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The old servant of Marcelle’s that Rick had tracked down had provided information on the drugs Marcelle had used on the men. Potent drugs that sustained a sexual erection for hours, even days, on end. Keeping their cocks in a state of readiness, no matter the state of their minds. They had been young. Brock and Sam were still in their teens, Cade barely over twenty. At a time when their manhood was most important, it had been stripped from them.
Reginald Robert Jennings, the man suspected now of threatening the family, had attempted to follow his brother’s footsteps in a medical career, but had been unable to succeed. Marcelle himself had been a well-respected member of the medical community for decades before an early retirement beneath a cloud of suspicion that arose in his final years. Suspicion of drugging several of his male patients and abusing them. Rick had found the men who first made the complaints and learned they had been generously paid to retract their statements. But it didn’t change the stories they had to tell, or the hazy, drug clouded memories of abuse.
The suspicions of sexual perversions hadn’t abated then. The winter before the brothers had been sent to his ranch, Marcelle had visited a doctor in Madison for a broken nose, cracked cheekbone, and severe bruising. A result of Sam’s rage after the bastard had snuck into his bedroom during a visit to the August ranch.
Cade had known what had happened, but when his father ordered them to the Marcelle ranch to learn a new technique in ranching, his father had assured the boys they could leave the moment any impropriety was suggested. Old Joe August had sworn the ranch’s livelihood depended on those new techniques. The only techniques available for them to learn, though, had been those in pain and torture, Heather thought as she finally closed the last of Rick’s files.
The servant’s accounts of those days were frightening. The screams that filtered from the basement, the horrendous amounts of blood sometimes shed, was reported as sickening. As a doctor, Marcelle had known how far he could abuse their bodies and yet keep them alive, and he had pushed them to their limits. Especially Sam. It had always been worse for Sam.
The files she had managed to dig up on Raider gave her no evidence, period, to suspect the other man of having a reason to want to hurt the Augusts. Russell “Raider” Kincaid was known for his loyalty, his abilities, and his determination to get the job done. Considering his credentials she couldn’t help but believe if he wanted Sam dead, then Sam would be dead.
Heather tapped her fingernails against the table she was sitting at as she stared outside the RV the Agency was using on the August Ranch. Heat rose in waves outside the air-conditioned comfort of the motor home. Horses dozed beneath the shade of several large trees, as cattle lay in small gatherings along the shaded stream that ran through the pasture.
It was late afternoon, and the ranch had settled down as the heat built outside. Late summer was a scorcher in Texas, and this wasn’t turning out to be any different.
She drew in a hard, weary breath as she shook her head. Where did she go from here, she wondered? Obeying his every sexual command didn’t set well with her. Especially those in the written note he had left on her pillow when he had slipped into her room around daylight. She snorted. The directions were explicit, the reasons clearly explained.
An inflatable butt plug had accompanied the note. How to prepare her body for him and keep it ready to accept his pleasures. She shook her head mockingly, did Marly and Sarah actually put up with that nonsense? A mild anal douche, a tube of lubrication, directions on how to use the butt plug, how often, for how long, when to prepare… The sheer arrogance of it amazed her. But the depth of strength it had taken to survive, even at these extremes, made her heart clench.
“Sam’s heading back, Heather.” Rick’s voice was soft in the comm. link at her ear. “You have twenty more minutes.”
Heather had been hesitant to go through the files at a time that Sam could come looking for her, possibly even surprise her in it. She still remembered the shame that flared in his eyes after Rick had returned from Utah and began giving his report.
The three men’s expressions had been cold, emotionless, but their eyes had swirled with shame, guilt and remembered pain. It had been more than she could bear. And sometimes she wondered how Marly and Sarah held up under the pressure.
“I’m heading back in, Rick,” she told him as she restacked the files and stored them back in the security box Rick used.
She locked the box and shoved it back beneath the bench before leaving the motor home and locking the door behind her. Rick met her at the front of the RV, his brown eyes dark, questioning. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
She tucked the mic up, cutting off sound from the other members of the group. “No,” she sighed. “Just more questions.”
“See if you can get any of them answered, Heather,” he told her softly. “This is dragging on too long. At this rate, Jennings could attack and easily catch us off guard due to sheer boredom, just like he did last night. The men are getting tired of playing cowboys, and the Augusts are damned tired of being confined to the house. We need more information if we’re ever going to make headway here.”
“Unless Jennings messes up,” she pointed out.
“Unless he does,” Rick nodded. “Which could be anytime, or a year down the road.”
“Or whenever he figures out Sam has taken me,” she said softly. “That he’s happy.”
Tension thickened between them as her implication widened Rick’s eyes.
“No.” He gripped her arm firmly, staring down at her with a hint of anger. “Marly and Sarah barely escaped the bastard, Heather, and you know yourself just how serious he is. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way.”
“I’m already there, Rick,” she reminded him bleakly. “Jennings just thinks he has time. He thinks Sam is suffering and he’s reveling in it. As long as that comforts him, he won’t mess up. He’ll plan carefully and meticulously until he takes Sam out. We can’t allow that.”
Heather could feel that knowledge gathering inside her. He wouldn’t come after anyone, not seriously, as long as Sam suffered. He had to be convinced Sam was no longer paying for whatever crime he imagined Sam had committed.
“What do you have in mind?” Rick asked her carefully.
“I’m not sure yet. Give me a little more time, and I’ll let you know.” She pulled away from him as the Augusts rode into the ranch yard.
Her eyes met Sam’s across the distance and her body tingled in awareness.
“Whatever it is, be damned sure you let me know,” Rick bit out. “Don’t go off half cocked, Heather. Tara and Sam both would kill me if anything happened to you now.”
“I promise, I’ll be careful.” She moved away from him, aware of Sam’s eyes following her, but not just Sam’s. The combined heat of three men, watching her, wanting her, followed her into the house.
Chapter Twenty-Three
