Blood & Bones: Sig (Blood Fury MC Book 2)

by Jeanne St. James

  Like a club to the ribs, making him lose all the oxygen in his lungs.

  And again.

  He gasped for air.

  He couldn’t find any.

  Then another strike, this time against his head.

  And another.

  And one more.

  As his knees crumpled, the darkness swept in.

  Sig groaned. His world was still dark, but it wasn’t because his eyes were closed.

  He carefully drew in the horse shit scented air.

  As his lungs expanded, he groaned again.

  Moving slowly—as if he had a fucking choice—he carefully felt around until he found the edge of the blanket and tugged it off his head.

  He blinked. At least doing that didn’t cause pain. Unlike breathing or moving.

  He stared up into the night sky, slowly inhaling, exhaling, keeping his breaths shallow.

  Even so, he winced at the shooting pain in his ribs.

  His mind replayed the last few moments before everything went dark.

  Wasn’t the first time he’d had the shit beat out of him.

  Probably wouldn’t be the last.

  He spat out a bit of mud, then wiped the back of his hand over his bleeding, throbbing lip, wincing again.

  Damn.

  He carefully pressed his fingers around his swollen right eye, checking to see if the socket was broken. It didn’t seem to be, so maybe the blanket had cushioned some of the blows.

  But still... He felt like he’d been kicked in the nuts by a fucking horse.

  He had no fucking clue where he was. But wherever it was made him a sitting duck. He needed to move.

  Somehow find his fucking sled.

  Then somehow make it back to The Barn.

  After a few more minutes, he cursed up into the night air. He patted the hidden pockets of his cut to see if he still had his cell phone.

  Thank fuck he did. Hopefully, it wasn’t broken. Otherwise, he might be hanging out in some field for the next day or so.

  With as muddy as he was, he was most likely dragged to his current location, so that meant he probably wasn’t too far from Rebecca’s parents’ farm.

  That also meant he needed to get the fuck out of there before the sun rose. Way before the sun rose, since those fuckers woke up before the ass crack of dawn.

  He pressed the button on the side of his phone and with another wince, lifted it in front of his face.

  Thank fuck it was working.

  He scrolled through his contacts and found the one he was looking for.

  Definitely not Trip. Because if his brother found out what just happened, he had a feeling his ass would be kicked all over again.

  And right now, he couldn’t fight back.

  Right now, he was as vulnerable as a goddamn newborn.

  “Fuck!” he shouted to the sky, but that shout cost him. “Goddamn it,” he whispered, because that was much less painful.

  Who could come get him and keep their fucking mouth shut?

  Who could pick him up and take him somewhere other than The Barn?

  He found the name he needed and hit Send.

  Chapter Two

  The pounding on the motel room door had Sig groaning and trying to roll up to a seated position.

  He finally accomplished that, but it had taken more time than he liked.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “Door’s open.”

  Ozzy pushed it open. “Your junk covered?”

  Sig tipped his eyes down and considered his naked body. The one still sporting a hell of a lot of colorful bruises. “Has it been fuckin’ covered the last dozen times you’ve been in here?”

  “Fuck no, but I’m about sick of seein’ it.”

  “Just jealous of my monster cock.”

  “Just to tell you, ain’t a monster.” Ozzy moved deeper into the room, but left the door wide open. “Not even close.”

  “Musta seen a lot of dick.”

  “Not by choice,” Ozzy muttered.

  Sig winced when he laughed. Even after three days of being holed up at the MC-owned Grove Inn, his ass was still hurting.

  But it was improving.

  “You find my sled?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was it in one piece?”

  “Also yeah.”

  Sig glanced up at Ozzy. “So, now what?”

  “Droppin’ your ass off there to ride it home.”

  “That’s gonna suck.”

  “Probably not as hard as that Amish snatch you got caught fuckin’ up the ass.”

  Sig grunted. It was a fucking shame he’d never get that ass or mouth again. That had been some sweet addictive shit.

  He tilted his head as he squinted up at the club’s Secretary. “They didn’t kill ‘er, right?”

  “How the fuck would I know? The fuck if I was knockin’ on their door askin’.”

  Sig’s lips thinned out. “Yeah.”

  “So, anyway, you gotta go. Got this room rented out for tonight. Need to get the housekeeper in here to clean up after your ass. You’re a goddamn pig.”

  Sig groaned again as he carefully pushed himself to his feet. “At least I didn’t shit the bed.”

  “Good thing, otherwise you woulda been layin’ in it for three damn days.”

  “Trip wonderin’ where I’m at?”

  “Fuck yeah. He’s got repo jobs lined up and you nowhere to be found. Wonderin’ if you caught any charges. Didn’t tell ‘im you caught a beatin’ instead.”

  “So much for them Amish bein’ pacifists,” Sig grumbled.

  “Yeah, well, when you’re fuckin’ one of their virgins up the ass, that tends to piss ‘em off. Let’s fuckin’ go. Don’t got all day for your belly achin’.”

  “What’d you tell the prez?”

  “Didn’t tell him nothin’. You make up a fuckin’ story. Haven’t seen or heard from you. Right now, I’m a deaf and blind motherfucker. That’s your fuckin’ mess, you clean it the fuck up.”

  Sig sighed. He had no clue what the fuck he was telling Trip. But his brother wasn’t going to let his VP’s disappearance go ignored. Trip was wound too fucking tight for that.

  “How we gettin’ to my sled? Ain’t ridin’ nut to butt with you.”

  “Still got Lizzy’s cage.”

  Lizzy was one of the sweet butts who showed up one day at The Barn a couple months back, right before Sig did. She was great at sucking and fucking but was too old for Sig’s tastes. She had to be at least thirty.

  He liked his snatch fresh and Lizzy was hardly that.

  But Ozzy tended to jump on her whenever he could. Which was often.

  Lizzy probably hoped Ozzy would claim her as his ol’ lady. He wasn’t, and never would. But that still didn’t mean he didn’t take advantage of what Lizzy offered.

  They all did.

  Except for Trip. And Shady.

  But then Shady was a weird fucking dude. Too goddamn quiet.

  And the motherfucker was about to be patched in soon. As well as Dodge, Sparky and Mouse.

  The club was growing faster than Trip expected, which made his brother happy. Not that Sig gave a shit about Trip’s happiness. He didn’t.

  He used to when they were kids and best friends. But then shit changed.

  He pulled on the clean jeans and shirt Ozzy had snuck out of Sig’s apartment. The others had been covered in caked mud. He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and slid on his socks and boots, then shrugged into his cut, grateful Ozzy had Lizzy clean it for him.

  “Let’s roll,” Sig said as he forced his way vertical again.

  They rolled.

  Once Sig was dropped off at his sled, Ozzy headed one direction and Sig the other.

  Luckily, there wasn’t any more damage than there was already. His sled wasn’t perfect. In fact, it was a piece of shit.

  Cage, as Road Captain, told him he needed to do something about that.

  And Sig would. When he fucking felt like it. Not because he was being ordered
to by that douchebag motherfucker.

  Sparky and Dodge had offered to work on it for him. But Dodge was busy helping run Crazy Pete’s bar with Stella, and Sig figured Trip would be pissed if he pulled Dodge away from that, putting more pressure on Trip’s ol’ lady.

  So, it was up to Sparky, and sometimes Mouse, but they could only do it after normal business hours at Dutch’s garage. Because of that, it had been a slow fucking go since Sig had no other wheels. His rust bucket Ford truck had died not long after coming back to Manning Grove a couple of months ago.

  He didn’t have enough scratch to fix both.

  Not yet, anyway.

  He should’ve gotten half the farm from his so-called granddaddy, but his fucking half-brother got it all, instead.

  Most likely because ol’ Clyde had been embarrassed that Sig ended up being his grandson and then that unwanted grandson ended up living in and out of prison. More in than out.

  Could’ve been the reason.

  Even so, Trip owed him half. Which, if he ever got it, he’d sell off and put a shitload of scratch in his pocket.

  But Trip’s asshole was too tight, and he was never giving Sig half.

  While Sig got a free place to stay, it was a small apartment in The Barn’s bunkhouse and not the goddamn big farmhouse where Trip and Stella lived.

  Once again, Sig got the shaft deep up his ass.

  And he hated taking dick there. Never liked it, never would.

  Now, as he rode along Copperhead Road, he debated whether to head back to The Barn and deal with Trip, or just keep riding.

  If it wasn’t for every damn bump he hit, making him grit his teeth and grumble a curse, he’d keep riding.

  Maybe even roll past the farm and keep rolling out of Manning Grove to never come the fuck back since he no longer had Rebecca to help work out his temper when it boiled out of control.

  Jesus fuck, he was going to miss her and their late-night sessions.

  It was going to suck that his belt, which he had luckily found next to him in the field, would only be used to hold up his damn jeans.

  Unless he found someone else.

  Maybe one of those sweet butts. Didn’t matter how old they were if all they had to do was bend over and give him their ass.

  Yeah... Maybe...

  A flash of color moved quickly through the woods to his right.

  And again.

  What the fuck?

  Sig released the throttle, slowing down in case it was a deer or something. Because hitting a deer on his sled would fucking suck. Especially since he was still hurting from the last “collision” he had with some sort of object.

  While having fresh venison would be great, becoming roadkill himself wouldn’t.

  Though, wrecking would give Sig a good excuse to give Trip on why he looked the way he did and hadn’t come home.

  But hitting anything with a sled would still suck donkey dick.

  That flash of red and white kept moving quickly toward the road but awkwardly. Like whatever it was might be injured or, at least, limping.

  And it was zig-zagging through and around trees and brush.

  He hit the brakes and swerved to the narrow berm, squinting up through the thick woods.

  No. Not a fucking deer.

  Not a coyote.

  Not a bear.

  Human.

  A fucking woman.

  Holy fuck. A naked woman.

  Long red hair. Pale as fuck skin. Too fucking thin.

  Totally naked like a woodland nymph. Or some fairy.

  Or a fucking ghost.

  Or just a naked fucking woman.

  One who was scared.

  And running away from something.

  Or someone.

  Or maybe running toward something.

  Or someone.

  Him.

  She was blindly running toward him.

  What the fuck.

  He kicked his stand down and jumped off his sled, then almost fell to his knees as the pain shot through him. He took a second to catch his breath, then straightened, trying to get a bead on this wild woman.

  When she spotted him, her eyes went wide and she veered in a different direction. And when she turned, he spotted it.

  Oh fuck.

  She was thin everywhere. Skin and bones except for her belly, which was rounded. He guessed it could be a sign of malnutrition like those kids starving in Africa he’d seen in all those commercials.

  Or...

  “Hey!” he yelled, which hurt like fuck.

  Where the fuck was she going?

  He moved as quickly as he could down a small ditch and up a sharp incline until he was in the woods, heading in the direction she was.

  “Hey!” he yelled again, but not as loudly this time, because his lungs were having a hard time keeping up.

  She darted around a tree a few hundred feet from him.

  Goddamn it.

  He pushed past the searing pain and began to run, clenching his teeth as he did so. Biker boots were not made for running, especially not in the thick brush. Fuck, bikers weren’t made for running, period.

  Branches smacking him in the face and ribs did not help him keep moving, either.

  Nor did it help her. Because he was about to give the fuck up and let her go.

  Let her go back to the pack of wolves that raised her. Because the fuck if he needed to deal with some mental woman on the loose. He already had enough of his own issues.

  But then she tripped and disappeared as she tumbled, a small cry hitting his ears, causing him to move faster in that direction.

  When he got close enough, he saw she had ended up on her knees in a slight dip with one hand to her distended belly, and he tried not to fall himself. He picked his way over the slippery rocks hidden beneath the thick carpet of rotting leaves and downed branches to get even closer.

  She was struggling to get to her feet, sobs coming from her open mouth, tears creating a path over her dirty cheeks.

  Then he was there.

  “No!” she screeched at the top of her lungs. “No!”

  Jesus fuck. A shiver slid down his spine at the pure terror in her voice.

  She got to her feet and before she could run, he hooked her around the waist, pulling her to him.

  She shrieked so loudly he winced, then winced again as she clawed at his arms, fighting like a crazy woman. Pure panic in her hazel eyes. Nonstop tears.

  Her body, nothing but skin, bones and belly, heaving with each sob.

  He dodged her knee a couple of times, trying not to get nailed in the fucking nuts, and wrapped his arms tightly around her flailing arms, pinning them to her sides.

  He pushed his own pain out of his head when he yelled, “Jesus fuck, woman. Stop... Stop. Only tryin’ to help. Need my fuckin’ nads.”

  She didn’t stop, so he tightened his arms, making sure her teeth, which were snapping at him, didn’t catch anything important.

  With a hair-raising howl, she stomped on his foot, but her bare feet did nothing since he had his steel-toed boots on.

  Then she cracked her heel into his shin. Twice.

  “Fuck!” he yelled. “Stop it! Only tryin’ to help you, you crazy bitch!”

  When she suddenly went limp, he got really suspicious.

  Her head dropped forward, her muscles went loose and it was only her breathing still out of control.

  “You done?”

  She didn’t answer, which meant she wasn’t done.

  “Only tryin’ to help,” he whispered, afraid to loosen his hold. “If I let you go, you won’t run?”

  “I... need...” Her long, dark red hair was a total disaster. Knotted and dirty with twigs and pine needles stuck in the strands. It looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in weeks, if not longer.

  “You need to what?”

  “To... run.”

  Fuck, if that didn’t send another shiver shooting down his spine. “Gonna help you run.”

  Her head lifte
d. Her mouth was parted and she still panted.

  She was way too thin. Her ribs were showing, her hip and shoulder bones protruding. Her skin almost transparent, especially over her belly where it was stretched tight. Her blue veins could be seen like a highway map under that pale skin. Purple half-moons discolored the skin under her haunted greenish-gold eyes.

  Old and new marks circled her wrists and ankles. Her skin was bruised and raw in places. Bloodied in others.

  An old yellowish bruise colored one cheek. A new purplish black one colored the other.

  Marks in the shape of fingers decorated her throat.

  A large bruise covered the right side of her ribs.

  Multiple welts striped her back. Long and thin. Reminding him of the buggy whip marks left behind on Becky when he had used it.

  Her feet were so filthy it appeared she wore dirt shoes.

  Her nails were ragged and black, too. They were also bleeding like she had tried to claw her way out of something.

  Sig’s stomach turned. “Gonna help you.”

  “They... can’t... find me.”

  “They won’t.” Whoever the fuck “they” were.

  “They can’t.” Her voice was hoarse and raw, like she’d been screaming too much.

  “They won’t,” he repeated more firmly.

  “They can’t.”

  “Okay,” he whispered, bile starting to rise up his throat at the panic tinging her words.

  “Can’t go back.”

  “You won’t. I’ll make fuckin’ sure of it.” Jesus, his heart was pounding in his throat.

  “N-never.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “I... can’t.”

  “Okay. You don’t have to. I’m Sig. Gonna take you somewhere safe.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, her face twisting. “Nowhere is... safe.”

  “I got somewhere.”

  “They’ll find me.”

  “No.”

  Her eyes went wide and she screamed, “Yes! They’ll find me. I didn’t give them what they wanted yet.”

  His blood froze at her panic.

  “They’re not... done with me.”

  “Who?”

  “I have to... need to... leave... They’re following me.”

  Was this woman totally off her rocker? Had she escaped some sort of mental institution? Were some white coats chasing her?