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

by Jeanne St. James

  “I’m going back to that doctor, right?”

  “Yeah. Tuesday.”

  “Are you going with me?”

  “Want me to?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. This woman kept knocking him for a goddamn loop.

  “Yes. Please.”

  “Stella was going to go with you.” And now that he knew Stella had a baby at some point, she’d be best to help Red and would know what the fuck was going on during the appointment better than him.

  “I want you.”

  I want you, too. But not in the way Red meant when she said it. Even so, he was too fucked up for her. Even after her ordeal with the baby was over, there was no way she could deal with his shit. She had dealt with enough. “Why?”

  “I just do.”

  “Red, you’d be better off if Stella went with you. She knows about... those things. I don’t know shit about... that type of thing.”

  “The doctor will be checking to see how the seed is.”

  “Yeah. And you, too. She was worried about you.”

  “She wants the seed.”

  “Yeah, Red, she wants a seed of her very own.”

  Red needed to stop calling it a fucking seed and see the baby for what it really was. It was important that she realize what would happen to that kid after she gave birth to it. She needed to be really fucking sure about giving the kid up, if that’s what she decided. Because once she signed those papers, he wasn’t sure if the adoption could be reversed.

  He didn’t want her to regret giving up her flesh and blood down the road, even if the baby was a result of a rape, even if it was sired by one of those inbred goat fuckers.

  “Why can’t someone plant one in her?”

  Sig frowned. Sometimes her questions sounded like one a child would ask. Other times, like while watching the news, she sounded super smart. She had two sides to her. Her real self that drew him and her broken self, which worried him.

  Somehow her broken self needed to be healed so she could once again be whole. Maybe it would happen once she had the baby, once she was no longer tied mentally to the Shirleys.

  He could only hope that for her.

  It would also help her if she knew those assholes would never be a threat to her again. Or the baby.

  And that was where he could do his part for her.

  Knowing she was safe could help her heal and move forward.

  But he also needed to know what the fuck went on up there. He needed to know who did what to her.

  They couldn’t just go up there and massacre them all, though he’d fucking like to. They needed to do it quietly and be fucking precise. Pick off the ones who made her suffer.

  They would never go to the pigs. Which meant, Sig could get away with doling out fucking justice to the few who deserved it. The PD might never know that the town had a couple less citizens. And being who they were, the pigs might not even care. They felt no love for those “sovereign citizens” who lived by their own laws and gave the pigs the middle finger salute.

  But without her talking, he had no choice but to go up that goddamn mountain to see what he could find out on his own.

  And nothing or no one was stopping him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sig blinked. And blinked again. He winced as the light from the big picture window caused a knife to stab at his brain all Chucky-like. It didn’t help that Red had tucked up the sheet covering that window so the morning—he assumed it was still morning—sunlight was blinding him.

  Also proving he drank way too fucking much last night. Among other things.

  He needed a little hair of the dog to help with this morning’s hangover.

  He groaned, closed his eyes and shoved his hand down his boxers, grabbing his morning hard-on and stroking it lazily.

  Thank fuck Red wasn’t in bed right now to witness how hard he was. Or maybe she had and bolted from the bed because of it.

  He frowned when he heard the toilet flush and the shower start. With as big and awkward as she was getting, he worried about her slipping in the tub.

  He tossed off the sheet and pursed his lips as he stared at the tent in his boxers.

  Did he have time? And how would he get rid of the load? Sock? Shirt?

  No shirt. She was wearing his shirts and probably wouldn’t appreciate pulling one over her head and finding it stiff with his load.

  His gaze slid to the bedroom door. It was closed, so he’d at least have time to let go of his dick before she walked in.

  He squeezed and tugged at his balls, then fisted his cock again, his eyelids getting heavy, as the urge to pull one off quick made his hand slide up and down faster.

  Keeping his eyes straight ahead on the door, he released himself long enough to spit in his palm before once again giving himself a good jerk.

  Fuck yes.

  He only got part of what he needed last night, but he didn’t get everything.

  He normally used the memory of fucking Rebecca’s red-striped ass as jack off material, but for some reason, he was having a hard time concentrating on that. Instead, his mind kept going back to Red wearing his T-shirt. Then peeling it off slowly and touching and squeezing her own tits which were now a little bigger and heavier than when he first saw her naked.

  They weren’t huge because she was still way thinner than she should be, but they weren’t anything to complain about. He imagined himself painting white lines of cum over them instead of creating red stripes on the ivory curves of her ass.

  In his fantasy she smeared his cum all over her tits, wearing a wicked smile, and then licked her fingers clean.

  Fuck yeah.

  Fuck... those lips sucking on her own fingers, tasting his load. Moaning...

  Then giving him an unspoken invitation as she moved to get into that shower. She waited, tossing her red hair, looking over her slender shoulder, beckoning, wanting him to follow her in.

  But he didn’t. He only wanted to watch.

  She gave him a show as she soaped herself up, touching herself everywhere. Especially that dark red bush between her thighs. A couple of her fingers disappearing into that fiery patch.

  Jesus.

  “Red,” he groaned, his eyes closing, his fist moving faster. He brushed his palm over the head, gathering the precum and using it as more lube along his throbbing dick. He jerked faster, harder, not being gentle at all. He didn’t want it to be gentle, he wanted it to be quick.

  But he needed to keep quiet, too.

  Then he was back in that bathroom with her. Her long red hair now soaked and super dark as it stuck to her pale skin, water sliding down her tits and off her puckered nipples. The ones she twisted between her fingers. Her mouth opened and little whimpers escaped that got him all the way to his balls.

  He squeezed the root of his dick, making a tight ring with two fingers, bringing out every vein, while his other hand pumped faster.

  “Touch yourself,” he whispered. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck yeah. Twist them harder. Yeah. Make it hurt. Show me how much you like that.”

  Red’s head was thrown back and her lips were wide open as she panted, the water running into her mouth and then back out over her chin like a waterfall. He wanted to cum on her face, in her mouth. On her tits. In her pussy.

  He wanted to fuck her ass and fill it with his cum.

  He wanted to mark her everywhere.

  Make it so she smelled like him.

  Belonged to him.

  His hips shot up, his head tilted back and he groaned loudly as he milked his dick into his palm, catching all of the cum he wanted to give her.

  But he couldn’t.

  Instead, it was his own hand.

  His own palm.

  His own bed.

  By himself.

  It could never happen with her.

  He couldn’t do what he wanted to do with her.

  She couldn’t be his.

  Even if she wasn’t broken, she could never
handle him. Because he was broken, too.

  There was sex. And then there was more.

  He needed the “more” too often.

  Unfortunately, Red could never give him that. Not with what she’d been through. He wouldn’t even lie to himself by thinking she’d be able to down the road. It took the right woman.

  Even with the small glimpses of her he’d caught—of her true self, of how she would be if she was whole—he couldn’t see her ever doing anything he really needed.

  Then he’d have to get it elsewhere.

  Or get locked up like the animal he could be.

  “Fuck,” he whispered and opened his eyes.

  He rolled out of bed, his palm full of his hot, sticky cum. Searching the floor, he found one of his dirty socks. He snagged it and was wiping off his hand when the door opened.

  He froze.

  So did she.

  She was wearing one of his shirts again, but this time had on some sort of loose cotton pants underneath it. The kind Stella had bought her with a panel on the front that would stretch as her belly grew.

  Her gaze fell to the sock in his hand and then she walked right up to him, plucked it from his fingers, glanced at it for a second, went over to the overflowing laundry basket in the corner and tossed it on top.

  He struggled to keep his expression blank.

  “Is there somewhere I can do your laundry?”

  What? That was the question she had? “No, baby, you ain’t doin’ my fuckin’ laundry.”

  “Why? I have some of my own to do. Are there machines downstairs?”

  “Red, you ain’t carrying fuckin’ laundry downstairs and you ain’t doin’ it. Gonna get one of the... Gonna get someone else to do it.”

  “But—”

  “End of discussion.”

  “That basket stinks.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like something died in it.”

  “Made your point. Gonna get it handled. Yeah?”

  “Okay. You didn’t have to hide what you did.”

  He stared at her.

  “It’s natural for a man.”

  “Jesus, Red.”

  “I’m just saying. I was sexually active before,” she waved a hand around, “that. And I enjoyed it... a lot... I hope to enjoy it again... I hope they didn’t destroy that for me.”

  He hoped not, either, but that didn’t mean he wanted to picture her having sex with a bunch of different men and enjoying herself while she did it.

  Though, he also hoped the men who were lucky enough to have Red didn’t suck. For her benefit. Not theirs.

  Still... He didn’t want to think about it.

  Fuck.

  “So,” she began.

  “Not talkin’ about it.”

  “I was just going to say I’m going to start breakfast.”

  “Oh...’Kay,” he drew out in relief. “Gonna get dressed, take a piss and will be out to help.”

  “You should shower.”

  He lifted a brow.

  She wrinkled her nose. “The basket isn’t the only thing that stinks.”

  “Red, asked you before I got into bed—”

  “I know. But—”

  He lifted a hand. “Got it. Gonna shower.”

  She gave him a small smile.

  For fuck’s sake, he couldn’t wait to see a bigger one than that pointed in his direction. To see some happy on her whole face and in those hazel eyes, too.

  Even so, if it wasn’t for that belly, he would think that woman who had been running through the woods was beginning to disappear.

  He bent to grab the jeans off the floor next to the bed and Red made a sharp sound. When he looked up, she gave her head a little shake with another nose wrinkle.

  It was cute as fuck. He wasn’t into cute, he was into wicked.

  But, damn, suddenly he wanted to kiss her.

  He threw the jeans onto the dirty pile, hoping he had a clean pair somewhere. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done laundry.

  “Breakfast, Red,” he reminded her because if she kept standing there, she was going to find herself in a lip lock with him. And maybe even his tongue down her throat. And he wasn’t sure how she’d handle that. Even if it was only a kiss.

  He had no idea how long it had been since the Shirleys last violated her. Hopefully they had stopped after she’d gotten pregnant since that might have been their only goal. If so, then, besides the physical abuse, it had been at least six months since they’d touched her sexually. Possibly.

  He could only fucking hope. But until she talked, he couldn’t be sure.

  “You have the stuff for pancakes?” she asked hopefully.

  “Nope.”

  “Downstairs?”

  “Probably. Know Trip gets maple syrup from the Amish. So figurin’ there’s a reason for it. If not downstairs, Stella probably got it. Want me to check?”

  “I’m just in the mood for pancakes.”

  “Then you’re gettin’ fuckin’ pancakes.”

  Again, her lips curved slightly. “With warm maple syrup.”

  “Yeah, Red, with warm maple syrup. Whatever you want.”

  “Whatever I want?”

  He swallowed hard at the soft look she gave him. “Yeah.” For fuck’s sake, suddenly he wanted to hand her the fucking world if he could. Just to see more of that cuteness.

  “I don’t want you to lock me in anymore when you leave.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Please don’t lock me in.”

  “Red... Doin’ it for your safety.”

  “Then let me have a key.”

  “Red...”

  “I’m not going to run.”

  He didn’t believe that. Not yet. “Can’t keep you safe if you run,” he whispered, his throat getting tight and a pressure building in his chest at the thought of her disappearing.

  “I’m not going to run.”

  “Red,” he breathed.

  “Sig... I’m not going to run.”

  “You can’t ever leave it unlocked.”

  “Okay.”

  “Not fuckin’ ever.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  He didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit. “Promise me.”

  “I just did.”

  “I need to hear it again.”

  “I’m not going to run. I promise. I have nowhere to go.” With that she turned and walked out of the bedroom.

  He quickly dug out his last clean pair of jeans and found a clean shirt. Then he went to take a shower so he didn’t stink.

  Autumn walked out of the bedroom and took a quick pit stop in the bathroom, which was becoming a too often thing. As she washed her hands, she studied her face in the small mirror over the sink.

  Her eyes were brighter and her cheeks held a little color now, other than the bruises that had become difficult to see unless you looked for them. Her lips weren’t as chapped and she was trying very hard not to chew nervously on her bottom lip until it healed completely.

  Her thick hair was way too long. It was still duller than what it used to be and it hadn’t been cut in ages, so it fell well past her shoulders. She liked the length but hated trying to keep it tangle-free and out of her face. It was also hot and heavy.

  Her attention was pulled to Sig when he appeared in the doorway in only his boxers with a pair of jeans and a shirt in his hands.

  “Gonna shower,” he grumbled, studying her.

  She nodded and turned to face him. “I’ll give you your privacy.”

  “Not used to privacy, Red.”

  “Neither am I, anymore.” She pushed past him. “The bathroom’s too small for both of us anyway, not with how lopsided I am right now.”

  With her eating more and actually getting some real sleep, the seed was growing more quickly than ever, like it was trying to catch up. Plus, her body was filling out, her bones not as noticeable, her cheeks not so hollow. But she still was
nothing like she used to be.

  She wasn’t sure if she would ever go back to who she had been. Not just what she looked like, but how she saw others. She’d been badly betrayed, and would find it difficult to trust anyone so completely ever again.

  However, for some reason, she trusted this biker who was full of tattoos, who drank, who smoked, who cursed and was rough on the outside and who, she suspected, was badly broken on the inside.

  But then, he’d done nothing to make her distrust him. Except for locking her inside his apartment.

  He said he’d stop. That he’d only done it because he believed it was for her own good.

  She had no reason not to believe him.

  Once he handed her a key.

  In truth, she didn’t understand why he was doing anything for her at all. They didn’t know each other. They weren’t related. They had no ties whatsoever. But he stepped up to help her when he didn’t have to, when she had nothing and no one else.

  Because if he hadn’t found her when he did, running down that mountain, she had a feeling her escape would have failed.

  And instead of being on that mountain in her prison, as Vernon waited for his seed to finish growing, she was now sleeping in a comfortable bed, temporarily living in a place with modern conveniences and about to make pancakes with warm maple syrup.

  Her mouth watered and her stomach growled, making the seed shift restlessly inside her.

  “Hey,” he whispered, his voice low and thick, and she pulled herself from her thoughts to find she had stopped in front of him, and had planted a hand on his bare chest.

  She blinked and shook away her wandering thoughts.

  His skin was warm and smooth, and his heartbeat strong under her palm.

  She let her hand drop and took a deep breath. “I’ll go start the coffee and check to see what we need for pancakes.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” he said softly, running a knuckle along her jaw. “I’ll just be a few.”

  She nodded and he took a step back to let her pass.

  She didn’t hear the door close behind him, so the shower was easily heard when he started it.

  She dug in his cabinets for the coffee, a filter and a couple of Harley mugs, got the coffeemaker set up and started, then looked around to see what else they’d need to make pancakes.