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

by Jeanne St. James

“What’s the size of a cow?” Ozzy asked, his eyebrows pinned low. “A horse?”

  “An inbred goat fucker,” Sig whispered. His eyes met Trip’s, whose lips were nothing but a slash since he was pressing them together so hard.

  “Not sure we wanna get into that type of business,” Sig’s brother said. “Seems like there’d be a lot of rules we’d need to follow. You know, like EPA and shit. Could be a hassle.”

  “It’s lock and key, brother,” Deacon explained. “Just gotta maintain the equipment, the buildin’ and the licensing. It’s easy fuckin’ peasy. Pick up the animal, put it in the Easy Bake Oven, set it to well-done and poof... got ashes. Shovel those into a bag. Throw that bag into whatever container they pay us a lot of scratch for, then deliver them to the grievin’ owner.”

  “What about the cows and horses?” Ozzy asked.

  “Those ashes can get spread in a field as fertilizer,” Deke answered with a half shrug.

  Sig’s eyes held Trip’s again as he murmured, “We got plenty of fields.”

  “We sure do.” Deacon raised his eyebrows at Sig. “Lots of room to spread ashes of large animals.”

  “Goddamn genius, Deke.”

  The man sat back and shot Sig a smile. “Nooo shit.”

  “Fuckin’ genius,” Sig repeated, scraping his fingers down his beard.

  “We got the scratch for it?” Trip asked Deacon.

  The club’s treasurer nodded. “Enough for the down payment. Gonna negotiate the sellin’ price with the vet. Get it knocked down some. He wants us to offer his clients a discount. Told him no fuckin’ problem. He’s even gonna help train whatever dog shit prospects we get to run it. Also talked him into includin’ the van he uses for pickup and delivery. And... best part... he’s willin’ to finance the balance with a super fuckin’ low interest rate.”

  “Damn, Deke,” Trip said, looking impressed. “How soon he wanna close on it?”

  “Fuckin’ yesterday. But I’ll get with him and hammer it all out. Because of regulations and licensing, might take a little longer.”

  “What about the car wash?” Cage asked.

  “We do the deal with the vet, ain’t got the scratch for the car wash. That’d be a bank loan for the balance, if we did. And the banks are a major pain in the fuckin’ ass to deal with for an organization like us. The crematorium’s the best deal outta the two.”

  “Yeah,” Sig said under his breath. It sure fucking was.

  “Let’s vote,” Trip suggested, surprising Sig by suddenly being on board with the idea.

  Within thirty seconds, the plans for the club to buy a pet crematorium were approved by everyone sitting at that damn table. The table where Judge, Trip, Sig and Stella’s fathers sat around more than twenty years ago.

  Now the current exec committee needed to talk about Red.

  Sig needed to not only get his brothers at the table on board, but the rest of the brothers in the MC, too.

  He needed everyone to do their part in protecting her. And they needed to do it like she was club property. For at least as long as she was living in his place. Until that kid was born and safe from the clan.

  After that?

  Hell, he had no fucking clue.

  Sig sat out on the landing in a folding chair, his bare feet up on the metal railing, and an open beer on the floor next to him. He’d set up two chairs out there so Red could get some fresh air and sunshine when he wasn’t out there smoking.

  He didn’t want to smoke anywhere near her, since seven days after finding her running through the woods, she was already starting to look better and not as much like a haunted skeleton. Her skin wasn’t so translucent, her hazel eyes more focused, her speech a lot clearer, and her cheeks no longer hollow.

  They shouldn’t be. She was eating more often and now finishing every meal he put in front of her. She was even starting to putt around the kitchenette a little, sometimes making herself a snack. Once even making him a big pot of spaghetti.

  She had eaten more of it than he had and was turning into a bottomless pit.

  And he knew why.

  The kid inside her was becoming a lot healthier, too. Her belly had popped out almost overnight and seemed almost twice as big as when he first found her. Though, she never talked about it. Never touched it when he saw it moving, even through the maternity tops Stella had picked up for her. He’d been tempted to reach out and feel a kick or two himself. But he didn’t.

  She didn’t want to think about what was growing inside her. She still called it a seed and never called it a baby.

  Not once.

  Sleeping on the couch this last week really fucking sucked. His back was killing him, his neck was stiff and his ribs slow to heal.

  It wasn’t just Red holding him back from going on the club run that afternoon, it was the thought of hitting all those bumps in the road. He needed to finish up healing so he could get back to normal.

  He lifted the joint pinched between his thumb and middle finger to his lips, took a long drag, tipped his head back as he held the smoke deep in his lungs and he stared up at the clear blue early October sky. Perfect fucking Fall day for a run, too. Not nut freezing cold or ball sweating hot.

  He blew a long stream of smoke up toward the clouds.

  Fuck.

  He could use that run.

  He was as tense as a motherfucker and a long ride might help. He’d been smoking weed every fucking day in a desperate attempt to keep his temper in check. But he was still on edge.

  A very sharp one.

  Most of it was due to him trying to talk to Red about her family. About her home. About her fucking life.

  About anything which would give him some clues about her. About what happened to her.

  She gave him dick.

  She’d sleep, eat, watch TV, and clean. His apartment hadn’t looked this fucking spanking clean since the day he’d moved in. He didn’t ask her, she just did it. Stella said it was good for her since it kept her moving. Kept her mind busy.

  It was good for him, too, since his place had been a shit pit.

  Sometimes her eyes were glazed over like a fucking zombie and sometimes she was more coherent. Like when Red watched the news. She’d ask him about current events. Shit she’d probably missed in the months she was up on the fucking mountain.

  But Sig couldn’t give a flying fuck about current events. He wanted to know what happened to her.

  Stella would take her on walks around the property and on those outings she’d also try to get Red talking. Trip’s ol’ lady failed every damn time. Red was more interested in learning about the town, about Stella and Trip and about the club.

  She asked Stella a lot of questions.

  Even about Sig.

  He gave Stella permission to answer any questions about him honestly. He didn’t give a fuck and Stella didn’t know everything about him, anyway. What she did know, everybody else did, too. Including Trip. So, it wasn’t like Red would hear any of his deepest, darkest secrets.

  If he wanted her to know those, he’d tell her himself.

  Sig made sure they were never out there walking alone. Someone was always following. Usually one of the prospects.

  Just in case.

  Trip had been handling all the repo jobs for the past week, but he was bitching about it. So, Sig had no choice but to get back to it. He’d just need someone to stay with Red while he was gone. Someone other than only Stella.

  He also didn’t want to lock Red into the apartment alone. That wouldn’t be much different from being locked up on that fucking mountain.

  In fact, the other day he caught her trying to open the door while he was grabbing some clothes from the bedroom. But he kept it locked from the inside so she wouldn’t slip away when he was in the shower, or cooking, or whatever the fuck he was doing and not able to keep an eye on her.

  What she said that day had cut him deep. “Not as bad. But a jail just the same.” Then she had gone back to the bedroom, closed the door and he d
idn’t see her for the rest of the day.

  He’d heard her, instead. Crying softly. Probably muffling it into his pillow. Soaking it with her goddamn tears.

  But he didn’t know what else to fucking do.

  Until she told him differently, she had nowhere to go and no way to get there.

  And for some fucking reason he felt responsible to keep her safe.

  To make sure the Shirleys never put their hands on her again.

  To make sure they paid the price for what they did to her.

  But he couldn’t stop hearing her crying. Even when she wasn’t. He’d tried covering his ears and grinding his teeth like he had when he was a kid to drown out Buck fucking his mother.

  To stop hearing that headboard banging the wall.

  To stop hearing his mother’s cries.

  To stop hearing the filthy fucking names Buck called her.

  To stop hearing his father come home and do the same thing not a few hours later.

  So, he locked Red in, went down into The Barn, grabbed a full bottle of Jack, went back up and sat outside the apartment door with his back against it, a hand-rolled in one hand and the whiskey bottle in the other.

  Eventually he no longer heard the crying because he no longer heard anything.

  He’d blacked out and only came to when Judge kicked him awake and helped him back into his own apartment so he could sleep on his own fucking couch.

  When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he saw was Red standing in front of the picture window near the couch, her forehead and palms pressed to the glass. He had no idea what she was staring at, but he could imagine it was her freedom. Just out of reach.

  He’d done it himself plenty of times along the razor-wire topped fence line of whatever prison he was in at the time.

  His problem was, every time he got free, he’d do something within a few months to lose that freedom he wished for.

  He doubted Red would do the same.

  The minute she got free—from the Shirleys, from the burden she was carrying, from Sig—unlike him, he doubted she’d do anything to change that.

  “Talk to me,” he had urged her, trying to keep the desperation from his voice, which was rough from his all-night bender. His head throbbed as he watched her, hoping she’d finally talk. Just give him something.

  Anything.

  She didn’t.

  Not that morning.

  Not this morning, either.

  So, here he sat, smoking a fucking fatty and drinking a beer, doing his best not to shatter into pieces he couldn’t control.

  The door next to his opened and the big man stepped out. Judge quickly hid his surprise at seeing Sig out there so early.

  “Didn’t think you’d fuckin’ live after the other night,” the deep, gravelly voice said.

  “Was hopin’ I didn’t, but unfortunately, I did.”

  “Faster way to do it than drinkin’ yourself to death.”

  “Will keep that in mind next time.”

  The dogs pushed past Judge and down the steps to do their thing. Judge grunted as he settled his bulk into the folding chair next to Sig.

  “Thanks for pickin’ up food for her from Dino’s last night. Was stuck on that fuckin’ repo over in Parsington.”

  Judge held out his hand and Sig passed him the joint. “You snag it?”

  “Yeah, got chased with a fuckin’ golf club, though. Fuckin’ bitch was crazy.”

  Judge grinned and took a hit.

  The two big dogs galloped back up the steps. Justice immediately laid down in front of them and began to lick his balls. The fucker was always licking his balls and dick.

  “Life would be a lot easier if I could fuckin’ do that,” Judge grumbled, handing the joint back to Sig.

  He took another hit and when he stifled a laugh, the smoke escaped. “Yeah, right?” That chuckle only hurt his ribs just a little this time. That was a good sign. “Why d’you have Justice?”

  “Deke’s outta town. Huntin’ a bail jumper. Where he also happened to fall into some freshly divorced slit.”

  Sig knew what “freshly divorced,” or even newly separated, meant. Those bitch’s main goal was riding as much dick as possible, trying to catch up for all the time they wasted on the motherfucker they “mistakenly” married and was faithful to. At least the women who weren’t cheating whores like his mother. And like Trip’s first wife.

  Hell, like most of them.

  “When’s he back? He missin’ today’s run?” Sig passed the joint, letting the smoke in his lungs roll out of his mouth and sucking it back up into his nostrils before allowing it to escape up into the sky.

  “Yeah. He’ll show back up when he either captures the asshole he’s lookin’ for or gets tired of fuckin’ the same slit a few days straight. Or she rides his dick raw and his nuts dry.”

  Sig snorted.

  Judge took a couple long drags on it before handing it back. He nudged the bottle at Sig’s feet with his boot. “Early for beer.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We got a run later.”

  “Yep.”

  “Guess you ain’t goin’,” Judge concluded.

  “Nope. Why I’m drinkin’ that fuckin’ beer and smokin’ this dope.” Sig shook his head. “‘Bout ready to fuckin’ snap, brother.”

  “Why?”

  “Like Trip, got Buck’s blood in me and it mostly runs hot.”

  “Yeah. You were takin’ it out on that Amish piece of ass.”

  Sig blew out a long breath. “Yeah. She was into it.”

  “Bet she was.”

  “Know if any of the sweet butts or the bitches that hang around downstairs are into that?”

  Judge’s eyebrows rose. “Think I checked their fuckin’ resumes?”

  Sig grinned. “No, but guessin’ a big guy like you likes it a little rough.”

  “A little rough ain’t leavin’ bloody welts on a woman’s ass, Sig.”

  Sig’s grinned flattened out. “Some are into it.”

  “Sure they are. Just haven’t met any.”

  “Probably wouldn’t know unless you asked.”

  “Pretty fuckin’ sure they’d ask first,” Judge grumbled.

  “So, none of those patch whores are into rough?”

  “Just said I’d lick my own dick and balls if I could. There’s a reason for that.” Judge held out his hand again and Sig passed him what remained of the joint. He pulled a roach clip out of the inside pocket of his cut and handed that over, too.

  “Gotta ask ‘em yourself, Sig,” Judge finally said after smoking it down to almost nothing. He jerked his head back toward the apartment behind them. “Gonna whip and bust a nut in some other bitch while you got that one in your place? Or you gonna bring one up here for her to watch while you do it?” He crushed what little was left of the roach between his big fingers and flicked it over the railing.

  “Don’t know what I’m gonna do yet. Just thinkin’ about my options. Gonna need to do somethin’ soon, though. Can feel shit gettin’ tight. Stickin’ close to home ain’t helpin’, either. Makin’ me more restless than ever. Today’s run woulda helped somewhat, but not even gettin’ that.”

  “So, go on the run and get Shady to stay with her like the other night. Those two can sit there not talkin’ to each other for fuckin’ hours.” Judge snorted.

  It bugged the shit out of Judge that Shady was so damn quiet. He was used to the Originals who were all loud-mouthed assholes and were drunk or fucked up more often than not.

  “Ain’t gonna be enough.”

  Judge frowned. “What won’t?”

  “The run. Wouldn’t be enough, anyway.”

  Sig could feel Judge studying his profile, so he kept his eyes glued to the distant tree line and waited.

  “You know, that one in there sticks, you ain’t gonna ever be able to do that shit with her.”

  That wouldn’t be a problem. “Wasn’t plannin’ on her stickin’, brother.”

  “Good.
It’s clear she ain’t what you need.”

  “Right.”

  “Her head space is nothin’ but fucked up. Yours ain’t much better.”

  That was something Sig didn’t need to hear. He knew it already. It was hard to hide, so most of the time, he didn’t.

  He sucked on his teeth, then nabbed his beer off the floor, putting it to his lips as he said, “Goin’ up there.”

  Judge shifted sharply in his chair. “Where?”

  Sig took a long pull on the bottle, then sat it on his thigh. “Up there.”

  “The fuck you are. ‘Specially alone.”

  “Yeah, brother. Just to see what I can find out.”

  “Don’t be a stupid fuck, Sig.”

  “Easier to sneak in and out to grab some info doin’ it alone.”

  “Get it from her,” Judge ordered.

  “She ain’t talkin’.”

  Judge spit a hocker over the railing. “You blame ‘er?”

  “No.”

  “Try fuckin’ harder.”

  “One of the reasons my patience is runnin’ so fuckin’ thin. Tired of waitin’. Tired of tryin’. Tryin’ not to push her, but I gotta know.”

  Judge leaned forward, planted his elbows on his thighs and twisted his head toward Sig. “Why? Just said she ain’t stickin’.”

  “Just need to know.”

  “Is it some sick fantasy for you, Sig, knowin’ what happened?”

  Was it? He twisted his neck to face Judge. “No. Wanna make ‘em pay.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause they shouldn’t get the fuck away with what they did to her.”

  “Like you did to that Amish girl?”

  “Again, she wanted it. Asked for it. Was into it. Not gonna justify that shit again. Red didn’t ask for any of what happened to her. She didn’t beg for those bruises or to be knocked up.”

  “That you know of.”

  “I know.”

  “You wanted them to pay, shoulda dropped her off somewhere right away—the hospital, the pig pen—then let the law deal with ‘em. Had two fuckin’ easy choices right there to make them pay. It’s more than that.”

  “They need to pay, Judge. Not in an easy choice type of way. But, yeah, it’s more than that.”

  “Yeah.” Judge turned to stare out over the back fields. “I hear you.”