Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 113473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
If they were in the area, they were both fucked. Especially with how both of them looked.
Fuck. He should drop her off at the pig pen anyway. Let them deal with her crazy ass.
“Lettin’ you go now.” He slowly released his arms and hissed at the pain shooting along his own ribs. He pushed through it to slide his cut off and remove the T-shirt he wore over a long-sleeved thermal.
Once he was done, he was surprised to see her still standing there. But she was shivering like a newborn fawn with her arms crossed over her protruding stomach, not even trying to hide the rest of her nakedness from him.
At this point, she probably didn’t fucking care. She was probably just glad to be alive and upright.
Sig worried about that upright part. She could collapse at any time.
He tugged his shirt over her head, pulling her mess of hair free. The shirt only fell to her hips, leaving her lower half uncovered.
Shit.
He’d wrap his flannel shirt around her waist to cover her better. It was better than nothing.
“Let’s go,” he said gently, after putting his cut back on. “Gonna help you.” He held out his hand. She stared at it for a long moment. “Red, it’s me,” he jerked his chin up the mountain, “or them.”
She didn’t move.
He heard a clock ticking loudly in his brain. Or maybe that was his thumping heart. Either way, they needed to move.
“Red,” he said more firmly, her panic starting to seep into his own skin. “Me... Or them.”
More tears slid down her face as she continued to stare at his outstretched hand, which was now almost as dirty as hers.
He figured she needed to decide on the lesser of two evils. One known. One unknown.
Her mouth opened and a thick, raw, “You,” escaped and she grabbed his hand.
Thank fuck.
He gave her a sharp nod and helped her out of the woods.
Maybe she wasn’t the crazy one in all of this.
Maybe it was him.
Chapter Three
He steered his sled carefully down the rutted, rough lane toward The Barn. His teeth clenched the whole time as not only everything on his body screamed, but so did his mind.
He needed to get her somewhere where she wasn’t exposed. Where she was safe.
He rode past the farmhouse, hoping not to run into Trip. He didn’t have time to deal with his brother’s bullshit right now.
The woman who was straddling the seat in front of him, leaning back against him and clinging onto his bare outstretched arms with her sharp, broken nails, was who he needed to focus on.
Hopefully, Trip was out on a repo job. And he hoped to fuck Stella was home.
If not, he’d be on his own dealing with Red.
He maneuvered his sled around the MC’s clubhouse to the back of the bunkhouse, to the exterior stairs that took him to his apartment.
He parked it as close as he could to the bottom of the metal steps, shut his engine off and heeled his kickstand down.
Then he tried to breathe.
And still his spinning thoughts.
The woman’s head which had been flopping forward for most of the ride, like she had fallen asleep, lifted just slightly. “Where...”
“Somewhere safe. None of ‘em will know you’re here. And if they find out, they won’t be able to get to you. You’ll be protected here.”
Fuck, he hoped that was true.
Trip was going to have a problem with this.
Maybe even Judge.
But he needed more eyes on the lookout than just his own two.
At least until all of this was figured out.
At least until he had some better answers.
At least until he figured out where she needed to go. Who he could hand her off to, besides back to those hillbilly, in-bred, redneck motherfuckers on that mountain.
The Shirley Clan.
An extended family who declared themselves and their mountain one of those bullshit sovereign nations. They made up their own laws and didn’t follow the same ones the rest of Americans had to.
Or at least, that was what they wanted. Law enforcement and federal agents didn’t seem to agree. Unfortunately, Sig wanted nothing to do with law enforcement or the feds himself. So, bringing Red back to the farm might not be the smartest fucking idea.
But those marks on her body and those torn, bloody nails made him think she’d done her fucking best to escape some sort of confinement.
And he knew all about being confined. He knew all about having your damn freedom yanked from you. He knew all about being locked up against your fucking will.
And that shit twisted his gut.
Only difference was, Sig knew how and why he ended up in prison each time. He had no clue how Red ended up on that fucking mountain. Or why.
Or if she had gone voluntarily, why she was now trying to escape.
Especially if what he suspected was the reasoning behind why her stomach was the way it was.