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He shook his head, the weakness of his tears hidden. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but a grown man, and still his greatest joy, his greatest sense of security was in knowing that all he was, all he cared for, was being watched over by the brothers who had been his salvation throughout his life.
“When you’re holding Marly, touching her, loving her, I know in my soul it’s the same as if it were myself,” he said softly. “I know what you’re feeling, and it’s okay. I’ll be damned if I didn’t cry in her arms when I bathed her after that first time.”
He smoothed his cheeks over Heather’s shoulder, feeling her even breathing, knowing the exhaustion that gripped her.
“She needs to be bathed, Sam,” Brock advised him gently. “So she won’t be too sore, or wake up uncomfortable.”
He moved her gently, aware of the hands that helped him. His brothers. They laid her back on the mattress, and Sam could only smile gently as she cuddled closer to his warmth, a slight chill rippling over her skin from the air-conditioning for a moment before Cade jerked the blanket over her.
Ready hands to see to her comfort if he couldn’t. To see to her pleasure, her happiness. He sighed deeply as he rose to his feet and dragged his jeans wearily over his legs. It was a ritual, a necessity. She had given them the greatest gift a woman could give, and now it was time that he saw to her comfort and her well being.
He wrapped the blanket carefully around her as Cade and Brock dressed. They would return to their own rooms now, shower, and then love their women, either separately or together. There was no censure, no sense of doubt or possessiveness among the women, or the brothers. Sarah loved Brock, but she understood that sometimes Cade needed her as well, and there were times, Sam knew, that Sarah had sought out that connection as well. Just as Marly did. As Heather would soon learn to.
It wasn’t pushed on them, it wasn’t taken for granted, the gift they gave. Each woman set her own limits, and without argument, without disapproval, each of the brothers accepted those limits.
As he left the family room, he drew up warily, stopping outside the door as he glimpsed Tara standing militantly by the stairs. He expected rage, expected a screaming fit. But it was sadness that marked her features instead.
“If she gets hurt, I’ll kill you,” she whispered, and Sam knew she meant it. “Some way, Sam, somehow, I’ll kill you.”
He held Heather closer, glancing down at her slumbering features as joy pulsed in his heart. When he looked up at Tara, there were no doubts, not in his heart, not in his voice.
“If she gets hurt, Tara, you won’t have to. I’ll take care of that myself.”
Her lips firmed as she drew in a ragged breath. She said nothing more though, merely stepped aside and allowed him to carry his woman to his room. The pain that marked her features worried him, for Heather’s sake. He knew that pain would concern her, would weigh on her. Despite their differences, the two women were close, almost as close as he and his brothers were. Almost, but not quite.
He stepped into the darkened bedroom, flipping the light on as he kicked the bedroom door closed, then came to an abrupt stop. Nightmare and reality collided. Hopelessness, horror scarred his soul.
“Hello, Sammy-boy.” The voice whispered demonically. “Been a long time ain’t it, son?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sam prayed that Heather continued to sleep. He laid her on the bed as directed, tucking the blanket carefully around her, tucking her hair back from her face as he stared down at her with a sense of agony. If he could just get the threat out of the room, out of the house, then the rest of them would be safe.
“You dirtied her,” the voice sneered. “You and those bastards touched her and soiled a good, decent woman, just like you did Marly. You were supposed to protect them, Sam. Protect them, not turn them into camp whores.”
“Yes, I know.” He stilled the rage and the denials that rose in his soul. He would do whatever it took to keep Heather safe, no matter what he had to say, what he had to do.
He rose slowly and turned back to face the past.
She wasn’t the beauty she used to be. Her long, black hair was cut almost manly short. Her eyes, once a deep blue, now seemed faded. The once pure, creamy skin was mottled, with small scars along her cheeks. She was pitifully thin, almost emaciated.
“You killed Tate.” He shook his head, knowing it was true.
“Of course I did,” she sneered. “He was a blight on society, no better than Reginald was.”
“Was?” Sam asked her carefully.
“Was.” Cruelty reflected in her gaze. “He’s dead Sammy. Poor bastard, thought he could help Jack take me, punish me for running away. I showed him. I killed him just like I killed Tate.”
Sam swallowed tightly.
“This will kill Marly, Anna,” he whispered painfully. “Did you think about that?”
She grimaced, her lips twisting with an ugly sneer as she aimed the gun at his heart.
“Marly will never know,” she sneered. “I’ll kill you, Sam, and remove your influence forever. It’s your fault. All your fault. If you hadn’t killed Jedediah, then he would have kept Reggie under control. Would have kept him from hurting me. He controlled Reggie and Jack, and you killed him. Then, when I would have forgiven that, you turned my baby into a whore. Made her as diseased and dirty as you are.”
“Do you know what he did to us, Anna?” he whispered bleakly. “For God’s sake, he would have destroyed us.”
