Heather's Gift (Men of August 3)

Her sister’s expression tightened, her lips thinning out to a cold, ruthless line.

“He wants to share you, Heather,” Tara said tightly. “Do you want to know what that’s like? Do you really want to know just how loveless that is? You think you love him. You think he loves you. But he doesn’t. Love isn’t packaged like that. It’s sex. It’s lust. Period.”

It was Tara’s lifestyle. She had lived it with her husband before Rick had pulled her out. She had lain between the man she hated and the man who pitied her, and Heather knew it had nearly destroyed her. And yet, now that there was no chance of emotion, no chance of caring, the sexual lifestyle was one she embraced rather than denied.

Heather knew the destruction that could be waiting for the Augusts. She knew the pain, the betrayal, the loss of self-respect that came from such a relationship. She had watched it with her sister, Rick and his brother, Carl, before Carl’s accident and death.

“It’s not the same here,” she whispered, knowing her sister couldn’t see it, couldn’t look beyond her own past to see the reality of these men. “I don’t know how it’s different, Tara, but I know it is. And I won’t argue it with you. I don’t want to share Sam, and I don’t want to be more than a hug and a peck on the cheek to those brothers. But I won’t leave him like this. I won’t walk away while some bastard wants him destroyed. I won’t do it. Not even for you.”

Tara’s eyes sparked with fury, and Heather knew the explosion was coming. Thankfully, the door swung open at the same time.

“Time to go, wildcat.” Raider’s dark voice matched the black shadow he cast over the floor. “Rick just called in, everyone’s in place. Time to go shopping.”

“I need to change.” Heather shook her head as she glanced at her sister, seeing the conflicting anger and fear in her face. “Give me half an hour and I’ll be back out.”

She didn’t wait for a comment or a refusal, but turned on her heel and rushed past Raider as he stood carefully aside. She shivered as she glanced in his face. Cold, hard. He watched her with an edge of steel that was almost frightening, but the way he watched Tara should have terrified her. Heather was more than surprised by the fact that it didn’t.

Chapter Three

The stalker watched the woman, her pretty features filled with humor as she smiled with the other two who were window shopping with her. She was a beauty, just as the others were. Her long red hair flowed down her back like a living flame, almost touching her slender, curved hips. She was petite, almost tiny, delicately made and looked like one of those pretty pixies found in fairy tales.

She was dressed in a light linen sundress that barely covered her thighs. Such scandalous clothing. Evidently the lesson she had received last month hadn’t impressed upon her how serious her sins were. She was tempting those men, even more so than Marly and Sarah had.

While with those August men, she would swing her curvy hips, laugh and flirt with them all at all hours. She was a Jezebel, and she knew it. A flame-haired temptation drawing the men further into their perversions. Soon, the final boundary would be breached, and something would have to be done.

She reached back, lifting a dainty foot to adjust the strap of her sandal. So pretty. Her skin was soft, like silk. The sight of it brought to mind the smooth contours of her pretty cunt, the little slit that separated it was incredibly soft. Soft and marked with the proof of her wayward sensuality. She carried the mark of temptation there now, on the very flesh that tempted mortal men past their boundaries of control.

The smooth mound had been striped by the knife, and the scars that were left would never be forgotten. Slender, almost invisible scars that she would wear forever. Scars that any man who touched her would feel, would know, and therefore, know her for the temptress she was.

The other two women were no more than a minor irritation. Marly should have, of course, known better. She was an angel, so sweet and lovely, so tempting and pure before the bastards corrupted her with their depravities. Sarah was older, supposedly wiser, but even she had been impossible to get rid of effectively.

It had been impossible to kill her. But the desire to kill hadn’t really been there. No one wanted to listen anymore, was the problem. It was as though the warnings of the past had been completely forgotten, overlooked and ignored. Words of wisdom had been tossed away, and all the dreams destroyed. In one blow—one remorseless, powerful blow—the bastard had taken it all, and it would never return.

But then, an idea began to form. Perhaps the plan was being executed in the wrong way. Punishing innocents for the crimes of the guilty. The punishment should go to the one who committed the crime. The one who refused to understand. Refused to know his place, and his crimes. For with every crime comes punishment, and he had committed the ultimate crime.

For the first time in months, a true plan began to form. The women were pure, innocent. They were doing as women should, submitting to who they believed were their rightful masters. They didn’t know. Bless their hearts, they weren’t aware of the demon defiling them. They were too sweet, their hearts too kind to see or to understand such evil.

The knowledge was clear now. Eyes narrowed, fists clenching as the women walked to the next window, the next shop that displayed their frilly items. They were being corrupted, and it must stop.

A moment of distraction came as a husky brute began to move in on the women. The man, Sarah’s ex-husband, was a pitiful excuse of a male. Unable to control his woman or his home.

The man paused. It was obvious that whatever he said was upsetting the women. They moved to walk away, but the bastard reached out, grabbing Sarah’s arm, jerking her to him. The little redhead dynamo would have chewed his ass up good with the fist she was ready to let fly, but she wasn’t expecting the bastard to kick out at her tender legs. She fell, but she was neither weak-willed, nor willing to give up. She was up again and going for him when another male moved in.

From across the street, the door to a dark, window-tinted truck flew open and a male raced across the street. Sam. He pushed her back, his hand going for Tate’s throat as the other man twisted Sarah’s arm. Tate let go of her quickly, his hands clawing at Sam’s fingers, his eyes bulging from his head as he was thrown against the wall of the building.

The women were crying out, the redhead was pulling at Sam’s arm, watching the street nervously as the sound of sirens was heard. The demon refused to listen for long seconds. He said something to Tate, a snarl twisting his lips a second before he tossed him to the sidewalk like the garbage he was. Tate could do no more than scramble away before the sheriff’s car rounded the street.

And in watching the spectacle, an idea began to form. It wouldn’t be hard to do. Sam was furious, and everyone knew his temper, his possessive instincts. It would work. The Defiler would be destroyed and sent away, and the women would once again be pure and untarnished. The other two men, though just as guilty, would wilt away without the one they fought so hard to protect. Sam was the catalyst, the Defiler, the Demon. And he must be destroyed.

Chapter Four

“Dammit, Sam, what were you trying to accomplish today?” Heather stalked into Sam’s bedroom after finally finding a free moment to berate him for his violence on a public street. She came to an abrupt stop.

Maybe she should have knocked, she thought, then kicked herself. Hell no, that would have been an even bigger mistake. Any chance to catch Sam August in the nude was worth taking. The man was a work of art. That was all there was to it.

Sam turned away from the dresser he had been searching through. Her mouth dried out, then watered as she glimpsed the hard, dusky-tanned body. There were no white strips, and she would be damned if there was any indication that he used a tanning bed. He was like an Indian. Dark, hard flesh and even harder muscle beneath. Muscle that rippled and tempted, and made her long to run her hands over them.

Her eyes dropped to his hips. She couldn’t help it. She watched him come fully, gloriously erect in a matter of seconds. It was like a hard, thick stalk rising from between his thighs. The head was broad, plum-shaped and tempting, thickly veined and just plain thick. The sight of it made her very aware of her own femininity, the need to feel him pushing inside her, taking her, fucking her with hard, pounding strokes.