Heather's Gift Read Online Free PDF Page B

from her as she pulled her fingers free of her twin entrances. Her body still tingled, and though the worst of the extreme arousal had eased, she was by no means satisfied.
    She stared up at the ceiling, ignoring her tears, and cursed fate and reality. In her dreams it was Sam taking her, yet it seemed the reality of it would never come to pass.

    * * * * *
    Sam stared at the ceiling, arousal and anger moving through his system as he fought to ignore the erection tormenting him. Damn. This wasn’t working out. Heather in the house all day, tempting him, her smile and her laughter teasing him in ways that stretched his self-control to its limits.
    He remembered finding her the night of the attack. Unconscious, naked, blood staining her thighs from the slashes made across her mound. One had come dangerously close to her tender clitoris. Thin, shallow, but devastating all the same. His hand lowered, tucking beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, gripping his cock. He could feel his own scars. Razor thin, but even now, twelve years later, easily felt. They crisscrossed the head, the shaft, his scrotum. A madman’s brand. A madman’s revenge.
    He closed his eyes, the misty nightmare visions silhouetting behind the closed lids as his heart rate increased and his stomach tightened with tension. The memories were there, so close…
    The jarring ring of the phone beside him jerked him from the forming visions of the past. With a curse on his lips, her rolled over and jerked the phone from its base.
    “What?” he snarled.
    Lora Leigh
    Heather’s Gift
    24
    “You like fucking your brothers, August?” Mark Tate’s voice came through the line. Breathless, almost frightened as he spoke. “You have two hours to show up at my place, or I send these pictures I have to every newspaper and law enforcement agency in the country. Interesting pictures of a dead man.”
    Sam stilled. A haze of pain and white-hot fury swelled in his gut.
    “You’re a dead man,” he whispered.
    The line disconnected.
    Lora Leigh
    Heather’s Gift
    25

    Chapter Five

    There was blood everywhere. Like his worst nightmare come to life. The stench of death was like a blow to his chest, taking his breath, stealing the very air from his lungs. Sam could do nothing but stare in horror. Mark Tate was laid out in the small dingy living room of his mobile home, his body beaten nearly to a bloody pulp. It was Mark, he knew it was, but the features were nearly indistinguishable, his limbs were contorted, bits of flesh and blood splattered walls and furniture alike. Sam shook his head, fighting for breath. He had seen such brutality before, and felt the violence of it searing his system. He shook, fevered and yet chilled as memory and reality collided, and for a moment, the scene was overlapped by that of another. I killed him, Sam, Cade screamed furiously through his mind, his expression savage, commanding. Do you hear me? He’s dead. I killed him. Blood had stained them both, the room in his memories reeking of filth and agony, and the bone-chilling scent of death. Just as it did here. I killed him, Sam. Cade’s voice echoed around him again. But Sam had wanted to kill him. Wanted to kill so bad, even now, twelve years later, he dreamed of it. He felt bones cracking beneath his pummeling fists, blood spraying, a gasp of death in his ears.
    He shook his head, blinking. But he couldn’t make himself move. All he could do was stand there, the door opened behind him, staring at the bloody body and the mark of a painful death. This horror of this death didn’t lay on his conscience, yet the previous one did.
    “Sam, back away from the door.” The authoritative, cold voice of the sheriff shocked him back to reality.
    Sam froze, fear flashing through his mind for a moment. His fists clenched, his mind switching into a primal survival response before he was able to overcome it.
    “Sam, I have you covered.”
    Sam glanced back slowly, feeling his face pale. He