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 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 didn’t have a guard posted with a weapon because Sig had nothing but a small knife in one pocket of his cut.