She dumped the drawings into the rusted barrel before dropping the trashcan to the ground beside her. "This is it," she whispered, striking a match. She stared at the flame on the end of the tiny piece of wood for several heartbeats, willing herself to drop it, when she heard the sound of a stick breaking a few yards away.
"It's illegal to burn trash in this county," Gordon said, reaching out to seize Santana's upper arm. He blew out the match still clutched in her fingers.
Fuck. She tried to pull out of the sheriff's grip. How had she not heard him until he was upon her? "Let go of me."
Gordon tightened his hold, his fingers biting painfully into her flesh. "Not until I get what I came for, bitch," he sneered, spittle flying from his mouth. "If you think you can hide behind that dirty biker, you can think again. I own this fucking county."
She pushed against him as her free hand raked down the side of his face. Her short nails just long enough to mark him.
Gordon howled in pain seconds before knocking her to the ground with a punch to the left side of her face.
She tried to scoot away as he towered over her, blood dripping from two of the scratches on his cheek. She needed to get back to the house, back to the knife. Damn it, why had she left without it? Scrambling to get to her feet, she was knocked down again by his booted foot. Before she could move, he was on top of her, pulling at the front of her thin T-shirt.
"This'll go easier if you don't fight." He managed to rip open her shirt with ease before grabbing one of her breasts. "Fuck. I always knew you had a great set of tits."
Pain shot through her as he squeezed her breasts. He's going to rape me. God, it's really happening. She fought back with everything she had, landing a few blows before he slapped her hard.
Tasting blood, she dropped her hands, searching for something, anything on the ground to defend herself with. "You won't get away with this."
"Of course I will. You think anyone in this county will take your word over mine? Besides, if you don't stop fighting me, there won't be enough left of you to question." Gordon sat up to straddle her. He yanked down the zipper on her shorts before shoving his hand inside. "You're wet for me."
She almost vomited, remembering how she'd pleasured herself earlier with thoughts of Stake. Gordon's fat sausage fingers felt nothing like her own. When his attention went to her pussy, her hand closed around a stick. She would only have one chance at hurting him and a brittle stick wouldn't do anything to that fat gut of his. "Go to hell!" she screamed, thrusting the stick upward towards his body with all her strength.
The stick caught the sheriff in the soft skin under the arm, sinking in almost an inch before hitting bone and breaking in her hand. Although the wound wasn't enough to kill him, it did startle him enough to topple his girth to the side, giving her the room she needed to slide out from under his legs and get to her feet. She took off toward the house with Gordon on her heels.
"You fucking bitch. You're going to pay for that!"
She made it to the front porch before she was shoved hard from behind. Her body flew forward through the screen door as if she weighed nothing at all. Pain shot through her as the splintered doorframe scraped against her exposed skin. Landing on the living room floor, she tried to scramble to the coffee table.
Gordon grabbed her hair and yanked her backward. "You're dead," he spat, slapping her again. "I'm gettin' some of that pussy. It's up to you whether I do it now or after I kill you."
She knew she'd rather die than suffer him rutting on top of her. She gathered saliva in her mouth and spit in his face. "Then fucking kill me first."
He surprised her by pulling a set of handcuffs out of his back pocket. He dangled them in front of her face. "I think I'd rather hear you scream while I fuck you."
"No!" She went wild, kicking at him with her feet while swinging her arms, heedless of the grip he had on her hair. She knew if he managed to get the handcuffs on her, there would be no way to fight him off.
He threw his considerable bulk on top of her, knocking the breath out of her. While she fought to fill her lungs with air, he stretched her arms over her head and snapped the cuffs on her, using the wooden leg of the couch to keep her in place.
Pleased with himself, he sat up and moved to sit on her legs. "I do love a good fight." He noticed the knife for the first time and grinned, picking it up. "Is this what you were after?" He stared at the blade and shook his head before drawing the tip up and down her torso, over one breast and then the next.
She felt like she was looking at someone else's body as thin lines of blood began to ooze from the shallow cuts. She supposed she should be grateful he hadn't applied more pressure, but with her hands and feet bound, she had resigned herself to what was about to happen. It would be a fitting end to her life, and part of her welcomed the defeat.
He set the knife aside. "Patience," he told her. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his fat, stubby cock. "Good things come to those who wait."
She turned her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut as the sheriff yanked her shorts and underwear down and off. She refused to beg him, refused to do anything but hope the end would soon come.
By the time Stake returned home, he was livid. He stalked into the kitchen, grabbed a beer and strode out to the porch. He directed his anger at only one person, himself. What the hell had he been thinking? Did he expect her to welcome him inside after years of turning his back on her? Unfortunately, yes, that's exactly what he'd hoped would happen.
"Stupid sonofabitch." He put the beer to his lips and gulped two big swallows. When he'd started to knock the first time, he'd noticed her on the floor with her hand down her pants. The soft moan that had escaped her plump lips combined with the flush on her cheeks painted an immediate picture of what was going on. Two things had happened in that instant, his cock had gone hard as steel, and he'd hated himself for wanting her. Fuck, he'd known her since she was just a little girl. How could want her so much?
There were too many reasons why he should stay away from her. Not only was she fourteen years younger, but Smash's daughter. Worse, the hard life he'd lived had jaded him irreparably. Even if he managed to get her in his bed, there could be no future for them. The club wouldn't allow it, and he'd pledged his heart and loyalty to the Kings. The last thought brought him up short. Church was in less than twenty-four hours. He should be figuring out what the hell was going on with the drugs in San Antonio instead of fantasizing about being between Santana's legs.
He finished his beer before going back inside. He opened the refrigerator to get another but decided against it. Instead, he slammed the door shut. "Fuck." There was no way he'd be able to concentrate on the club with her on his mind. He shouldn't have left the way he had. He'd been so damn mad at himself and his traitorous body that he hadn't given her the answers she'd deserved.
"Fuck!" he screamed to the ceiling, knowing he should have explained why he'd dropped out of her life the way he had. Before he could talk himself out of it, he jumped back into the old beat-up truck he used for errands and sprayed dirt and gravel as he sped down the drive.
Instead of parking down the road like a fucking coward, Stake pulled into the grass-covered driveway. He noticed the broken screen door immediately. His heart thumped hard and fast as he jumped out of the pickup and ran to the porch.
He opened his mouth to call out to her, but his throat seized when he saw her crumpled body on the living room floor. Rage warred with heartbreak at the nude woman curled into a protective ball. He knelt and reached out to the shaking woman. "Santana?"
The moment he touched her, she uncurled her body and lunged at him with that damn knife he'd seen earlier. He grabbed her wrist before the blood-covered blade plunged into his chest. "Santana!"
She pulled against his hold, trying to free herself. Her stare was vacant, but it was her injuries that stole his breath. He wasn't sure what the dried bloody patches hid on her chest and stomach hid but one thing was certain, she needed a doctor.
"It's me, bug," he said. "I need to get you to a doctor."
She went wild, shaking her head and kicking at him. "No cops."
Fuck. He understood her concern, but the only other physician he knew was Doc, an old grizzled member of the club who'd gone crazy while trying to keep US soldiers alive in Vietnam. "Okay, no cops."
"Momma," she whispered. "I heard a noise. I think she's hurt."
"I'll check on Ellie in a minute, but you need me now." He slowly took the knife away from her and laid it out of her reach. He held out his arms, wondering if she'd welcome his comfort and protection. Please, God, let her accept my help.