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

by Jeanne St. James

  “She tell you anythin’ more than her name?”

  “No. But I think that baby is one of the Shirleys’. I’m not sure, but I assume she didn’t volunteer to get pregnant. Not with how she looks.”

  “Fuck no. D’you see her nails?”

  “Yes. I...” Stella’s mouth twisted. “We need to do somethin’, Sig.”

  No shit. “We’re gonna. Told your ol’ man we’re handlin’ it. One reason he’s not real happy right now. Just need to get the whole story from her first.”

  “And you think she’s going to tell it to you?”

  “Maybe. If not me, maybe you. Know you already helped, but need you to help make your ol’ man see why we need to handle this ourselves. Not go to the fuckin’ pigs.”

  “He wanted to go to the cops?”

  Sig nodded. “He’s worried about stirrin’ up shit with them. Becomin’ their focus. Creating bad blood between them and the Fury, like in the past.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. “So am I. But in the past, the Fury would’ve handled this on their own. They never would’ve went to the cops, either.”

  “Right. He needs reminded of that. That we handle our own business.”

  “But, Sig, is she really our business? She doesn’t belong to us. You said you know her. Do you really?”

  He stared at Stella for a moment. “Know what it’s like to be trapped, unable to escape, Stel. Know what it’s like to fight to survive, to fight for my freedom. So, yeah, I know her.”

  “But, Sig, you had a choice to stay out of jail. I don’t think she had a choice.”

  He hadn’t only been talking about jail. “Maybe not. And, yeah, I fucked up.”

  “A lot.”

  Sig grimaced at her reminder. “Yeah, a lot.”

  His first of many major fuck ups was planting Buck’s knife under Razor’s jeans so he’d find it. That one action caused the complete annihilation of the Blood Fury.

  The action of one stupid twelve-year-old fucking kid.

  She jerked her chin up at his face. “You getting into fights isn’t going to keep you out of jail.”

  “It wasn’t a fight.”

  “What was it?”

  He sighed. “I’m sure Trip will tell you everything.”

  “Oh great,” she groaned with a frown.

  “Yeah,” was all he said.

  She shook her head. “I need to get back up to the house.” Stella headed toward the door but stopped right before it. “She needs to get looked at. She needs medical attention. Prenatal vitamins. We have no idea even how far along she is. Do you want me to call my doctor and see if I can get her an emergency appointment?”

  “Yeah. Will need to take your Jeep, cover that red hair, sunglasses. Whatever. Just in case those fuckin’ Shirleys are out lookin’ for her.”

  Stella nodded. “I’ll take care of all that. And I’ll give the doctor the heads up on the situation. You just take care of her in the meantime. Small meals. Lots of fluids. Sleep. That’s what she needs. Trip had a couple repos for you today with the rollback. I’ll tell him he needs to find one of the prospects to handle them. Don’t leave her alone, Sig. I have a feeling if she gets a chance, she’ll try to run.”

  Sig had no doubt Red would try to run, too.

  And he wouldn’t blame her one fucking bit.

  “Stel,” he called out, making her pause with her hand on the knob. Then he said a word that felt foreign on his tongue. “Thanks.”

  Stella gave him a small smile and left.

  The first thing Sig did was lock the deadbolt and tuck the key deep within the front pocket of his jeans.

  The second thing he did was take off his boots and head straight back to his bedroom.

  He quietly opened the door and walked as softly as he could through the dark. To the right was the only window in the room since to the left was Judge’s apartment. Straight ahead, behind his king-sized bed, was the second level storage area for The Barn.

  A spare sheet covered the large picture window, which he only used to filter out some of the morning sun since he wasn’t worried about privacy up there, even though his window faced the courtyard. He didn’t really give a fuck if anyone caught him walking around his room with his dick out. In fact, he’d mooned some of the prospects and hang-arounds a few times by shoving his ass against the window when they were out there partying all night. They’d all been drunk, including him.

  He grinned. If he checked, he’d probably find several ass and nut sac smudges on the glass.

  That grin quickly disappeared as he studied the woman in his messy bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he washed the sheets, but at least they weren’t full of cum stains since he hadn’t brought a woman upstairs to his bed yet. And he was sure as fuck his bed was cleaner than the cage, or room, or wherever Red had been kept locked up.

  She had probably slept directly on a concrete or dirt fucking floor.

  A muscle in his jaw popped as that image flashed through his mind.

  At least he had a great fucking mattress. When he moved in, that was the one thing he’d splurged on. Especially after sleeping for years on those shitty mattresses in prison that were nothing more than a thin pad. Worse, they’d be covered in supposedly “washed” sheets with dark pube hairs stuck throughout the rough fabric. Not his own pubes, of fucking course.

  He carefully sat on the edge of his thick memory foam mattress and was glad it didn’t shift, causing Red to wake.

  Either she was dead asleep or was faking it.

  But her breathing was slow and steady, her lips parted slightly, her fingers curled tightly around the sheet that had been tucked around her, most likely by Stella.

  She was curled up on her side. Because she was so thin, when she was standing, from the front it was hard to see she was pregnant. From the side... there was no doubt. Her rounded stomach wasn’t huge, but it was noticeable.

  She was definitely a few months along. Maybe more.

  The most pregnant chick he ever fucked had gone into labor right after, which is one reason the girl kept begging him to fuck her. He hadn’t wanted to at first until, while she was sucking him off like a pro, she refused to let him finish in her mouth and insisted if he wanted to finish, he either needed to jerk himself off or fuck her.

  So, he did the latter. Without a wrap, too, since there was no fear of knocking her up.

  It was probably one of the best fucks he’d had before he’d turned eighteen. Her tits were huge and he’d taken her doggy style and came once, then she rode his dick and drained his nuts a second time.

  He’d just been thankful for a free suck and fuck at the time, and also that it wasn’t his brat in the bitch’s belly. Or child support coming out of his wallet.

  He pursed his lips as he studied the now clean and unknotted red hair spilled over one of his pillows. He reached out and captured a long, damp strand between his fingers, lifting it and sliding the silky length back and forth between his thumb and the pad of his index finger.

  He’d never been into redheads. He never understood the appeal.

  And she was a true redhead. It had been hard to miss when she was running naked. The contrast of her red hair and her ghost white skin had been startling.

  Almost like fire and ice.

  He released her hair and ran a knuckle over one hollowed cheek, noticing how dark those purple half-moons were under her dark red lashes.

  Her lips were chapped and the bruises ruined the perfection of what should be ivory skin. He hadn’t noticed a freckle on her face earlier. Not one.

  He matched his own fingers up to the bruises on her throat to compare the hand size. It was similar to his.

  A man’s.

  What did she do to deserve someone choking her like that? Squeezing hard enough to leave marks?

  Sig sucked a breath in through his nose and held it, counting to five in his head before releasing it softly from between his lips. It was a technique Trip used to keep from flipping the fuck
out.

  After Trip told him about it, Sig tried it. It didn’t always work. It depended on what the issue was and how far gone he was.

  Using a belt, a whip, or whatever the woman on the receiving end requested, always seemed to work the best.

  But it wasn’t practical. And he needed to find a backup since he now lost Rebecca or his ass might end up right back in fucking jail.

  That would make Trip furious. And Sig would lose the little he had in Manning Grove.

  His goal was to get his half of what his grandfather left behind, what was owed to him, and he couldn’t do that if Trip cut him off from the MC, the repo business and the farm.

  Right now he was sitting solid with a roof over his head, food in his gut, and a way to make some scratch. But that didn’t mean he’d stick around forever. He’d never stuck in one place for very long unless he was forced to because of razor wire and an inmate number.

  He let his fingers trail over her shoulder, which was covered in one of Stella’s T-shirts, and down her bare arm to her clenched hand. He worked the sheet loose from her fist and gently smoothed out her fingers. Then he kept moving to the only place the woman was more than simply skin and bones...

  He spread his palm over her belly and waited. He almost jerked his hand away when he felt the slight movement.

  How that kid had survived, he’d never know.

  One problem was, he didn’t think Red would want anything to do with it.

  Another one was, that baby was most likely fathered by one of those inbred motherfuckers.

  He hoped he was fucking wrong. But he also hated hoping that Red was kidnapped when she was already pregnant.

  Was one really worse than the other?

  Yeah, it was. Having a baby fathered by one of those Shirleys would be a million times worse. To be used for breeding like a brood bitch would be a million times worse.

  Fuck.

  He needed to find out the truth. All of it.

  Maybe she had a husband somewhere. A family. People who were panicked about her disappearance. People, other than that fucked up clan, searching for her.

  People who loved and cared about her.

  People who were missing her.

  He followed the movement of the baby with his palm and when it finally stopped, he removed his hand, brushed the hair off her forehead and studied her for a few more minutes.

  She needed to rest. And he needed some air.

  Because suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

  Autumn’s eyes opened and, in the dark, the large numbers from digital clock next to the bed glowed bright.

  Time. She had lost track of it for longer than she could remember.

  Time had become immeasurable within those four walls that had contained her.

  After the seed was planted, they began to track it for her, and sometimes they’d mention how long it had been and how long they had to wait.

  But her mind hadn’t held onto that information.

  She didn’t care.

  She didn’t want to know.

  She just knew as the seed grew, so did her belly.

  And that’s all they wanted. The seed to grow.

  However, now that seed was restless and had woken her up.

  Plus, she needed to use the bathroom. A real toilet with toilet paper. And a sink with a bar of soap where she could wash her hands. A towel where she could dry them off, too.

  She now appreciated those simple things.

  You learned quickly to appreciate things you took for granted before but which had become no longer accessible.

  Like a real bathroom instead of a bucket.

  Or a real bed with sheets and a blanket without moth holes.

  Or clothes.

  Or awful slop that hadn’t been forced down her throat.

  She shifted to the edge of the bed and set her feet on the floor, staring at her now clean toes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a manicure or pedicure.

  A lifetime ago.

  She’d been tied down every once in a while so they could clip her nails so she wouldn’t hurt them by using them as weapons.

  Once, she had slashed Vernon across the face when he was trying to plant that seed.

  He’d gotten so angry he’d punched her in the temple, knocking her out. When she came to, she was no longer tied over the breeding bench but was propped in a seated position in the corner of her “room” with semen sliding down the inside of her thighs.

  She had wondered if it was only Vernon’s. Because sometimes as punishment...

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Was it really only this morning that she had escaped? She must have slept all day and into the night.

  Her belly seemed larger and the seed heavier already.

  That was what happened when you watered and fed a planted seed.

  It thrived.

  She groaned as she pushed to her feet. The T-shirt Stella had given her only fell barely to the top of her hips due to her belly. Everything below was bare.

  In the dark, she could see where Stella had placed Sig’s boxer briefs on the nightstand. She snagged them and pulled them up her legs, the waistband just stretching far enough to circle her belly.

  It would do, even though it felt weird to wear clothes. She hadn’t worn any in so long.

  She quietly moved through the bedroom to the door and opened it slowly. Listening. Waiting.

  Nothing.

  Silence.

  The bathroom was two doors down and she was afraid to turn on the light, to see herself in the mirror. So, she didn’t. Instead, she left the door open and did her thing in the semi-dark.

  She had been forced to use a bucket and not only urinate in it but defecate, too. And not once did she have privacy when she’d done it.

  Anyone could have walked in and watched her.

  Watching was one thing. Touching another. Vernon normally didn’t allow that. Only his wives or daughters were allowed in the shed. To bring her food, to empty her bucket. To hose her off. And in the beginning, when she was allowed one, to replace her ratty blanket.

  To force her to eat.

  To punish her when she didn’t obey.

  When she was done relieving her bladder, she didn’t flush, afraid it would catch someone’s attention. Whoever else was in the apartment. Because she knew she hadn’t been left alone.

  She wouldn’t be allowed to escape.

  She snuck down the short hallway to where the front room was. The open living area and the kitchenette.

  A large screen TV on the wall was on, but muted, the glow from it flickering around the room. Colors from whatever show was playing illuminated the man sprawled out on the couch.

  Sig only wore a pair of jeans, the button open, the zipper partially undone, one hand tucked inside. His eyes were closed, his feet bare, his chest full of tattoos. The arm tucked behind his head had a full sleeve, which ran all the way up along his neck.

  The man had a trimmed dark beard covering his lower face, the sides of his brown hair were clipped very short, almost shaved, only the top left longer. But still not long at all.

  Not like his brother.

  His lips were parted and he snored softly.

  If she was going to leave, now was the time.

  She could walk out the front door and disappear into the night. She could be far away before anyone would know.

  She could disappear. Change her name. Dye her hair.

  Become someone else. Someone no one was looking for.

  She moved quietly and quickly toward the door and slowly turned the knob. When she pulled, it didn’t budge.

  She pulled again.

  Nothing.

  Closing her eyes, she pressed her forehead to the solid metal door and pressed her palm to it. On the other side was freedom.

  She was so damn close.

  She felt for a lock on the knob, but it wasn’t turned. Then she felt around for a deadbolt.

  There.

  There
it was.

  But there was nothing to turn. Nothing to unlock. The pad of her index finger slid over the slot where a key would go. She blew out a breath.

  She needed a key.

  She pushed away from the object that kept her trapped and glanced around at every surface where a key could be tossed. The counters. The tables.

  Nothing.

  Her eyes slid back to Sig on the couch. Then they landed on the leather vest he wore, which was hung over the back of one of the kitchen stools.

  She quickly moved to it and felt for pockets. She found plenty of things hidden in them. Condoms, what looked like hand-rolled cigarettes or joints, a small folded knife, but not a set of keys or even a single one.

  He locked her in and held the key.

  She’d gone from one captor to another.

  She’ll have to find another way, another time to escape. Tonight would not be it.

  She moved back to the couch and studied the sleeping man.

  He had helped her. He’d helped her escape that mountain.

  Was he really locking her in, or was he only trying to keep her safe?

  It didn’t matter, she had no way to escape at the moment. She was two stories up and had no way to climb out of a window and land on the ground without serious injuries.

  And, if she survived, there’d be no choice but to take her to a hospital where the Shirleys could find her and lie about who she was.

  Once again, the sting in her eyes surprised her.

  Maybe it was once again due to the loss of hope.

  Running through the woods, she had it.

  Riding away on the back of his motorcycle, she felt it.

  But now that sliver of hope seemed out of reach. Once again.

  She headed back down the hallway. Stella was right. She needed rest.

  Sleep and food would make her stronger, more capable of escaping, of thinking more clearly. Right now her brain was still fuzzy and she was having a hard time concentrating.

  She quietly closed the bedroom door behind her and checked for a lock on the knob. There wasn’t one.

  Of course.

  The bed called her, but she ignored it to go to the large picture window, the only one in the room and she pulled the sheet away from it to peer outside into the night.

  Her freedom was out there. Beyond this place. Beyond that mountain in the distance.