively. “I want to know some demon from hell didn’t take it all, Sarah. I want to lie with you, touch you, see Brock watching me take you and know he loves me. The same as I do with Marly. I want to find my way out of hell, if only for a little while.”
Sarah’s heart clenched. Her hand covered her mouth, she didn’t jerk away this time when his fingers circled her ankle. She did nothing to wipe away the tear that drifted down her cheek.
Sam seemed more than surprised by that bit of moisture. A finger moved, lifted the drop from her cheek. He looked at it, seeing the glistening dew settled on the tip of his finger.
“I haven’t cried in over twelve years, Sarah, and no one else has cried for me.” He looked in her eyes, and Sarah knew if this man didn’t cry soon, then there would be no hope for him. Cade and Brock would lose a part of their souls as well.
“Sam.” She shook her head, hating the pain she saw in his eyes. “This doesn’t work for you.”
“For a little while it does, Sarah,” he told her, his voice rough. “It works for a while. For as long as I can forget that I’m the cause of it. That my brothers knew hell because of me. Will you help me forget?”
His hand was at her knee, his voice turning sensual, heated with arousal. Sarah came to her feet with a deep breath.
“I need to find Brock.” She went to move around him, but he was too fast. He stopped her, not forcing her to stay, his hand on her arm warm, not hurtful.
He stared down at her, his hand soothing, smoothing over her skin.
“Just a kiss,” he whispered, his lips tilting in a smile so similar to Brock’s it broke her heart.
She trembled, desperate to get away from him, wondering why she wasn’t running from him. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, shivering despite the heat of the night as his hand cupped her cheek. Nerves tightened the muscles of her stomach, made her suck her breath in roughly.
His head lowered. He watched her, his eyes dark, lonely, need whispering through the night. His lips were a breath from hers, his eyes narrowed, arousal pulsing in the air around them when she found the strength to jerk away.
“Brock,” she gasped out, moving jerkily around him, rushing for the door.
“Brock wouldn’t care, Sarah,” his voice was soft, so somber it tore at her soul. “You’re a part of him now. He loves you. Return it to me.”
“No.” she gripped the door handle, shaking her head desperately. “I can’t. God help me. I can’t.”
She pushed the door open, rushing into the family room, past Brock and Cade, Marly and Tara. She hid her tears, fought her overwhelming fears, and ignored the damp need collecting between her thighs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Sarah?” Brock followed her to their room, concern edging his voice and his expression.
She stood at the large window, knowing it was bullet proof, knowing the precautions that had been taken two years before in case the family was ever threatened again. Good precaution she thought, because it appeared they knew nothing but the fear and disquiet of evil.
She looked out at the night, fighting tears, sadness, needs. Needs she shouldn’t have. They were getting to her, each of them. Slowly, insidiously, their needs, their pain was wearing away her resistance, tearing down the fabric of her objections. She didn’t care much for the fact that she was so weak in the face of it.
“How did it happen?” she asked as he closed the bedroom door. “How did your father get away with sending you to that madman?”
She watched the pain twist his expression at her reminder. She hated bringing that expression to his face, hated hurting him. But she needed to know. She needed to understand before she made the biggest mistake of her life. She loved Brock. She knew she did. She always had. Now she just had to figure out how to live with it.
“He was our father. We thought we were going to work for another rancher for the summer. We found out better when we got there. When he locked us in cages after drugging us during our first meal. We understood though, the first time one of us was dragged out and raped.”
His voice was cool, his expression tortured. Sarah closed her eyes tight, fighting the overwhelming fury that something so terrible could have happened to him.
“Sam was first.” He glanced away from her, swallowing hard. “He tortured him for hours. He still carries the scars from it on his body. And in his mind. He was just eighteen. We both were. ”
Sarah trembled violently. God, how had they survived? How had they managed to ever survive such horror?
“He blames himself,” she told him. “Why?”
He seemed surprised by that.
“I don’t know.” He frowned worriedly. “It wasn’t his fault. Not at all. It was Joe’s decision to send us there. He swore he didn’t know what was going on. But he did. We all knew he did.”
Sarah wrapped her arms over her chest, unable to turn to him, watching his reflection in the glass. He stood still, straight, tense. His body vibrated with sorrow and pain.
“I feel like I’m drowning here, Brock,” she whispered tearfully. “The three of you are killing me. It’s too much pain, too much need. Too much pressure.”
He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, a sigh heaving from his chest as he watched her. He watched her with warmth, with love. She knew it was love, she had seen Cade watching Marly with the same expression, knew she often carried it in her own eyes.
“In what way?” he asked her, tilting his head, watching her curiously.
“The three of you and your desires,” she groaned, dragging her hands through her hair. “It’s like being in the middle of a sexual soup, the tension is so thick anymore.”
“It arouses you.” There was no heat in his tone, he was past arguing with her. He had given her the choice, just as they had given Marly.
“It arouses me,” she admitted starkly. “And it terrifies me too, Brock. He’s almost broken. You and Cade are little better. Sharing Marly hasn’t helped, how will sharing me help?”
Surprise lit his features.
“That’s not true, Sarah.” He shook his head. “We were worse before Marly. Frozen inside. Everything bleak and dark. Sharing didn’t help, because there was no love for the women we shared. I knew what it was the night Sam found you and me in my room. I knew he was there. I knew the difference then.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“I want this over,” she told him quietly. “I don’t like being closed up like this. I don’t like feeling helpless, Brock.”
She took a deep, hard breath as she felt his hands on her shoulders, pulling her against
his chest.
“I want to always hold you, Sarah,” he breathed against her hair. “Every night, in my bed, close against my body. I don’t want to lose you.”
“And I don’t know what to do.” She laid her head against his back. “Love isn’t supposed to be like that, you know?”
Sarah couldn’t stop the tears that drifted from her eyes. She loved him. Loved him so desperately, always had. How was she supposed to survive the hell they lived in, seeing everyday the scars of it in the three men who knew no other way of life.
“I know that, baby. And it won’t always be. Just sometimes. Just when the memories are too bad. Usually in the spring, that’s when it happened Sarah, in April. It’s usually only then, because that’s when the memories are the worst, when the demons strike in nightmares and fears we can’t control. It’s our bond. Our survival. And letting go of it would mean letting go of each other forever.”
There was bleak agony in his question, a plea for acceptance, for understanding. This big, strong man, so sexual, so determined needed her so desperately that he would plead for her understanding. She closed her eyes, stemming her tears. She loved him. She loved all of him. Even the wounded warrior Brock was, who knew the only way to love the brothers who had survived with him.
She opened her eyes, staring at him as she sighed, shaking her head.
“I knew you were trouble years ago. I just didn’t know how much.”
That rusty smile tipped the edge of his lips once again. She loved his smile. Loved the hesitant light of it in his eyes that pushed away the shadows of remembered pain.
“Come back downstairs. Have a drink with me while we watch TV with Cade and Marly?” he asked as he kissed her cheek with endearing hesitancy. As though he were unused to the tenderness he felt for her.
“Just watch TV?” she asked him with a smile.
“Well, unless you want to do more, baby. It’s all according to what you want.” Amusement filled his eyes, lightening the color, lifting the haggard expression he carried.
“Hm, it’s all up to me then?” she drawled. “Somehow, I think the three of you are a hell of a lot more calculating than you let on.”
Mock surprise filled his face as he took her hand and led her to the door.
“We’re just simple men. How could you say that?” he asked incredulously.
“Can the act, cowboy.” She shook her head, following him, a prickle of unease skating down her spine.
She turned back to the bedroom, stopping Brock as he paused, looking at her questioningly.
“Brock, when did you take that stuff and put it out?” The dildo and plug was lying on the bed as though dropped by a careless hand.
Brock walked into the room, staring at the objects. She felt the dangerous tension that gripped him then. His body tightened with fury, with rage.
“Fuck.” His harsh exclamation was preceded by a hard grip at her waist as he forced her from the room.
“What?” She gasped.
“Rick. Tara.” His voice echoed through the house, demanding, infuriated. “Cade, get the fuck up here.”
He pushed her into the hall as everyone began running up the stairs. Rick and Tara and several of the other members of their team came with weapons drawn. Cade and Sam had converged on Marly, keeping her carefully between them as they followed.
“The bastard’s been in our room.” Brock turned on Rick, his hands reaching out, gripping the other man’s shirtfront and throwing him against the wall. “How did he get in, Rick?”
Violence pulsed through Brock’s body, a killing rage that terrified Sarah.
“That’s not possible, Brock.” Rick stayed calm, matter of fact. “I have every entrance into this house monitored as well as a security system. He couldn’t have got in.”
“Mother fucker, he got in. Go look on the bed and tell me what the fuck you see, Sam?”
Sam moved cautiously into the room, followed by Tara. There was complete silence for long, long seconds. No one moved in the hall. No one spoke. Finally, they stepped back, their faces were pale and Tara was on the verge of shaking.
“Tara?” Rick asked.
“Someone did a little work on Sarah’s dildo, Rick.” She breathed out roughly. “There are half a dozen needles driven through it, only the sharp edges poking through. If he hadn’t messed up and left it laying out, it would have shredded her.” Her voice was rough, edged with anger and horror.
Rick paled; Marly’s cry was smothered by Cade’s chest. Sarah felt her knees going weak, a whimper escaped her throat. Instantly Brock was at her side, pulling her against him, staring at Rick, his expression livid.
Rick wiped his hand over his face.
“Son of a bitch.” He jerked the two-way radio from his belt. “Report in, all posts.”
“Marshal here.”
“Clive here.”
“Kensington here.”
There was a brief silence as they waited for the last female member of the team to answer in.
“Sorry boys, Miss James is a bit under the weather right now. She sends her apologies.”
Mechanical, amused, the evil voice held them all suspended for precious seconds.
“That’s him,” Sarah whispered as the guards burst into action. “The guy who shot me.”
“Heather,” Sam’s scream shocked them all. It vibrated through the hall as he took off after them.
“Let’s go.” Brock pulled Sarah behind him as they rushed through the house. “Where was the girl stationed?”
“Back of the house. She was watching the kitchen door.” They rushed for the kitchen, fear pulsing through them all, the shattered fury in Sam’s voice still throbbing inside them all.
* * * * *
They found Heather in a secluded area, hidden behind brush and boulders. She was unconscious, naked, bloody. Where the blood originated from Sarah couldn’t tell. But she saw the effect it had on the three men. They were pale, furious. Violence throbbed through the air, in their voices.
“Brock is readying the chopper. Get her prepared to fly.” Cade stood aside, holding Marly close. “We’ll meet you at the hospital.”
Rick motioned to the men standing around and they positioned themselves around the August family. Tara was calm, cool, but you could see the fear that pulsed just under the surface.
“I’m going.” Sam was kneeling beside the small woman, his hands gentle, tender as he touched her pale cheek.
“Sam.” Cade’s voice held a warning thread.
Sam shook his head. A tight, fierce movement that seemed to threaten his self-control.
“I’ll be fine. I have to go.” His voice was broken. There were no tears and Sarah wondered if after twelve years Sam would find the tears he had lost? His shoulders were slumped, though his body was rigid. He stared down at the bound, nude body, jerking his shirt off his back, then laying it over her as Rick worked to cut her ropes loose.
“Let’s move.” The shirt was wrapped around her now, but she still hadn’t regained consciousness.
As Sam picked Heather up gently and rushed with Rick and Tara to the helicopter, Sarah looked at Brock questioningly. His face was haunted, his eyes bleak and pain-filled.
“He hurt her,” Brock whispered.
“Did he rape her?” Sarah asked hesitantly.
“I don’t know.” Brock shook his head. A slow, careful motion. “But she’ll carry Sam’s scars now. I noticed the work.” He turned to Cade and their eyes met. “He’s not dead after all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It was Brock’s nightmare that woke her up the next night. His cry shattered the night and her security in one bleak instant.
“No! God, No!” He jumped from the bed, crouching on the floor like an animal, his face white, his eyes so dark they terrified her as he stared around in dazed horror.
“Brock.” Sarah came to her knees, fear washing over her as he jerked to his feet, his hands shaking, his body shuddering from the remembered terror as he ra
ked his fingers through sweat dampened hair.
“Fuck. I have to go outside.” He acted like a man with claustrophobia, stuck in a small room rather than the cavern sized bedroom he inhabited. “Go back to sleep.”
He pulled his sweat pants on, nearly tripping in his haste, then grabbed cigarettes from the dresser and rushed from the room. Oh yeah, she was really going to stay put. Sarah donned her short, silk robe and moved after him. She didn’t rush, giving him a chance to realize he was no longer trapped in the dream. She went to the family room first, poured them both a drink and then walked out the open front door.
He sat in the large, cushioned lounge chair at the end of the porch, deep in the shadows. His long legs were braced over the side, his elbows propped on his knees, his hands covering his face. A lit cigarette was clamped between his lips and he drew on it with the desperation of a man dying for ease.
“Here.” She set the stiff whisky and ice on the table beside him.
Her brows raised as he tipped it to his mouth, draining it, then went back to the cigarette. She set her glass beside him then.
“Go back to bed.” His voice was rough, savage. “I’ll be up later.”
“Would you leave me alone with such demons, Brock?” she asked him, sitting at the end of the lounger, pulling the robe over her thighs as she watched him.
“I don’t want you to know my demons, dammit.” He drew on the cigarette with a harsh motion. “You’ll suffer enough for them. Get back to bed.”
Sarah couldn’t imagine suffering for him, as bad as he was suffering with it. His muscles were so tight and bunched she hurt just seeing it. His eyes were dark, his face creased with bitterness.
“I already suffer knowing you hurt, Brock.” And she was. It was breaking her heart, seeing him, so strong, so alone, his eyes bleak and hopeless.