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

  Like he wasn’t even there.

  Like Sig didn’t even exist.

  Like he was only in the way.

  His mouth dropped open as he saw his father pull his Sig Sauer from under the back of his cut, lift his boot up and kick in the bedroom door, even though it wasn’t locked.

  It wasn’t locked. Why did he have to kick it in?

  Sig’s feet unfroze and he quickly followed his father, now scared to death for his mother. “Ma!”

  All that got him was a big hand to his chest and a painful shove backward. “Get outta here, kid,” Razor yelled, raising the gun.

  “But—”

  The room was so small the sound exploded around him. He squeezed his eyes shut and fell to the floor, hearing nothing for the longest time.

  Nothing but the ringing in his ears.

  The acrid burn in his nostrils.

  His heart escaping out of his chest.

  He was afraid to open his eyes.

  His father had killed his mother.

  That was what he’d done.

  That wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

  He forced his eyes open and all he could see was his mother’s open mouth and her wide eyes as she screamed.

  But Sig couldn’t hear it.

  He couldn’t hear anything.

  But he could see it.

  Razor’s .40 pointed to Silvia’s head. And his beet red face, the angriest Sig ever saw him. His father’s finger twitching dangerously on the trigger.

  His mother wasn’t dead, but she was about to die.

  Just like the lifeless man lying naked on top of her. A hole dead center in his back. A dark red puddle spreading quickly over the dirty sheets beneath them both.

  Sig’s throat was raw because he was screaming. He just couldn’t hear it.

  He still couldn’t hear shit.

  But he could see it.

  He could see his father raise that gun and strike her in the head with it.

  Not once.

  Not twice.

  Too many times to count.

  That wasn’t supposed to happen.

  He could barely hear his father bellowing, “Knew you were a fuckin’ whore! Never shoulda made a whore like you my ol’ lady.”

  Razor was only supposed to kick Buck’s ass. Teach the bastard a lesson.

  That was it.

  Nothing more.

  “See your fuckin’ whore mother?” The shouted question sounded muffled over the loud ringing still in his ears.

  But he heard it.

  And, yeah, Sig saw her. He’d never be able to un-see her.

  Naked and bloody, her distorted face swollen and split. Sig wasn’t sure if she was still breathing.

  “Ain’t nothin’ but filthy snatch. Here’s a lesson for ya, don’t make a cunt like that your ol’ lady, kid.”

  His father spun on his boot and Sig never saw him again.

  It wasn’t until a few days later, he discovered he had witnessed the man he thought was his father shoot the man who turned out to be his real father point-blank. That was also when he agreed with Razor’s opinion his mother was no better than a lying, cheating whore.

  It wasn’t until a few days later, the whole club imploded. Just like his family.

  Ox, the club’s enforcer, shot Razor dead right between the eyes. Then another member tried to take out Ox and failed.

  When they thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.

  Brothers became enemies. Family became strangers.

  And his best friend became blood.

  Only by then, once he found out Trip was his half-brother, his best friend was long gone.

  Chapter One

  The glow of the lantern sitting on the ground created a small circle of light around them.

  Sig gave Rebecca a smile while she coyly turned her eyes downward and only gave him a shy one back.

  It was all a bullshit act.

  But to get what he came for, he played the fucking game.

  And in the end, it was always worth it.

  The eighteen-year-old stood wringing her hands, while her dirty bare feet twisted nervously under her long, plain blue dress.

  That dress did nothing for her curves. He knew because he’d seen those curves without that ugly-ass dress quite a few times. But the dress was necessary, not for their little game, but because she was required to wear it.

  Dresses like that were all she owned.

  Just like she was required to wear that fucking black “kapp” on her head, covering her blonde hair that, when he ripped the pins out, almost fell to her waist.

  He also knew the carpet matched the drapes. And it was thick fucking carpet, too.

  This two a.m. meet had become a regular thing. Him parking his sled off the road in a nearby field so his loud exhaust wouldn’t wake her family, then hoofing it through the dark to the barn, using only the glow of his cell phone to make sure he didn’t break his goddamn neck.

  Because she was still in the midst of rumspringa, she also had a cell phone of her own. She hid it from her family but used it to text him whenever she was in the mood to play.

  She was in the mood to play tonight.

  He was in the mood to play with her.

  Especially since rumspringa was almost over for her and she had to decide if she would stay in her community and marry the man her parents wanted her to, or leave. So right now, she was texting Sig often.

  She had caught his eye when she accompanied her friends delivering their family’s goods to The Barn, the Fury’s new church. The local Amish families kept the MC supplied with a lot of shit. Eggs, milk and the like, along with keeping them flush with tobacco and hand-rolled cigarettes.

  If they only grew pot like they did tobacco, the MC would be in pig fucking heaven.

  But instead of growing weed, they grew women like Rebecca. Innocent looking on the outside, dirty little whores on the inside.

  Rumspringa was their chance to go wild. Sow those fucking wild oats.

  And Rebecca was a ho, not of the tool variety.

  He didn’t have to chase her because she chased him. And, without a fucking fight, he let himself get caught. Because pussy was pussy, whether it was Amish or “English.” He wasn’t that fucking picky as long as it was young and fresh.

  And Becky couldn’t get any more farm fresh. Only she wasn’t giving up that ready-to-pick cherry. Not to Sig.

  “When you gonna give me that pussy?”

  She rolled her eyes at the question he asked every time they got together to play. “You know I’m saving it for my husband.”

  “Never thought you plain women would be such dirty ‘lil sluts.”

  “I’m not a slut. I’m sweet and innocent.” She flashed her big baby blues at him and gave him a smile that was far from fucking innocent.

  That meant it was time to play.

  “That fuckin’ sin sifter on your head don’t help keep you from lyin’ or sinnin’, does it?” Sig took a step closer, his palm sliding down the hard-on under his jeans.

  “No. I’ve been bad.”

  Oh yeah. “What’d you do this time?”

  “I talked back to my daddy.”

  “Your daddy don’t like it when you talk back, now does he?”

  “No,” she answered with a slight shake.

  It wasn’t from fear, fuck no. It was from excitement. Her flawless ivory skin was now flushed, her eyes heated, her lips parted, her little slut tongue slipped over her plump bottom lip. Then she grabbed that lip between her teeth, biting down hard.

  His balls tightened at that. “So, what does your daddy do when you talk back?”

  She tipped her head down and glanced up at him from under heavy eyelids. “Sends me to bed without supper.”

  “Bet you’re hungry, then.”

  “Yes,” she hissed softly.

  “Bet I know what that little whore mouth is hungry for. What it’s always hungry for.” Sig took another step closer until he was boot to
bare toe with her. “Get on your knees for your punishment.”

  Grabbing her blue dress in both hands, she pulled it up her sweet, thick thighs and dropped to her knees on the hard dirt.

  “You know what to do.”

  Becky unbuckled his belt, unfastened his jeans and slowly unzipped them.

  He could hear how ragged her breathing was. A slow grin spread across his face.

  He yanked that black cap from her head and tossed it on a nearby straw bale. Then tore his fingers through her hair, the pins popping loose and falling to the ground. Her thick, long hair tumbled around her, hiding her pretty face.

  He grabbed a fistful and jerked it hard until her face was lifted to his, then he ripped it back, arching her neck and making her cry out softly.

  He stroked his fingers down the front of her throat where the skin was taut from the strain of her neck.

  Her hands hadn’t stopped working, and within seconds, his dick was throbbing within her fingers. She began to fist him, her eyes getting hotter as she was forced to meet his. Her mouth gaped and she panted.

  “Your daddy needs to teach you a lesson on back-talkin’, don’t he?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak fresh like that.”

  “Too fuckin’ late for sorries,” he mumbled.

  He pulled his dick from her hands, slid the head slick with precum across her mouth and when she opened it wider, he plunged inside.

  She gagged immediately, like she always did, until she got used to how deep he fucked her face.

  Now grabbing two handfuls of hair, he dipped his head down to watch her as he began to thrust. Little whimpers escaped her every time he went deep. Tears began to form in her eyes and slip from the corners. Her mouth was stretched, her cheeks bellowed in and out with each thrust and her face turned almost purple. She gagged again as he drove deep between her lips, faster and harder, strings of spit beginning to cling to his dick.

  When she reached up to grab the root, he pushed her hand away. They’d done this enough times, he knew her limit but he’d take her right to that very edge. Still, he allowed her to grip his balls, her fingers circling the base of them tight, her short nails digging into the delicate skin.

  But, fuck, he got off on that, handing her that power when on the surface it seemed she had none. One good fucking squeeze to his sac from her and he’d be right next to her on his knees.

  The more he pumped into her hot, wet mouth, the closer he was getting to popping one of those nuts, so he slowed, let her breathe a little bit, then stopped.

  He slipped from her.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked him, wiping off the spit clinging to her lips and chin and drying her cheeks with the hem of her ugly dress. At least it was good for something.

  “You know why.”

  “Because I’ve been bad.” Like the obedient bitch she was, she nodded and got to her feet as Sig slid his belt from the loops of his jeans which were now down around his ankles and gathered above his boots.

  “What d’you do besides talk back?”

  “I pushed my little sister and made her fall.”

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “Because I like when Daddy punishes me,” she whispered.

  And, Jesus fuck, didn’t that almost make him shoot his fucking load across the stall.

  He folded the black leather strap in half, snapped the loop sharply together once, and waited.

  “And how does your daddy punish you for hurtin’ your sister?”

  Her cheeks became even darker and her blue eyes glittered as she stared hungrily at the belt in his hands. “He spanks me with a leather strap.”

  This was one of the games they played. Only it wasn’t a fucking game.

  This was something Becky needed and Sig was more than willing to give it to her.

  In fact, he more than liked giving it to her and needed it, too. Because sometimes the fire raging inside him could become so out-of-control that this was the only thing that helped contain it.

  Too bad she was Amish and already spoken for to a man who would most likely never give Becky what she needed.

  The only thing he’d give her was fucking brats and lots of them.

  As soon as one popped out, he’d want her belly full with the next one. Her future husband had a large farm and needed help to work it.

  Standardbreds pulling their buggies, draft horses working in the fields and a litter of kids doing all the farm labor and housework.

  But for now, Becky was getting what she needed by using Sig.

  And Sig was using her.

  It was an agreement that benefitted them both.

  So, until Becky changed her last name, Sig was getting what the fuck he could. And Becky was getting what she asked for.

  “You know what the fuck to do,” he growled.

  She turned, her long blonde hair swinging, and went over to two straw bales stacked along one of the stall walls. She faced them, leaned over, and yanked her dress up and over her ass, exposing the fact she wore no underwear.

  Exposing the fact the woman had never shaved that ripe-for-the-picking pussy.

  Normally, he didn’t like that. But knowing he couldn’t go there, it drove him fucking nuts, making his dick throb and leak like crazy.

  Yeah, he couldn’t go there, but she was willing to give him something else.

  He yanked his jeans up slightly so he could follow her, then stood far enough away from her to give himself a good downswing.

  He didn’t even warn her or hesitate. Because ever since he got her text, his mind had been on nothing but what was about to happen.

  Today had been one of those fucking days where he’d been ready to crack. Just like the sharp crack of the leather against her bare ass.

  However, that noise, that sight, almost made him come. But this was only the beginning and he needed to hang on. It’d only get better.

  His arm raised again and her ass twitched in anticipation. A red narrow welt instantly decorated her pale cheek.

  Goddamn beautiful.

  He let his arm fall as hard as he could and another crack of leather against flesh filled the air. A little whimper escaped her as a sharp breath escaped him.

  But this, so far, was nothing for her.

  How she discovered what she liked and needed, he had no fucking clue. But he only knew he was not the first one to do this to her.

  Her rumspringa started when she was sixteen and from what she told him, her and her friends had gotten a bit wild.

  He brought the belt back down hard across both cheeks and she jerked forward with a moan. She now had multiple raised welts, but he wasn’t done.

  She’d want more. And he needed to give her more.

  Because every strike loosened up the tension deep in his gut.

  Every strike helped his world stop spinning and curbed the urge to run.

  Trip would be pissed if he bailed and left the Fury in the lurch. He did his best not to do that. At least not yet.

  And this was one way he was handling it.

  So, he gave Becky more of what she wanted and what he needed. Until both cheeks were a deep red, almost purple in some spots. Until she’d have a hard time sitting down.

  Until he knew some of those welts would turn into bruises.

  But not once had she ever told him to stop. She would’ve bitched at him if he had.

  After a dozen or more strikes, when she finally reached back and put her hands on the inflamed skin of her ass, he knew she’d had enough.

  He knew she was ready.

  Fuck. So was he.

  He dropped the belt to the ground, pulled a lubricated wrap from the front pocket of his jeans, ripped it open and rolled it down his throbbing length.

  He shuffled forward and separated her burning hot, stripped and swollen cheeks, and brushed her tight, puckered hole with his thumb, making her groan into the straw.

  Keeping her cheeks spread, he leaned over, spat on her anus and pushed his latex-c
overed cock against it.

  Then closed his eyes as he slowly slid inside her.

  She squeezed him tight and he had to stop to catch his breath. Because everything that had gone on before had him already teetering on the fucking edge.

  It wouldn’t take much for him to topple.

  But she loved him taking her up the ass, and he needed to make it good for her. Because she made it good for him.

  And he didn’t want these secret meets to stop any time soon.

  It was a perfect relationship.

  He came over, he nutted, he went back to his apartment above the bunkhouse. No bitch to scrape off afterward. No clinging, no commitment.

  No nagging cunt.

  Even better, he got to burn off some of his pent-up rage using his belt. Or his hand. Or one of the buggy whips from the tack room. Whatever she was in the mood for.

  When he left, they were both satisfied.

  She got what she wanted, he got what he needed.

  Fucking perfect.

  Gritting his teeth, he dug his fingers into her full hips and began to pound her, watching the flesh of her marked ass ripple with each thrust.

  After a few seconds, he reached around and played with her clit.

  The only thing she didn’t allow him was to fuck her pussy. With his dick or his fingers. Anything else went.

  Sometimes they played a new game. Sometimes they played a game they’ve played before.

  Like tonight.

  Her soft whimpers became cries and she rocked her hips against him, encouraging him to fuck her harder.

  He did his best without trying to bust a nut.

  But he was close. So fucking close.

  He’d been hard off and on most of the fucking day because she had texted him early this morning while he was still in bed. Which made him jack off in anticipation.

  Then again in the shower.

  Now this would be his third load of the day, but he was still struggling not to lose it too soon.

  He was about to fail...

  A noise, like a footstep, behind him had his hips stutter, then halt.

  But before he could turn his head to look over his shoulder, something heavy was thrown over him, turning his world dark. A huge cloth blanket. And it smelled like horse shit.

  Before he could find the edge to throw it off of him, something hit him hard.