Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am (43 page)

She’d lunged to the side to escape his hold, but his hand was big and his grip on her arm was unbreakable. He’d cut her again, whether by accident or anger, and now his grip squeezed her upper arm so tightly the flesh grated against her bone.

Helpless
. Her jaw clenched against the screams desperate to escape.

But she’d fight until her options were gone. She let her weight sag and dragged her feet to make the slaver work for every inch of ground.

He didn’t want to die. She felt the tremor of the knife on her neck. But she’d heard the spiteful resolve in his voice. He’d kill them both if the men trapped him.

Trembling shook her body.
I don’t want to die either
. But she would.
Oh yes
. Even knowing what her death would do to Sam. He’d forgive her. Eventually. The slaver had no intentions of letting her go free; the only question would be when she’d die.

And she’d be the one to decide when. She wouldn’t get into a car with him. If he made it to the parking lot… Well, at that point, she’d make sure the only body he’d get would be a dead one.

“Fucking cunt, move your legs.” He gripped her upper arm, dragging her forward. The knife never moved from her throat. Her lips twisted in a bitter grimace. Maybe he’d trip and kill her by accident.

“I’ll open the side gate for you,” Master Z’s voice came from behind as they neared the mansion.

“Do it,” Aaron grunted, turning away from the door into the clubroom.

Z moved ahead and held the tall wooden gate open.

As Aaron pulled Linda through, leaving the solar lights in the Capture Gardens behind, darkness surrounded them. The wrought-iron sconces along the building walls had gone out with the power.

Footsteps sounded from behind. The Masters hadn’t stayed back but were following. Noisily. Nolan’s rough curses. Anne’s whispered threats. But no gravelly voice. Wanting one last glimpse of Sam more than she wanted breath, Linda tried to turn her head.

Aaron yanked her closer. “You fucking slut, keep your—”

She heard a whistling sound, then a
snap
. Hot wetness splattered across her face and shoulders. The grip on her arm loosened.

Now, now, now
. She threw herself sideways, away from the blade.

Unable to catch herself, she landed heavily on her shoulder and frantically rolled.

Over the pounding of her pulse, she heard choking and screaming, the sounds so ghastly that chills raced over her skin.

She was grabbed, and she screamed. Pulled and kicked and fought the ruthless grip. “No. Not again!”

“Easy there, missy.”

At the growl in her ear, she froze.
Sam
. His hands were on her. He had her. Panting and shaking, she went limp.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her painfully tight, his face against her hair. His voice a low rumble of curses. “That cock-sucking fuckheaded piece of shit. I’m going to fucking destroy the goddamn motherfucking son of a whore.”

He took a breath. “You goddamned scared the shit out of me, girl.” And he actually gave her a shake before yanking her into his arms again. His cheek rested against the top of her head as his barely audible chant continued: “I’ll rip the fucking asshole’s dick off and stuff it down his douche-bag throat. Take my whip and cornhole the bastard peckerheaded fuckwad till his ass whistles ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ Then I’ll break the dried-up piece of jackwad’s leg off and shove it up his ass.” After a minute, Linda untangled the curses and threats, all given in a voice that sounded like a badly tuned gravel truck—the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

A man was screaming, close…
Aaron
. She recognized voices. The Masters were there, she thought, the number increasing as others streamed out of the mansion.

Flashlights flickered. Someone retched.

“He’s barely got a face left.”

“Get an ambulance.”

“God, I’ve never seen so much blood.”

“Remind me not to piss Davies off.”

Aaron screeched louder.

Marcus’s low laugh. “Anne, I do believe that’s overkill.”

“The fucking asshole doesn’t deserve to keep those balls.” Anne’s hard voice. “Who’s got cuffs?”

Over. It was over.

Sam’s arms didn’t loosen.

She didn’t care. She’d stay right there for an eternity.

Cullen detached himself from the crowd. He smacked Sam on the shoulder. “You’re going to break your woman.”

Sam’s growl sounded as if it came from two directions. Conn stood behind the big Dom, fangs exposed.

Without moving, Cullen said, “Davies. Call off your damn hound so I can get her hands free.”

The arms around Linda loosened slightly as Sam’s chest moved with a long inhalation. “Conn. Stand down.”

The dog skirted Cullen and lunged into Linda’s lap, whining his worry. Wet fur. Warm, solid body.

Master Z appeared. He bent, shining a light so Cullen could see what he was doing. The cuffs were unclipped.

As the men moved her arms forward, her shoulders grated like rusty metal hinges. But she was free. And alive. Her body caught up suddenly, and she started shuddering so hard her bones shook. Everything hurt. Grabbing Sam’s shirt, she burrowed, trying to get closer. Closer.

Master Z moved to her side and set a hand on her arm. “Raise your chin, little one.”

Cheek against Sam’s chest, hands fisting his shirt, she couldn’t make herself obey.

“Hell,” Sam muttered. “Anne, take Conn for me again.”

As the dog was pulled away, Sam tried to shift her.

Ignoring the grinding complaint of her shoulders, Linda wrapped her arms around him.
Never, ever going to let him go.

Master Z gave a huff of exasperation. “That didn’t help. Samuel, we need to see what that knife did.”

The chest under her cheek turned rigid, and a merciless grip on her arms moved her back.

More flashlights beamed down on them.

Sam’s eyes were pure ice in the increasing light. “Let’s see, girl.” The anger in his voice reverberated like the bass turned up as he cupped her chin and lifted.

The movement pulled at the burning lines across her neck.

Z touched her neck, then smiled. “All superficial. You did well, Samuel.”

“I’m too old for this goddamned active-duty crap.” Sam put an arm under her knees and lifted her. “Let’s get you bandaged, baby.”

* * * *

Above the Shadowlands in Z’s third-floor home, Sam held Linda in his arms, where she the hell belonged, he thought. Her face remained as white as the fluffy blanket he’d wrapped around her. Her hair held the only color, much like the brightness she’d brought into his life.

He’d almost lost her. Leaning against the arm of the couch, he pulled her closer. Her legs had tangled with his; her cheek rested against his chest. Her breath created a warm spot on his shoulder, a tactile proof she was alive.

So damn close.

Aaron could have slit her throat. Although the cops had been shocked at what the bullwhip had done to Aaron’s face, Sam had been—was still—shaking at how close the bastard had come to killing her.

And she wouldn’t have been the first. When she’d told the cops that Aaron had planned to cut off her hair, they’d gone quiet. A call had gone out.

A while later, Marcus and Dan had come upstairs to share what the detectives found at Aaron’s apartment. Mementos from the women he’d raped and killed.

She stirred as if detecting his thoughts, then pushed back to look up at him. The bruising on her face made him want to find the bastard and deal out more punishment. “Did I remember to say thank you?” she asked, her dark brown eyes the color of the chocolate she liked so well. He’d need to stock up.

“For what, baby?” He brushed his hand over her hair.

“The rescue.” She pulled in a breath. “For letting the choice be mine.”

The fabric of the blanket was soft under his fingers as he squeezed her shoulder. Too thin. She’d lost weight in the last week. Since he’d been such an ass. “The choice is always yours.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I could have got you killed.” He foresaw having nightmares for years about that knife against her throat, the dark trickle of blood on her pale neck.

She flattened her palm on his cheek. “You didn’t. And I wouldn’t have let him take me. I wasn’t going to go farther than the parking lot.”

He’d known, goddammit. How could so much courage come packed in someone so soft and sweet? He kissed the top of her head.

“I wondered…” Her forehead furrowed. “Why didn’t you wrap the whip around his arm and pull the knife away?”

The cops had asked the same question. Seemed they all watched too many
Indiana Jones
movies.

Sam picked up her arm and bent it, duplicating the position in which Aaron had held the knife. “Need space around the target to wrap a whip. And got to wrap the leather a couple times so it will hold when I pull.” He used a corner of the blanket to make a few turns around her wrist, then opened it to show her the length. “There wasn’t enough room. The tail would have hit your face.”

“Oh.” She swallowed. “You knew what you’d do to his…face when you hit him, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” He tucked the blanket back over her shoulder, hating that she’d gone paler. He’d hoped she wouldn’t see Aaron, but of course, she’d looked. “In a scene, a single-tail is used…lightly…even when you intend to draw some blood. With Aaron, I didn’t hold back.”

Her shiver reminded him that her friend, Holly, had been whipped to death.

“It was a bad gamble, baby. Get surprised by a punch to the face and you’re stunned. Paralyzed for a split second. Only a second. But when the whip hit him, it wouldn’t have worked if you hadn’t jumped away.”

Brave, brave woman.

She squeezed his hand and looked at him in a way that made his heart melt. “Thank you for hearing me. And for saving my life.” When she took her hand away, he missed her warmth. “I’d better get moving. Will you walk me to my car?”

His jaw clenched hard enough to bust his molars. “No.”

“Sam. We can’t sit in Master Z’s living room all night. It’s time to go. I can drive now.”

And when she had a belated reaction on the road? When she drove into a ditch, leaving him alone? No damned way. “I’ll drive. And you’ll come home with me.”

Her big eyes widened. Her chin came up. When he saw the bandage, a small circle of red staining the center, his throat loosened so more words came forth. “I want you in my house. Living with me. In my bed.”

“But…”

“I love you.” The words came easier each time. He curled her closer into him. She was so damned precious. Fragile and strong.

When she didn’t answer, he had an uncomfortable reminder of how his silence must have hurt her. He gave her an impatient jostle. “You’re supposed to say it back, girl. There are rules.”

“Rules?” Her lips tipped up. “My sergeant.” Her eyes warmed in the way he’d needed to see, and she whispered, “I love you, Sam. I really, really do.”

As he buried his face in her hair, he swore to himself that she’d hear the words from him every single damned day.

Two weeks later

As Linda checked the chicken in the slow cooker for after-church dinner, she smiled at the sound of the children’s laughter coming from the dining area.

Nicole was teasing Charles about continuing with his cafeteria job despite the settlement from the newspaper.

“I decided to save the money. It’s not that bad, putting a few hours in,” answered Charles.

Brenna snickered. “And you get all the girls lined up in a row to flirt with, right?”

“Very true.”

Charles
. Linda laughed under her breath. Her son definitely had a way about him. Girls had flocked to him even in kindergarten.

As an arm wrapped around her waist, she heard Sam’s gruff morning voice. “Good thing I have farm chores, missy, or your cooking would give me a big gut.”

She grinned, turning in his embrace to receive her kiss. “Good morning. The kids got here early.”

“I heard.” He really did growl like her neighbor’s dog, Bruno, although a corner of his mouth tipped up, showing he was pleased.

Linda tilted her head at noise from outside. “Is that a car?”

“Sounds like.” His brows drew together. “Construction’s done. Kids are here. No deliveries are scheduled.”

Linda and the children followed him out to the front porch.

A car drew to a stop in the circular drive in front of the house. Blue paint, scraped and faded, a headlight shattered, the passenger door bashed in. A stick-figure blonde emerged.

“Nancy,” Sam muttered.

That was Sam’s ex? Linda turned to look at Sam. His expression was icy cold…growing more remote by the second. Fear washed over Linda. No. Not again. She took a step toward him.

“Mother.” Nicole sounded as if she was winded.

Seeing the fear and anger and sheer misery on Nicole’s face, Linda felt fury boiling in her veins. No child should look like that.
Ever
. Last Sunday, the children had flipped through Nicole’s baby book. A true mess. Apparently Sam had slapped the pictures in with no attempt at artistry. But he’d tried.

Far too many of the pictures showed a girl with haunted eyes—the same look as she had in her eyes now.

No more. This stopped right now.

Sam started toward the steps.

Linda slapped a hand to his chest, halting him. “Stay here. I’ll take care of this.” She glanced at her son. “Charles, keep them here.”

As she ran down the steps, she heard Sam’s rough, “What the hell?”

“Uh-uh,” Brenna said. “Don’t mess with Mom when she gets pissed off. Seriously.”

Linda stalked across the drive.

The blonde scowled, then attempted a smile. “Hey. I’m here to see Sam. Tell him—”

“No.” Linda crossed her arms over her chest. Tweaker skinny, teeth rotten, dyed-blonde hair with roots showing, attired in skanky clothing. Poor Nicole. “I live here now, Nancy. You’ll deal with me—for about thirty seconds.”

“What the fuck?” Shock and anger twisted Nancy’s face. She had sweat on her forehead. Hands trembling.