“Okay.”
“Just a warnin’, kissin’ you ain’t gonna help the issue with my dick.”
She pressed her lips together. “I understand.”
“Gonna leave it to you how far you take it. Liked you touchin’ me. Liked touchin’ you. But this is all you, baby. You saw my back. You know I can take whatever torture you give me.”
“I don’t want to torture you.”
“My dick bein’ hard and not fuckin’ you is pure fuckin’ torture.”
At least he was being honest. “Sorry.”
“It happens. Might get outta bed quick. If I do...” He let that hang but she got his meaning.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he whispered, digging his hands into her hair again and pulling her face to his.
Then he kissed her. Not just the press of lips from earlier. No, this kiss was deeper, more thorough, with open mouths, mingled breaths and tongues touching. Exploration and discovery.
She searched her mind to see if anything was rushing forward.
There wasn’t.
Nothing existed but Sig and his kiss.
It was gentle at first, until it wasn’t.
He took complete possession of her mouth, making her breath catch. When he felt it, he tried to pull away, but she quickly wrapped her hand around the back of his head and kept him there.
He was trying to swallow her whole. Inhale her completely.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had been kissed. Especially like this. It had been forever.
Actually, maybe even never.
This wasn’t a kiss, it was much more.
She was surprised when her breasts began to ache for his touch and her pussy began to pulse and get wet.
She was pleased to find she could still react to the right touch, the right man.
But she wouldn’t risk taking it much farther. Not tonight.
She also couldn’t ignore how much she wanted this man. And it was so unexpected. With that hope was also worry that if she let this continue, it might be hard to leave in a couple of months.
Maybe she should go stay with the Brysons.
Because leaving would be so much harder, if in the next few weeks she fell in love with him. A man who came into her life so unexpectedly and for the wrong reasons. A man she never would have met under normal circumstances.
As he continued to kiss her, his hands stroked her back, her ribs, her hips, sometimes skimming just lightly over her ass before heading back up.
He twisted his head away, panting, “Can’t, Red. At my limit. Wanna be inside you too fuckin’ bad. Strugglin’ not to flip you to your back and just fuckin’ take you. Just wanna be honest. Let you know why I gotta stop. ‘Cause if we don’t stop now, ain’t gonna be able to. Don’t wanna become the animal they were. Wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did. Never wanna fuckin’ hurt you.”
“Okay,” she breathed, doing a little panting of her own. She closed her eyes, wishing they could take it further, wishing she could be sure she wouldn’t have a bad reaction. Maybe they could go slow. Eventually work their way toward that.
Because in truth, she wanted him to flip her onto her back and take her, too. But, again, she was afraid of taking that positive step and turning it into a negative. Sig deserved much better than that.
He suddenly put space between them and rolled out of bed.
“You’re leaving?” Her heart began to pound.
“Gotta. Just for a bit.”
He snagged his jeans off the floor, yanked them on but didn’t fasten them, then grabbed one of his clean T-shirts she had folded and put away in his dresser. He pulled that over his head as he headed toward the door.
Then he walked through that door and a few minutes later the one leading outside.
She couldn’t miss the sound of the deadbolt turning, of being locked inside once more.
Then he was gone.
And she couldn’t go after him even if she tried.
Sig’s heart was pounding so hard, it was like his whole body thumped along with it.
He was fighting to keep his shit together. But his brain was screaming at him to either break something or hurt someone.
The voice whispering through his mind encouraged him to take his frustration out physically, promised he’d feel so much better afterward.
Sig knew that was a lie.
He would feel better while he did it, then feel worse later when he crashed from the high. When his vision cleared, and he realized what he’d done. What damage he’d caused.
And, depending on what it was, when he discovered what he had to live with afterward.
He rushed down to The Barn in his search.
Not for booze. For something else.
For something that would help unravel the tight rubber band ball of pressure which was building. Something to give him even that short-term relief.
But the Fury’s clubhouse was surprisingly quiet and regrettably empty.
His disappointment and irritation was also mixed with relief.
If he had found what he was looking for, he might regret it later. Which would make him feel even worse than he did now.
With nothing there for him and no reason to stay, he strode out of the barn into the dark night, across the uneven grass to the long equipment shed where everyone parked their sleds.
He threw open the garage door, mounted his bike and turned the key, hoping the deep rumble echoing inside the large metal building didn’t catch anyone’s interest.
He eased his sled out and left the garage door open as he worked his way down the shitty lane that Trip hadn’t fixed yet.
Maybe he needed to step up as VP and take some of the burden off his brother. That would be a start.
He needed to do his part or just fucking leave.
But he still wanted his half and until he got that...
He also needed to keep his shit together long enough to help put Red back together. That meant he needed to stay with this gig until that happened.
She had maybe two months until the baby was born. Until she handed him over to that pig and his doctor wife. Sig could do it. He could stay a couple more months for sure. He’d just have to work harder on convincing Trip to hand over what was owed him during that time.
Two months wasn’t long, but hopefully long enough to get that done.
About twenty minutes later, he was riding down Copperhead Road and to the long dirt lane that headed up that fucking mountain. The lane with the warning signs posted everywhere. All of them basically saying: you trespass, you die.
Well, fuck those motherfuckers, tonight he was trespassing.
Because tonight he’d wanted Red and she wanted him but neither could have each other due to those inbred hillbillies up that lane, in those woods, on that mountain.
And, because of that, they needed to pay.
The way he was torqued right now, if he ran into any, he might use them as a way to relieve the barely-contained rage flowing through his veins.
The rage from them trying to destroy a woman like Red.
They had no goddamn right.
No fucking right at all.
He parked in a narrow dirt pull-off located right along the road near the entrance to their compound, where, at the end of the lane, the biggest sign of all was posted, hand painted in red and white. The one that stated: VILATERS wud be shot on site.
Yep, that’s what it said. But then, Sig didn’t speak inbred goat fucker, so he just ignored it as he took off on foot up the rutted, dirt road. He also passed a shitload of other signs he couldn’t read in the dark. Didn’t matter, he would’ve ignored those, too.
The higher he trekked, the harder it was to see the path as the moon began to disappear due to the thick of the trees. But there was no way he was hoofing it through the woods since everyone said it was booby-trapped.
And if it was, it was a miracle Red made it unscathed as she ran.
He also hoped the clan did
n’t have a guard posted with a weapon because Sig had nothing but a small knife in one pocket of his cut.
And any semi-sane man knew you didn’t bring a knife to a gun fight.
It took about twenty minutes for him to reach the point where he could see a clearing ahead, where the moon was illuminating some metal roofs. That was when he slipped into the trees and carefully picked through the brush, circling around the clearing, trying to get his bearings, trying to get a good idea of the layout. The main clearing was huge and mostly leveled out. It had a few large buildings, some shacks and what looked like a barn. He could hear the low grunts of some pigs in a pen nearby. Maybe even the rustle of some other animals.
He was good as long as they weren’t human. Calling the Shirleys human was pushing it.
Most of the sheds were built half-assed. Shitty cars and trucks, some with flat tires and rusted out fenders, were parked haphazardly around the open space. He noticed more lanes going higher up the mountain and deeper into the woods like spokes on a half wheel. He assumed they led to more clearings and buildings. Maybe those dirt lanes led to little “homesteads” where they raised their inbred snot monkeys.
Judge had suggested he take pictures of the layout but it was too dark for them to turn out decent enough to be of use. Instead, he saved it all to memory, figuring once he got back, he might be able to hand draw some sort of map.
Through the trees, he could see a bigger home with a few lights on in the second floor windows. He wondered if that was where the “leader” of their sovereign nation lived.
The Guardians of Freedom was what they called themselves. Which was a fucking joke since Red had hardly been free. If she had been, he had no doubt she would not have come up this mountain on her own. She would not have volunteered to subject herself to whatever happened.
Even if it wasn’t the leader who hurt Red, the man knew it happened and most likely had a hand in it. Sig doubted anything happened on that mountain the leader of the Shirley Clan wasn’t aware of.
He skirted around a few rusty, abandoned cars tucked within the trees and made his way to the run-down barn which looked like it had been built with a mix of materials. Wood planks, sheets of metal, whatever scrap they could repurpose. It had a fence around it and Sig heard a low bawl of a cow from somewhere close.
His nose wrinkled, reminding him of when Red did it, as the stench of piss and shit burned his nostrils.
He had one single focus tonight. That was to find where they had kept Red.
He needed to see for himself where she’d been locked up. Where she’d been forced to submit.
Where they tried to break her and bend her to their will.
Where they tried to make her theirs.
As he headed behind the barn, another shed was tucked along a tree line with the door hanging partially open. A stack of split firewood sat next to it, along with a crude homemade furnace with a pipe running from the top into the shed.
A fucking tiny shed with heat? That didn’t make any sense. Unless it was a smokehouse, most sheds, even outhouses, weren’t heated. Not that he knew much about homesteading or farming. He didn’t know dick about it, but he had some sort of common sense. More than these uncle-daddy fuckers.
He carefully made his way closer, his head on a swivel to make sure none of them were up and about, making rounds or anything. Just waiting to plug some buckshot into his ass.
As he got closer, his stride stuttered as the stench that came from inside seemed a bit pungent.
That wasn’t smoked meat inside that shed. Unless they were smoking rotten roadkill.
He pulled the collar of his long-sleeved T-shirt up and over his nose as he moved forward. The door had two metal hasps on it. One at the top, one closer to the bottom. And two open padlocks hung from each metal loop screwed to the outside wall. He grabbed the edge of the door and slowly opened it, the hair on the back of his neck now standing, the lump in his gut twisting, his mind racing.
Still holding the T-shirt over his nose, he pulled his cell out of his back pocket and hit the power button, quickly found the flashlight app and turned it on.
He closed his eyes for a split moment, simply to brace himself. If he thought his heart was pounding before, it was now ready to escape his chest.
He lifted his cell phone, pointing it inside and opened his eyes.
It was nothing but an empty room. He should be relieved since it had nothing except a bucket in one corner.
He stepped inside and froze. The bucket was knocked over, and surrounding it was dried human waste.
Shit. Piss. What might be puke.
He tried to swallow but couldn’t. Hell, he could hardly breathe. He took a step deeper into the tiny shed and moved his phone in a circle, lighting up the corners, the walls, the floors as he inspected it all.
The floor was concrete, so she had no chance to dig free.
No lights. No electricity. Nothing. No bed or bedding. No clothes. Not even a fucking goddamn blanket.
Nothing.
Not even a window.
Just a small hole up at the top of one wall, where they pumped in the heat. Probably just enough to keep her from freezing.
Heat rose. Didn’t those motherfuckers know that? If she was on the floor, how was she supposed to benefit from that fucking heat?
Dark spots dotted the dirt-crusted concrete. Bloody fingerprints were along the wall in one corner. Two long tracks marked the filthy floor from the door to the center of the shed. Like she had been dragged and her heels had left a path in their wake.
He turned and glanced at the inside of the thick wood-planked door. Solid, handmade, too strong to kick in or kick open. With gaps between the boards just large enough to let in the wind, the cold and the sleet or rain.
He moved closer and held out his phone, lighting it up.
On the inside of the door, at the edges of those boards, were bloody gouges and scratches. Like someone had been clawing to get free.
Someone.
Red.
He wondered how many times she had pressed her face against those gaps and screamed for help, begged for her freedom, or hoped someone would come along and save her.
He had no idea how she got out of this sadistic jail. This cell no bigger than the ones he’d lived in for years. Though the concrete boxes he’d lived in were more humane than this.
He’d had a toilet, a sink, a mattress pad, even if it was shitty. He didn’t have to sleep on the concrete floor. He had clothes and had a chance to shower, to work out, to get sunlight during his time in the yard. He could buy snacks and cigarettes if someone put money on his account. He could read a fucking book. He could take fucking classes.
He knew what day it was and how long he had left until he’d be free.
She had none of that!
FUCKING NONE OF THAT!
Their goddamn pigs had a better life than she’d had.
He needed to get out of there before he rushed up to that house and sliced everyone’s throat. Or he choked the goddamn clan leader with his bare hands until he was dead. Then filleted him with his knife from nuts to neck.
Or cut off his fucking dick and shoved it down his throat until he suffocated.
Any one of those would do.
He didn’t come prepared for that. To be able to do a hit and run.
He stepped out of the shed and walked a few steps away until he found some air that didn’t burn as badly. Sucking in a breath through his nose, he held it for a count of five and blew it out of his mouth.
Then he did it again when it didn’t work the first time.
When the second time didn’t work, either, he circled the shed to get one more good look at the lay of the land and stopped dead.
“Holy fuckin’ motherfucker.”
He took two more steps and blinked to make sure he was actually seeing what he was seeing.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He hit the power button on the side of his phone and lifted it once it lit up.
<
br /> What the fuck was that used for?
What. The. Fuck. Was. That. Used. For?
Whatever it was reminded him of a sawhorse. But it wasn’t.
It wasn’t used for construction.
Fuck no.
No.
He lifted his phone higher to see it more clearly. Then he moved the light along the object built out of plywood and two-by-fours using some nails and screws.
And four thick leather straps with metal buckles and holes punched into the wide leather.
Those straps were to keep someone in place. But where they were attached on the wood “bench” were at the very bottom of all four legs.
That meant whoever was strapped down was on their belly, spread out, all four wrists and ankles secured tightly.
She had been laid over it and tied down, her hands and feet stretched almost to the ground and her...
Her...
What they needed for easy access to “breed” her exposed.
Jesus Christ. It was some sort of breeding bench.
Being strapped on it, she couldn’t fight. She couldn’t escape.
She just had to lay there helpless.
He jammed his phone back in his pocket and slammed a hand over his mouth to muffle the roar that rushed up.
Falling to his knees, his forehead hit the dirt. Like someone had taken him down with a hard kick to the middle. Someone had sawed out his lungs and spooned out his gut.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t erase what he saw.
Too late, too late, too late.
It was permanently etched into his memory.
He’d never forget that.
He’d never forget picturing Red being...
Being...
That roar he fought back, tried to muffle, escaped into the dead of the night. And it only fueled the flames, threw gas on the fire inside him.
He needed to get up, he needed to move. Get off his knees and get back down that mountain. And make a plan.
He needed a plan.
Because right now, he had no clear thoughts.
He had nothing but the urge for revenge running through him.
But he couldn’t move, he found himself crippled. Frozen. The unstoppable fury surging through him, burning white hot.
Blood & Bones: Sig (Blood Fury MC Book 2) Page 19
