Shades of Grey (17 page)

“You’ll never get away with this,” she snarled. “Stephen will know the truth and he’ll find you. I’ll tell him myself.” Her heart was breaking. John—how would he cope knowing his wife was dead and gone? How could anyone kill that sweet, loving woman? And she’d been pregnant!

“You think Stephen will stop me?” Clark roared with laughter. “My God, are you that stupid? Do you really think that’s the only special medicine I’ve got? I’ve got stuff that’ll keep you docile for a good few days, honey.”

She gritted her teeth at his use of that name again. If she could get free, so help her God, she’d tear his eyes out.

Clark moved to Travis, taunting the other man with foul words. Rodney squeezed her a little tighter, showing her his strength, and she gasped at the sight of another man in the doorway.

“Clark, what am I doing here?” Stephen walked into the barn.

Sarah prayed he’d do the right thing.

“Stephen, right on time as always. I’ve got Travis here, the person who killed that hiker and Macy Jo and now he’s going to kill you.” Clark pulled out a gun and shot Stephen in the chest.

Sarah screamed, slammed her foot on Rodney’s, and he let her go, cursing. She ran to Stephen and put her hand over the bullet wound. Blood was escaping through his mouth and he was gasping.

“Oh, God, what did you do?” she yelled at Clark.

He was kneeling next to Travis, forcing him to take the gun. This was too much.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen gasped out before he took one final breath.

Sarah pulled away her blood-covered hands.

Stephen’s blood. John, if he found out about Clark, would rip the man apart, but it looked like Clark would get away with this if she wasn’t around to give evidence.

She didn’t think. She looked at Stephen’s lifeless body and saw his gun. She reached over and pretended to fix the sheriff’s shirt and sobbed to muffle her movements.

She stood and turned the gun on Clark.

Sarah had no chance of leaving this barn alive unless she did this. She wouldn’t be a slave to Clark and his disgusting cronies. The town deserved better than this piece of shit. It would end here, in this barn.

She might die anyway, but she’d take Clark with her.

Chapter Thirteen

What the hell was Sarah doing? Travis watched from his prone position, willing himself to get the hell up off the floor and step between her and Clark. His body felt like it had liquefied, though, and he was frustrated as fuck about it. His brain was functioning just fine, and if he could just get enough strength to call out, distract Clark…

But he couldn’t waste time trying—and what if he distracted Sarah instead? He didn’t need her worrying about him, not now—he needed to gather all the energy he could in order to shift. Pick the right moment to do it, too. He’d tried it several times while watching the woman he loved being manhandled by that jerk, and each time he’d failed to reach that place in his mind that enabled him to transform. His attention being on her instead was a killer, throwing his concentration off. If he could just shift, he’d be renewed, the drugs leeched out of his system from the changeover, his strength returned.

Sarah stood resolute facing Clark, gun pointing at him, and, God, he was proud of her—her hand didn’t even shake, despite Stephen being dead on the ground. He cursed himself for being so out of it, no good to her when it mattered the most—no good to the sheriff. He should have realised Clark hadn’t wandered off with Rodney and left the barn door open, should have known they were lulling him into a false sense of security, to draw him out of hiding so they could catch him. Then Stephen coming in like that… He’d looked spaced out, out of his tree on drugs—and then to be killed?

Fucking hell.

How the fuck was Travis going to deal with watching Sarah kill a man while he lay idly by? It was his job to protect her, God damn it, not the other way around. Being incapacitated burned him so badly he felt sick.

“I’ll fucking kill you if you take one step closer,” Sarah said. “You’ve fucked with me one time too many. How the hell dare you, getting your pathetic friend to bring me here, feeling me up while he was at it?”

“Felt you up, did he?” Clark grimaced and looked at Rodney. “Did you touch her, fuckface?”

Rodney blushed, clasping his hands behind his back like a recalcitrant schoolboy, and stared at the dusty floor.

“You did, didn’t you?” Clark spat a glob of phlegm on the floor. “I expressly told you not to do anything like that. She’s mine, God damn it. Bad enough freaky wolf boy there’s been in her hole before me.” He ground his teeth then sighed. “Still, sloppy seconds is better than none at all. I’ll deal with you later, Rodney. You’ve gone and pissed me the hell off, and you know what that means, right?”

“Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.”

Clark mimicked him then returned his attention to Sarah. “So, as you were saying?”

“Fuck you,” she said.

“Oh, that’ll come later, honey, don’t you worry yourself about that.”

“It won’t. You’ll never touch me again.”

“Oh yeah?” Clark smirked.

If she doesn’t kill you first, I’ll wipe that smirk right off your butt-ugly face.

“Yeah, so back the hell off!” Sarah warned.

“You won’t shoot me. Not when Rodney here can overpower you. He may look as thick as pig’s shit, but, as you’ve seen already, he’s mighty strong when he has to be.”

Shit!

Rodney was looking to Clark for guidance, but his ‘boss’ wasn’t giving him any hints, his sights set firmly on Sarah.

Clark jerked his head sideways, gaze still on Sarah, a smug smile on his face. “Go and sort that dead-as-a-doornail asshole out, dickwad. Drag him outside. Never should have been made sheriff, that one. Deputy had his head stuck up his ass when he brought Stephen on board. I told him to take me on instead, but, no, he reckoned I had a tight enough grip on the town already. And I do.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

Rodney appeared downcast, as though he’d been itching for the chance to grab Sarah and press himself against her. Damn pervert freak. If they got through this, Travis imagined Sarah would take a while to forget the feel of those men touching her. Earlier, when she’d mentioned being groped by them, he’d had to rein in his anger, had to stop himself from rushing out of the barn and attacking them.

So why didn’t you? Why the fuck didn’t you?

Because he’d wanted to stay with Sarah, to give her comfort, keep her safe.

And now look what’s happened. If you’d have just gone for them, torn out their damn throats like you’ve threatened, she wouldn’t be standing there now with a gun in her hand and some asshole goading her to shoot him.

“Well? What the fuck are you still doing here?” Clark shouted. “Go sort out the damn sheriff, you hear me?”

Rodney pursed his lips, gave Sarah a long, lingering look, shrugged and hunkered down. He tucked his hands into Stephen’s armpits and dragged the corpse outside. A trail of blood marred the floor now, and Stephen’s heels had left two slim ravines through the dust. Travis blew out a sigh of relief that the threat to Sarah had lessened, but what about Stephen? Where the hell would Rodney take him?

“So,
honey.
” Clark took a step backwards, his boot sole making the grit beneath it crackle. He looked down and toed the ground, acting as though bored, that taking his gaze off her really didn’t faze him. And maybe it didn’t. Maybe he was so sure of himself that he didn’t fear her in the slightest. “Take a shot, sweetness. See where you hit. See if all your bluster about having a gun in every room is worth the effort it took for you to tell everyone about them.”

Sarah stared at him, eyes narrowed, her cheeks flushing the claret of an angry woman. He knew all about her temper, how Clark’s words would have pissed her off. He imagined her mind ticking over, her thinking of where she could shoot Clark so he didn’t die—so he’d still have to live and suffer in jail with men who wouldn’t hesitate to beat the crap out of him on a daily basis for what he’d done. Killing a hiker was bad enough, but taking a mother away from two small kids? Clark wouldn’t stand a chance.

Travis smiled wryly and a burst of pride surged through him. She may be as stubborn as a damn mule, but it had got her somewhere in life—a respected ranch owner who took no shit from her workers. He’d wager she was asking herself if she could do it—if she could kill a man even though he was bad to the bone.

“You go ahead and take your time, honey. I got all day.” Clark dug a hand in his pocket and brought out a box of matches. “I’ll just go and sit right over here, and, when you’re ready, you go on and pull that trigger.”

He’s mocking her, the son of a bitch!

Clark sat on an empty wooden barrel and took a match out of the box, inserting it between his disgusting teeth. Travis expected him to strike another match and toss it towards the hay bales in the far corner, but the man put the box back in his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest. He stretched his legs out and hooked one ankle over the other, looking as if he was just passing away some spare time.

He’s got some fucking balls. But she’ll do it if she’s pushed. She’ll shoot you, motherfucker. Go on, push her. See what she’s made of.

But Clark didn’t speak, just picked at his teeth with the match, studying the end to see if his rooting around had produced anything. Sarah remained in place, finger curled around the half-cocked trigger, gaze staunch, unwavering. Her mouth twitched as if she was going to say something but nothing came out. She’d thought better of it, then.

This is your chance. Ignore them. Close your mind off. Get to where you need to be.

Travis closed his eyes. The barn was silent except for their breathing and the
flick-flick-flick
of that match against the bastard’s teeth. He focused so hard a pain jabbed the back of his head, but he pushed on, reaching out to that special place in the shadowy recesses of his mind. He grasped its edges and held on, pulling on it, dragging it towards him until its warm thickness enveloped him. It cosseted, caressed, and spread through him like a shot of fast-downed rye, freeing his limbs from the lethargy that had claimed them. And then his bones minimised, forming those that would knit together with muscle and sinew to create the skeleton and innards of his wolf. A shot of adrenaline ricocheted through his blood, speeding to nerve endings and sparking the energy he’d longed to possess. Hair sprouted, popping through his skin, and his fingernails strained as they changed into claws.

He opened his eyes, thanking the good Lord above that he looked down on his sprawled wolf form. Quietly, filled with vigour and an excess of power, he got up on all fours, adopting the stance to pounce.

Sarah remained staring at Clark.

Clark remained chewing his matchstick from his perch on the barrel.

Travis made a quick-fire decision. He crept around the front of his truck and down the other side so he was closer to Clark. Hoping his paw pads didn’t encounter anything on the floor that would make a noise, he slunk forward one slow, agonising step at a time, and stopped just before the end of his truck bed.

Clark sighed and glanced up at the ceiling, clearly playing at being bored.

Travis sniffed, caught Sarah’s attention. She gave him a wide-eyed stare but kept the gun in place.

Clark lifted both hands to rub his eyes with square-ended fingertips.

Big mistake, fucker.

Travis lunged, leaping through the air at incredible speed and slamming into Clark. Clark toppled sideways, the thud of him hitting the floor a pleasure to Travis’ ears. Travis jumped on top of him, pinning him in place on his back. There was no question of what he was going to do—no question at all.

Praying Sarah had the instinct to look away, Travis lowered his head in a swift-as-fuck movement and filled his mouth with Clark’s neck. The bastard writhed, struck Travis’ back with hard fists and gurgled in protest. Travis bit—hard—and, without even a glimmer of remorse, gave a flick of his head. The click of Clark’s windpipe snapping was almost lost in the louder noise of flesh being ripped free. Travis growled and snarled, hating the taste of the man’s blood on his tongue but continuing just the same.

No one threatened his woman. No one.

Travis flung Clark’s flesh to the side and stepped off him, padding to the barn doorway without a backward glance as Sarah gulped in huge breaths behind him. He’d comfort her as soon as this was really over. He couldn’t give in and go to her now. Although Rodney was a dumb son of a bitch, he was still dangerous. Travis looked back at Sarah, who glared at Clark’s jerking body then slowly faced Travis.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “You ripped his fucking throat out!”

Travis nodded once, turning away to peek around the door frame. Rodney stood halfway between the barn and the cottage, appearing to try to lift Stephen up to the lip of Travis’ well. The sheriff’s body was having none of it, seeming to push at him, arm swinging by itself, swatting the dimwit on his chest. Rodney struggled on in his usual docile manner, but then abruptly his demeanour changed. He went from buddy-buddy to all-out mean, launching an uppercut to the sheriff’s jaw. Stephen’s head snapped back, and Rodney let him go. The sheriff went down like a sack of shit, his ass meeting the ground with a bone-jarring smack.

“I gotta sort you,” Rodney said. “Now, I tried being nice, and look how ungrateful you were.” He swung back his leg, ready to kick.

Travis had seen enough. He darted forward, reaching the pair within a second. Barrelling his head into Rodney’s back, he sent the man flying. Rodney yelled out a strangled “What the fuck?” before landing face-first in the dirt. Travis held him down, two legs either side of him, and looked to his right at Stephen.

The sheriff was a pitiful sight. Travis shifted quickly, reached for the handcuffs dangling from the man’s belt and secured Rodney’s wrists in metal. Travis glanced around, spying the bucket chain hanging from the underside of the well roof, nodded to himself and yanked Rodney to his feet. He forced Rodney to the well and manacled him to the chain.