But it hadn’t been the first time he had seen so much blood, either. Not the first broken and mangled body, bones broken, blood flowing. Nausea welled up inside him as scattered images flitted through his mind.
“Hell no, it ain’t,” Josh grunted, turning around. “Hopefully, they’ll have things settled by morning though.”
Sam prayed they settled sooner than that.
Chapter Six
It was a cage. A cell. Bars surrounded him, enclosed him, nightmares twisted at the edge of reality and caused sweat to dampen his body, his clothes. It ran down his face in slow rivulets, despite the air conditioning. A cage. Bars that were locked. He was unable to escape, unable to run from the monster who would slowly destroy them.
Sam shook his head, fighting the nightmare images, the sense of unreality that surrounded him. He clenched his fists. He was older now, stronger, and a hell of a lot meaner than he had been then. Besides, this was the county jail, not the basement of some bastard’s mansion. There were windows here.
He stood and paced over to it, trying to ignore the bars there as well. He stared down at the parking lot as he ran his hands through his damp hair. Dammit to hell. He had to get out of here. He could feel his throat closing up on him, and terror roaring at the edges of his mind.
He wiped at his forehead, grimacing at the cold sweat that wet his hands. He could feel it all along his body. His back. His chest. He fought to shake off the fear. Dammit, he wasn’t a kid anymore. He could handle this. Sheriff Martinez would check things just like Sam had told him, and he would release him.
But what if the proof didn’t show? That insidious thought rocked his mind. His stomach roiled, pitching in terror at the thought. God help him, he couldn’t stand it here much longer.
You ain’t goin’ nowhere, boy. The ghost of his nightmares sounded in his brain. You had a chance, Sam-boy… I offered it to you, and you didn’t take it. Sam shook his head. Memories better left forgotten slipped demonically through the veil that often hid them. He didn’t want them to escape, didn’t want to remember the dark, agonizing pain of those months he and his brothers had been held captive.
It’s okay, Sam. I killed him. I killed him, Sam. Remember that. Remember, Sam. Cade’s voice was savage, determined. Blood surrounded them, but none of it marred Cade. Sam’s hands were stained with blood. His nude body, nearly flayed to the bone, criss-crossed with vicious welts and deep cuts. He hurt. God he hurt so bad, and there was so much blood.
He shook his head. It’s over, Sam. I killed him. Let it go. It’s over. Cade’s voice was insistent as he used the tone that the younger brothers knew brooked no refusal.
He swallowed the bile in his throat. It was over. Years past. In a time as dead as the bastard who had tortured them. The cells were gone, the house destroyed, all of it wiped away as though it had never been. Wiped from everything but their memories.
He collapsed on the cell cot, holding his head in his hands as he fought the lash of memories that were as brutal as the whip that had once been used on them. He didn’t remember it all. He never did. The rapes he remembered. The drugged, hallucinogenic hours that they were forced to…
Bile rose in his throat. He had screamed that first time. They all had. And the bastard had laughed. Sneering as he forced them to hurt each other. He swallowed tight, hard. He had destroyed them in ways he could have never imagined. Even his death hadn’t stopped the horror.
God, he wished Martinez would hurry. Goddammit, how long did it take to dust the fucking place and check fingerprints? Hell, it should have been pretty damned easy to tell he had just arrived there.
He had no idea how Mark Tate had finally found his just reward, but it was no more than he deserved. Not that Sam wouldn’t have killed the bastard if he’d had the chance. He tightened his hands as they dropped to his knees. Opening his eyes, he stared down at his fists as though they belonged to someone else. For just a moment, they were dripping with blood—his and someone else’s. Then he shook his head and the blood was gone. All he saw was the faint, thin lines that crossed the backs of his broad, rough hands. They criss-crossed back and forth like a design of horror. A reminder. A signature of evil. The same small, spider-thin scars covered other parts of his body. Tender, sensitive parts.
He breathed in hard and deep. If he didn’t get out of here, he was fucking going to go crazy.
“Sam.” Sheriff Martinez stepped into the cell area, leaving the main door opened as he approached.
Sam raised his head slowly, fighting for control in front of the other man. Josh Martinez had gone to school with the August brothers, knew them all as well as anyone did, Sam guessed. But the other man didn’t have a clue the hell he was going through right now.
“Let me outta here, Josh,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t kill the bastard. You know I didn’t.”
“Forensics didn’t find any of your prints, and whoever called and reported the murder hasn’t come forward. I’m letting you go, but I’d suggest getting a lawyer, man.” He unlocked the door, the keys rattling, taunting Sam with the misty memories that wailed in his mind.
Sam fought to keep from shaking as he rose from the cot and left the cell. The air was oppressive in the cell area, thick, menacing.
“I don’t need a fucking lawyer,” Sam bit out as he strode quickly for the door. “I told you, I didn’t do it.”
Not that the bastard didn’t deserve to die, Sam thought vengefully. Mark Tate had been a waste of human flesh.
“That’s not good enough, Sam.” Josh slammed the outer door closed behind them, following Sam through the small sheriff’s office as he walked quickly for the exit. He needed air, and by God, he needed it now.
“It will have to be.” Sam turned back, ignoring the frustration he glimpsed on the sheriff’s face. “I wasn’t there, Josh.” But he knew he would have killed the bastard if he had the chance.
“It’s easier than you think to frame a man, Sam,” Josh warned him quietly. “Be careful that you don’t let someone do it to you. If your prints had been on just one thing in that room, then I would have had to arrest you.”
Sam took a deep breath. “Coincidence,” he muttered.
Josh shook his head slowly, his brown eyes narrowed, thoughtful.