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.
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 wishedMartinez would hurry. Goddammit, how long did it take to dust the f**king 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 f**king going to go crazy.
“Sam.”Sheri ff 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 f**king 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.
“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 f**king 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,Sheri ff’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.
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 f**king 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 f**king 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.”