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)
He’d done pregnant women before, so he knew what a knocked up one looked like, but not one of them had been as thin as Red. How a baby could be growing in her belly like that, he had no fucking clue.
But again, it could be because she hadn’t eaten in a very long time and her gut was just distended.
Maybe that was it.
Because if she was carrying a Shirley spawn, then shit just got even more fucked for them both.
He put one hand on her shoulder to make sure she didn’t topple off his sled and he dismounted, then helped her to her feet. As she stood, she wobbled slightly.
Fuck.
He needed to get her upstairs fast before anyone saw them, before anyone fucking snitched to Trip.
He gritted his teeth, squatted with a searing curse due to the pain that shot through his body, and hooked her under the knees and curled an arm behind her back.
She hardly weighed a thing for being about five-foot-five. Even for possibly being knocked up.
But at the moment, his pain overrode his anger. His breath hissed and he ground his molars as he slowly and carefully made his way up the steps, gripping her securely to his chest.
“I can... walk.”
The fuck she could. But he couldn’t say a fucking word. Not yet. Not through the excruciating agony that wanted to take him to his knees.
When he got to the top landing, he hissed out another sharp breath and dropped her to her feet. He dug for his keys deep within his front pocket, plugged one into the lock and shoved the door open.
“Inside,” he managed to get out.
She hesitated.
He got why.
She was wondering if she had escaped one nightmare to walk into another.
“Ain’t gonna hurt you.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Swear it.”
“’Ain’t gonna hurt you... Just cooperate an’ give us what we want. Don’t fight an’ you won’t get hurt,’” she said on a broken whisper.
What the fuck? Another chill shot down Sig’s spine. She was quoting someone.
“What’d they want?” he whispered.
She didn’t answer, but, thank fuck, she stepped over the threshold into the dark interior of his apartment. She took a few more steps, then hesitated. He hurried in behind her, hit the lights and closed the door.
She suddenly collapsed to the floor, pulled her knees to her chest and curled into a ball like one of those wooly caterpillars when he poked at them as a kid.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath as he heard her soft sobbing.
He hoped to fuck it was from relief of getting out of whatever fucked up situation she’d been in.
“Are you a Shirley?” Fuck, he should’ve asked that in the beginning, back in the woods. Because you did not take Shirley property from them. Not a car, not a woman, and definitely not one who could be carrying a Shirley spawn.
They protected their property like an MC protected theirs.
With everything they had.
She didn’t answer him. She probably needed food and definitely a bath, most likely medical attention. But if she was a Shirley and he took her somewhere, nothing would stop them coming off that mountain to claim one of their own.
Nothing.
And he wasn’t letting that happen. Not until he knew the whole story.
Most likely not even then.
It was one thing when a woman wanted welts and bruises because she asked for it, craved it, got off on it, it was another when it was forced on her against her will.
He had a feeling Red was not into being beaten for sexual pleasure.
It was those dirty, bloody, broken fingernails that gave it away. This woman had fought to escape the hell she’d been in. She had not volunteered to be tied up and beaten.
His jaw shifted and his fingers curled into fists.
He’d done a lot of stupid shit in his life. He’d done a lot of shit he’d gone to jail for. Abusing a woman was not fucking one.
He’d never done anything a woman didn’t ask for. He enjoyed pussy. He didn’t destroy it. He appreciated it when a woman knew what the fuck she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it.
He had no doubt Red hadn’t asked for anything she’d been dished out.
But right now, he was over his head. He needed help with her. From someone maybe Red could trust.
Stella.
She was the only female that lived on the farm. None of the sweet butts or female hang-arounds were allowed to shack up in any of the rooms in the bunkhouse. Trip didn’t want it turning into a whorehouse.
So, Stella was it.
Problem was, Stella didn’t trust Sig. But if he could convince her to help with Red...
He hoped to fuck she was home.
“Gotta go up to the main house for a quick minute. You need to stay here. Be back as soon as I can.” Trip’s ol’ lady could ignore a text, but she couldn’t ignore Sig if he stood eye to eye with her.