“Tell us what happened,” she prompted.
I reached up and touched the back of my head, tried not to wince. If Mac or Hardin saw I was in pain, they’d carry me to the ER themselves. “I didn’t see who hit me, he came up too fast, but I don’t think it was Mark.”
Nix shook his head. “We don’t think it was either. Hopefully we’ll get a name from Mark.”
“I… I never saw anyone else. Only Mark. I woke up tied to the bed upstairs.” I glanced from Hardin to Mac. We were in a huge great room. A two-story river rock fireplace took up one wall. On either side were large windows with views of fields and mountains. It was a pretty house, well decorated with a lived-in feel. A home, and it belonged to Hardin’s parents. How were they going to react to the news? Their house had been used as a crime scene… by one of their sons.
I licked my lips, leaned into Hardin. I might have been kidnapped, but he had to be reeling.
“I’ve only been in Cutthroat a few months, moving here for the job at the hospital. Mark started asking me out my first week. I turned him down. Every time. He didn’t like hearing no and kept at it. As we thought, he has a thing for blondes.” I glanced up at Hardin, whose jaw was clenched tight.
“Go on,” he said, his nostrils flaring as he breathed.
“I kept reporting him to HR, but nothing was done. Turns out, the HR woman is one of his conquests.”
“Upstairs, he said he was pissed we were together,” Mac said.
Nix nodded. “I heard that. The rejection combined with Sam’s interest being directed not at him, but at you, then at both of you must have pushed him to the edge.”
“He admitted to me he slept with Erin Mills but didn’t kill her,” I told them. “I can’t tell when he’s lying or not, but I don’t think he did it.”
“Think maybe the guy who hit you on the head did it for him?” Miranski asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe, but Mark’s into sexual domination. Female subjugation. I studied this in my psychology classes and worked with patients like him during my psych rotation. He’s a sexual predator, a sociopath who likes adulation. Adoration. Erin did him no good dead. Perhaps that’s when he moved on to me.”
16
HARDIN
* * *
I drove to my house, Sam between us. After a minute of sitting as still and tense as a statue, she leaned into me, rested her head on my shoulder. The gesture, while completely innocent, was all the reassurance I needed that she was here with me. Safe. Whole. Mine… ours.
Mac glanced at me, then back at the road. I laid my palm on her thigh and kept it there the rest of the way. I tried not to clench or squeeze my fingers no matter how much I wanted to make a fist, to beat the steering wheel as I thought of what had happened.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to get past this. My easygoing brother, the one I was planning to snowmobile with later this week, was a kidnapper. A stalker. Possibly a murderer. Most likely a rapist.
He’d taken Sam to our parents’ house… our parents’ house… to hurt her. They weren’t returning until February, so it was vacant. It was also on a big chunk of land where no one could hear… no. I pushed that thought the fuck away.
My left hand gripped the steering wheel. I had to let this shit go, at least for now. For Sam.
Tomorrow I’d call my parents, tell them what was going on. Only then would I think about Mark. What he’d done. How he’d been two completely different people.
Tonight Sam needed me. Us.
Once the garage door was closed and I cut the engine, we found her asleep. There was no fucking way I would wake her up. She’d worked a shift, then returned to the hospital for emergency surgery, then been whacked on the head, taken and terrorized. She’d probably have nightmares, but we’d be there for her. Hold her until she settled, then let her sleep some more.
I carried her inside and directly to my bedroom. Mac pulled back the blankets and sheet, and I put her down. We stripped off her shoes, then tucked her in. She looked perfect in my bed. Knowing she was here made my cock kick in my jeans. Now wasn’t the time. I couldn’t touch her, not with the rage in my blood. The anger. The hatred. I didn’t want her to see any of it, to feel it, because it wasn’t directed at her.
I needed to let it out before she woke up. Before I got my hands on her and showed her she was the most precious thing in the world.
“Go. I’ll stay with her,” Mac whispered, sitting at the foot of the bed and shucking his shoes. He knew I couldn’t climb into bed now, that I was practically clawing out of my own skin. That while I wanted to be here for Sam, I couldn’t. I couldn’t touch her, not with these hands. Not yet.
I glanced at her one last time, ensuring she really was here, safe, then nodded. Mac wouldn’t let anything happen to her. I cut through the house, out the back door and to my wood pile that fed my cast-iron stove. The temperature was well below freezing, but I couldn’t feel it. Picking up the ax, I grabbed a piece of wood that needed to be split, set it on the base log. I lifted the ax, swung. Split the wood. I could have had it delivered precut, but the methodic process of chopping it all soothed me. Now, tonight, it would be the way I could let go. I could envision my brother as I wielded the ax. I had no idea how long I worked, but I was dripping in sweat by the time the pile was decimated, the angst worked off. Hatred lingered, but I doubted that would ever go away.
I awoke to a hand stroking my dick. The small grip was unskilled, but my dick didn’t care.
Groaning at the incredible feel, I blinked my eyes open, looked up into Sam’s face. It was morning. The sun streamed through the window. She was biting her lip as she studied me, her hand continuing to work me. After I’d split the wood, I’d showered, then climbed into bed beside her sometime around two. She’d been asleep, Mac on her other side.