Heather's Gift (Men of August 3)

“No! No!” Marly’s shattered voice echoed through the room. “Oh God, Cade. Cade, no! You didn’t hide this from me.” She was screaming at him, fighting the hold he had on her as Cade’s face twisted in tortured, agonizing pain as her tears began to fall. “Oh God! Damn you. Damn you, you knew…”

Rick and Tara moved then, placing themselves between the sheriff and Cade as Sam rushed to his brother, to Marly.

“Oh God. Oh God. Cade.”

“Get her the fuck out of here,” Sam screamed as Cade fought her, fought to keep her in his arms, to accept the pain radiating through her cries as his face twisted into lines of grief. “Go, goddammit.”

Sam felt his heart breaking. He had feared Cade wouldn’t share the knowledge with her, the fact that her uncle had raped them, that her father had known. Oh yeah, he remembered Reginald Robert.

Getting Marly out of the room wasn’t easy. She fought Cade, broken, despairing. She knew. Sam could feel her knowledge pulsing in every cell of his body. She knew the truth, and it would kill her. Kill Cade. It would destroy them all.

And Martinez had to have known it. He swung around, raw intense rage boiling in his blood, ripping through his body as he jumped for the sheriff.

“Sam, no.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Did the three of you really think you could keep something like this quiet forever?” Martinez’s voice was cold, hard as he paced the room, flicking a glance at Brock and Sam as he turned at the other end of the room. “Dammit to hell, Sam. You should have known better.”

Marly’s reaction had shaken them all. Joshua wasn’t left unaffected, or unharmed. His eye was nearly swollen shut from the one punch Sam had managed to land before Brock and Rick had taken him to the floor. All he could hear were Marly’s cries; all he could feel was Cade’s shame. All their shame. It was like an inferno in his gut, searing into his soul.

They had heard Marly’s screams for too long, broken, ravaged. Sam was desperate to go up, to help Cade comfort her, as he knew Brock was. But was stuck here instead, dealing with this bastard. Stuck in the memories of a past that never seemed to clearly emerge within his mind. But the screams were there, as was the blood.

“You did it deliberately.” Heather accused the sheriff as she sat beside Sam, her hand on his knee, her shoulder pressed against his arm. “You’re a cold-hearted bastard, Sheriff Martinez.”

Unfortunately, Sam agreed with her. Joshua had always been too damned blunt. Too damned straightforward. He went for the jugular when he needed information, and didn’t care whose blood was shed.

“Dammit, Heather, you’re out of line,” Tara bit out as she faced her from the opposite couch. “You have no opinion in this.”

“There’s where you’re wrong,” she argued, obviously fighting to keep her voice quiet. “He was out of line. He had no right to drop that little bombshell the way he did.”

Sam could only sit in silence, watching Martinez as he felt the rage ice in the pit of his stomach, and hear the screams that seemed closer than ever before. His eyes were narrowed, watching the man who had once been a friend, a confidant. A long time ago. In what seemed to have been another life.

Martinez grunted sarcastically.

“Of course I was, otherwise, Sam’s ass would be in jail for assault and the rest of you for suspicion of obstruction. Unfortunately, I’m about as in the fucking dark as one sheriff could be. Now how the hell am I supposed to keep the lot of you out of prison if you don’t fucking help me?” His voice rose as his anger broke the cool demeanor he usually kept. “Dammit, don’t you think I knew something happened back then? We were friends, Brock, Sam. Best friends until you returned from Utah. How fucking stupid did you think I was?”

As far as Sam was concerned, it was the wrong question to ask.

“Stupid enough to destroy an innocent woman,” Sam yelled back, his fists clenched, his body so tense Heather nearly sat on him to make sure he stayed in his seat.

She stared back defiantly as he flicked her a hard glance. She didn’t look ready to move anytime soon. Amazingly enough, there were no recriminations in her look, no sense of disgust, no anger. Understanding marked her dark green eyes, though her face was pale from stress. Her touch was gentle, and though she looked ready to go to battle, it was the sheriff she seemed more than willing to fight.

He loved her. Needed her with a desperation he couldn’t explain, but he was damned tired of everyone thinking he needed to be protected. Needed to be cuddled and cared for. He shook his head at that thought. He had spent too many years trying to comfort Cade by playing the prankster, by joking his way through the bleak darkness. Now that he couldn’t fight it any longer, his whole family was falling apart around him.

“Who killed Marcelle?” Joshua’s gaze sliced to Sam. “Don’t pull any shit on me, either. If I’m going to pull your ass out of this, Sam, you have to be honest with me.”

“Don’t answer that, Sam.” Rick stepped forward, his voice quiet, steady. He seemed to be the only one in the room not intent on murder. “Sheriff.” He turned to Joshua. “You are aware that the phrasing of your questions could be construed as an officer of the law attempting to either entrap, or conspire with my clients. Both of which are illegal.” His voice was razor sharp with sarcasm, though his expression remained perfectly bland. Cold and controlled.

Joshua frowned. “Don’t you pull any shit with me either, Glaston. I know who the hell you are and just what you’re capable of hiding. So we can both go up on conspiracy charges.”

“Enough.” Sam came to his feet, then jerked his head to stare down at Heather as she placed herself in front of him. “What happened to that bastard doesn’t matter. He’s dead and gone…”

“And someone knows one of you did the killing,” Joshua reminded him coldly. “I’m willing to help, Sam, but not if you can’t cooperate with me.”

“What do you want, Josh?” he sneered. “Do you want to hear how the bastard drugged us, made our dicks so hard that his crazy half brother could slice into it with a scalpel and it still wouldn’t wither? Or how about how he would take a whip and lay it to my back until he forced Brock or Cade to rape the other, or even me? Do you want to hear how many times we had to suck each other off while he cackled…”

“Goddammit, Sam.” Brock came to his feet then, his face pale, his eyes tormented. “Shut the fuck up.”