Blood & Bones: Sig (Blood Fury MC Book 2) Page 11

  Trip and Judge also looked surprised at that answer.

  He shrugged again. “He works, she works. Who’s stayin’ with Red when they’re both workin’? Who’s makin’ sure she don’t freak the fuck out and start runnin’? Who’s makin’ sure she eats and takes her vitamins?” He tipped his chin down and growled, “Who the fuck’s makin’ sure those goddamn inbred billy goat fuckers don’t come kidnap her from right under their nose? Bryson’s limited on what he can do legally.”

  “And we’re not,” Judge said softly, rubbing Jury’s big blocky head.

  “Yeah we are, brother,” Trip reminded him. “We’re just as limited as to what we can do legally.”

  Sig interrupted him. “And when the fuck have I ever kept shit legal?”

  “When the fuck have you ever lived more than a few months not behind goddamn bars, Sig?” Trip reminded him, beginning to get just as pissed as Sig.

  Once their two tempers flared things could go to shit quickly between them.

  “Sayin’ it again, it ain’t smart harborin’ her,” Trip practically yelled, the tendons in his neck popping.

  Sig watched his brother’s chest rise visibly as he inhaled through flared nostrils, held it for five seconds, then blew it out. He wasn’t the only one who noticed. Stella put a hand on Trip’s arm afterward and their president visibly loosened a fraction at the touch.

  Not a second later, Trip had Stella pulled into him, one arm securely under her tits and his face in her hair.

  “Sig’s right, Prez,” Judge agreed, surprising the fuck out of him. “Got a lot of eyes here. And more are always comin’ in. Club’s grown and still growin’. Got more than enough people to keep an eye on her. To keep her safe.”

  “And what about the Shirleys?”

  “We’ll deal with them, too,” Judge answered Trip.

  Trip’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “How? Burn down that damn mountain?”

  “Been thinkin’ ‘bout that,” Sig started. “We’re gonna deal with them real quiet-like. They won’t report shit to the pigs since they refuse to follow any laws other than their own. Hell, they hate the pigs more than us. So, they start comin’ up missin’, you think they’re makin’ a missin’ person’s report?”

  Judge grinned. “Fuck no.”

  “Right. They ain’t runnin’ their mouths to the pigs. They handle shit themselves up there, just like we should down here.”

  Trip scraped a hand through his long hair while staring sightlessly past them all. “Again, don’t want the Fury in the pigs’ crosshairs. And the doc’s husband bein’ one complicates the fuck outta this.”

  “Brysons want her baby that bad?” Judge shrugged heavily. “Then that pig’s gonna have to put on some blinders or look the other way. That could be part of the agreement. But it’s best to try to keep him in the dark as much as fuckin’ possible. Less he knows, the better for us.”

  “What if the baby’s born with that red hair, Sig?” Stella asked, who was now pinned against Trip with both his arms wrapped around her, the one still under her tits and the other now across her hips, as if he was holding on.

  Sig got it. Stella grounded him. Almost like an emotional support dog. His eyes dropped to Jury, whose ears were now getting scratched, and he lifted them to Judge, who was doing the mindless scratching. If the dog could smile, she would be.

  Well, damn. Maybe Sig needed to get a fucking dog.

  Stella continued, “I mean, if he comes out looking like a Shirley and sporting Autumn’s red hair and hazel eyes, they might eventually realize who his birth mother is. It could be dangerous to keep him in Manning Grove.”

  Sig considered that, but he didn’t have an answer. Red was in no shape to be a mother right now and the doc taking the baby couldn’t be a better scenario. “Gonna cross that bridge when we come to it, Stel. She’s gotta get to the end of this pregnancy and spit out that kid first. She signs the adoption papers? She’s free. She can go on her way and never look back. Go live her life and forget about whatever the fuck happened to her.”

  “You find out what happened yet?” Trip asked, sounding a lot less ticked.

  “It’s been only three days, brother. She hasn’t spilled it and I haven’t pushed. And after today, I now know she don’t want this kid, which means my guess was probably right. Someone on that fuckin’ mountain ‘planted’ that ‘seed’ in her. That kid ain’t just a product of rape, she was bred on purpose to get fresh blood up there.”

  Stella winced. “Sig, don’t use that word.”

  “Might be true, though, Stella. And if they’re breedin’ women up there against their will, that shit’s gotta stop.”

  “Right,” Trip muttered. “But how the fuck did she get there? That’s what I wanna know. Where the fuck did she come from?”

  “She mentioned that everyone she knows is in Ohio, but she don’t wanna go back there. That’s all I know. Gonna try to get more info from her without diggin’ too deep and breakin’ her even more.” Because forcing any info from her would make shit so much worse for her.

  “I’ll talk to her, too. I need to go pick up some clothes for her at Walmart or Target, anyway. Maybe some maternity wear. When I bring it back, I’ll strike up a casual conversation with her,” Stella said.

  “If there are more women up there, Sig, we’re givin’ that info to the pigs. We are not goin’ up there guns a-blazin’ like some fuckin’ special ops shit or somethin’.”

  “You Marines can’t handle that kind of badass hero shit?” Sig teased Trip.

  “Yeah, we can but we’d rather let those cocky-mouthed SEALS get their asses shot at first. We ain’t fuckin’ stupid.”

  “All right,” Stella interrupted sharply. “Hey, did Carly say how far along Autumn is? I want to know how much bigger she’s going to get when I go shopping for her.”

  “She wasn’t a hundred percent certain yet since the baby’s so small right now, but her best guess with the way things looked was thirty-one weeks.”

  Stella gasped. “Holy fuck. She doesn’t look that far along at all. I was guessing maybe four, five months at the most.”

  “Yeah, Stel, that’s why she said it’s important she get healthy and soon. The doc also wants to see her every week to make sure there ain’t any complications and that they’re both progressin’ as good as possible. Maybe even do more bloodwork. Doc’s really worried ‘bout both of ‘em survivin’ the birth.”

  “I’m sure. Damn,” Stella whispered. “I’ll pick up some shit for her after I take care of some obligations at the bar and I know Dodge won’t need help with anything. I’ll also bring her back some food from Dino’s. A big piece of that Death by Chocolate cake, too. No one can resist that.”

  “Yeah, Stel. Thanks.”

  Trip released his ol’ lady and she approached Sig. “You don’t have to thank me, Sig. I’m doin’ it for her.”

  “Thankin’ you, anyway.”

  Stella nodded, smiled softly, and reached out to squeeze his arm. Sig dropped his gaze to where her hand touched him and then he lifted it to his brother, who was watching their every move.

  He trusted Stella. He just didn’t trust Sig.

  As their eyes met, Trip clapped his hands sharply together once. “’Kay, then. We need a meetin’ and I’m callin’ it. Tonight. Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” both Sig and Judge answered at once.

  With a nod, Trip grabbed Stella and guided her down the steps.

  Chapter Eight

  Sig studied the Fury’s insignia of a bloody skull and crossbones carved into the thick wood of the table top. He remembered this table—which the executive committee had used during their meetings—being in a back room at the warehouse. It was where all the important decisions had been made.

  Also during weekend-long parties, a lot of DNA was left behind on that fucking table.

  Blood, cum, spit. All of it.

  He remembered one time when Judge, Trip and him had hidden under the table and waited.

&nb
sp; They learned a lot that night. Including how to stay quiet as fuck so they didn’t get caught and get their asses beat.

  They also learned how deep of a pounding a woman’s throat could take while face-fucking her before she puked all over herself.

  It had been both fascinating and horrifying at the same time for all three of them. Especially when the brother made her use her own shirt to wipe the shit off her face and continue taking that pounding until he came down her throat. Then without a word, he left her there on her knees in her own filth, crying.

  Judge and Trip were barely old enough for their dicks to get hard while watching, but they did. Unfortunately, Sig had been too young, so they had both shoved him and laughed, calling him a baby.

  That memory had him shaking himself mentally as his gaze slid around the meeting table, wondering if the man sitting next to him and the other one sitting at the end of the table as the current club president remembered that night.

  Now was not the fucking time to ask.

  Actually, the time was never.

  “Goddamn it, Jury, get your fuckin’ nose outta my dick,” Ozzy griped. “Your fuckin’ dog’s a perv, Judge.”

  “Maybe you should wash it after you stick it in Lizzy. Probably smells like roadkill,” Judge said, then patted his thigh. “Jury, heel.”

  Ozzy hooked a thumb at the other white and brindle American Bulldog in the room. “How come Justice don’t molest us like that?”

  “’Cause he don’t like dick. My dog ain’t gay,” Deacon answered.

  “He ain’t gay, then why’s he lickin’ his fuckin’ balls?” Ozzy asked.

  “You’d lick your own balls if you could.”

  Ozzy pursed his lips, then shrugged. “Yeah, true.”

  “Can we bring this fuckin’ meetin’ to order?” Trip barked, smacking the gavel on the table.

  “’Stead of disorder?” Cage asked.

  “Okay, you first, Road Captain,” Trip said to him. “Set up another run. This Sunday.”

  Cage gave him a sloppy two-finger salute. “That it, Prez?”

  “No. Dutch hear from any of the elders?”

  Ah fuck. Sig was not looking forward to rehashing the Amish bullshit again.

  “Nope. All’s quiet on the Sig-fuckin-the-virgin-Amish-girls-up-the-ass front.”

  Sig leaned forward and planted both hands on the table. “Don’t be a hater, asshole. Just jealous your fist don’t even want you.”

  “Better my fuckin’ fist than doin’ time for fuckin’ girls that ain’t turned ripe yet.”

  “That’s one thing not on my fuckin’ sheet.” He’d gotten caught doing a lot of stupid shit, but that wasn’t one of them.

  “Yet,” Cage said with a smirk. “Better start cardin’ them to make sure it stays off your record. That clan’s law might be ‘old enough to bleed, old enough to breed,’ but that ain’t true for the rest of us.”

  Sig dipped his chin as he considered Cage across the table. The asshole probably had no idea about Red yet, but Sig didn’t give a fuck, he was an asshole all the same. “Can show you firsthand what’s on my fuckin’ sheet, if you’re that interested. Can go down the list and demo—”

  Trip smacked the gavel on the table hard, getting their attention. “Can we get the fuck back to business here and not turn this fuckin’ meetin’ into a brawl? Jesus fuck.” He shook his head. “Any-fuckin-way, gotta keep things cool with ‘em. Can’t afford to fuck that up.”

  “Tell Sig that,” Ozzy said, grinning at him. “Plenty of pussy startin’ to show up at The Barn. No reason to go elsewhere. Not one of ‘em has said no when I ask ‘em to spread it and show me that shiny pink center.”

  “Christ,” Judge muttered beside Sig.

  “My point is—”

  “Taken,” Trip finished for Ozzy. “Your fuckin’ point is taken. Sig’s aware to stay the fuck away from those girls... women.”

  “Speakin’ of women, we need to talk about the knocked up one sleepin’ in his bed,” Deacon said.

  “That’s last on the agenda,” Trip muttered.

  “What knocked up woman?” Cage asked.

  Ozzy’s head spun toward Sig. “You got a fuckin’ kid on the way? Didn’t think they’d get knocked up by doin’ ‘em up the ass. Musta slipped and went in the wrong hole.”

  “Fuck!” Trip yelled. “It ain’t his kid. Let’s table that right now and get the other business outta the way first. We’ll circle back to that.”

  Deke laughed. “That’s what he does. Circles ‘round to the backdoor.”

  “Oh, this should be fuckin’ good,” Ozzy snickered.

  “Will my Sergeant at Arms keep order at this fuckin’ table?”

  “Shut the fuck up, assholes, and let the prez speak,” Judge growled, then went back to rubbing Jury’s ears since her head was in his lap. Sig noted not sniffing the man’s balls. “That good?” the enforcer asked Trip.

  “Great.” Trip sighed and shook his head. “Let’s talk about somethin’ other than pussy. Need to patch in Sparky and Mouse. It’s time. Told ‘em six months, it’s been that.”

  “What about Dodge and Shady?” Sig asked. They were probably getting close to the end of their time, too. It’d be easier to patch them all over at once and get it done. Make room for more prospects in the bunkhouse.

  “Dodge got another month to go. Shady at least two,” Judge said.

  “Two?” Ozzy asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, he came later and still don’t trust that motherfucker.”

  Sig asked Judge, “What’s he done for you not to trust ‘im?”

  “Hardly says shit,” the big man answered.

  “And that’s a plus right there. ‘Specially with all the rest of you fuckers who got diarrhea of the fuckin’ mouth,” Sig grumbled.

  “Bringin’ Sparky and Mouse to a vote. Wanna do it now and surprise ‘em later?” Trip asked.

  Yeahs went up around the table.

  “Anyone got a problem with either of ‘em?” Trip asked.

  A couple noes were heard.

  “All in favor of Sparky and Mouse gettin’ their full rockers and patches?”

  A loud “Aye” rose from each of them.

  Trip then asked the obligatory, “Anyone opposed?”

  Silence filled the room except for Justice’s loud snoring where he was curled up near Deacon’s feet.

  “’Kay. You heard it. Ozzy, let ‘em know they’re no longer considered dog shit and can get out of those shitty bunkbeds and pick an open room. We’ll throw a little celebration downstairs and hand ‘em their patches after the run Sunday. Sig, set that up. Deke, have ‘em tell you whatever road name they want on their patches and get ‘em ordered, yeah? Don’t tell anyone what they chose, let ‘em announce it at the party. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” Deacon answered.

  Trip raised a palm and grimaced. “Unless the names are stupid as fuck. Then run ‘em by me first.”

  Deacon grinned. “Got it.”

  “Means two more open spots for dog shit, Prez.”

  “Yep,” Trip answered Ozzy. “Know anyone?”

  “I’ll keep an eye and ear out.”

  “Just like you let your dick hang out,” Cage said.

  Ozzy shoved him and then grabbed his junk, shaking it. “Know you want it, closet cocksucker.”

  “A cocktail weenie ain’t a meal, Oz. Lizzy ain’t told you that yet?”

  Trip ignored them. “Ozzy, you know what I’m lookin’ for. Now, who else got business to bring up before we circle around back to that other subject.”

  “Me,” said Deacon.

  “The treasurer has been recognized and now has the table,” Trip announced.

  “Christ,” Judge muttered.

  Ozzy snorted.

  And Cage just shook his head as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Wanted me to keep an eye out for property for sale ‘round town and in the area. Found two possibilities. Car wash at the other en
d of the lot where Justice Bail Bonds is, near the Walmart. And,” Deacon lifted one brow and smiled, “a pet crematorium. The local vet built it. He’s old as fuck now and wants to unload that part of his business. His kids don’t want anythin’ to do with it.”

  “Why the fuck would we wanna burn pets?” Judge asked, stroking Jury’s head, which was still in his lap. The dog was asleep while sitting up.

  Deacon shrugged. “It’s a good business. Looked at the books and it’s in the black.”

  “Yeah, plenty of good businesses out there. Like the car wash,” Judge suggested.

  “Not one like this.”

  “Yeah, there’s a reason for it,” Deacon’s cousin grumbled. “It’s creepy as fuck.”

  “You ain’t gonna get her cremated when she dies, then spread her ashes?” Deacon asked Judge.

  Judge’s big body jerked. “Bite your goddamn tongue.”

  “Well, when my boy dies, I’m havin’ his ashes put into somethin’ I can display. A lot of people do. Dead pets are a big business.”

  “That didn’t sound right,” Cage said.

  “Know what I fuckin’ mean. People spend a lot of scratch on their fuckin’ pets. They treat ‘em like family. Prolly spend more on their fuckin’ pets than their own damn semen demons. And I’m sure after hearin’ what we’re gonna discuss next, thinkin’ a crematorium would be fuckin’ perfect for us.”

  The table went silent. Deacon’s smile got even bigger.

  “Jesus fuck,” Trip muttered.

  “Yeah. Think about it,” Deacon said.

  “How big are the furnaces?” Judge asked, suddenly looking a whole lot more interested.

  “He’s got two in the buildin’. One for smaller animals like cats and shit. And one,” Deke paused dramatically, “big enough for full-sized hogs, even cows.”

  “Damn,” Sig whispered, sitting back.

  Deacon’s eyes slid to Sig. “Damn right. That’s a big fuckin’ deal.”

  “Okay, I’m fuckin’ lost here,” Ozzy said. “Why the fuck do we wanna burn cows and not eat ‘em? I love a good steak.”

  “Don’t wanna burn fuckin’ cows,” Trip said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Wanna burn somethin’ the size of a cow.”