Blood & Bones: Sig (Blood Fury MC 2)

Sig had laid in the hallway for the longest time, simply trying to breathe, trying to think, trying not to cry out loud.

But then he’d heard it again. The bed squeaking, his mother moaning, Buck calling her really dirty names between his grunts.

His mother had said nothing while Buck had kicked him. Never begged Buck to stop.

She just let him do it.

Later on, when asked, she’d answered, “You did wrong, you deserved what you got.”

That was it.

Sig was so mad about that, he’d done something stupid.

Last time Buck was screwing his mother, he’d snuck into the room while they were busy, took the knife the club prez kept in his boot and hid it under his dad’s jeans that had been left in a pile on the floor.

That was a week ago. And he was disappointed nothing came of it.

Razor never confronted Silvia. Or Buck. Not that he knew of, anyway.

If his dad had found the knife, he must not have thought anything of it. Or only thought it was his own.

But either way, eventually Sig would give Buck what he deserved. Even if he had to wait until he was older.

He wouldn’t always be twelve. One day he’d be big enough, strong enough, to teach Buck a damn lesson he wouldn’t be able to forget.

And then he’d take the club’s top spot from him.

But that would be years from now, so he had to wait.

He had to suffer through listening to the bastard screwing his mother.

He had to suffer through hearing that bed make noise, as well as the two occupants.

He grimaced and covered his ears.

He could still hear them.

Buck screwing his mother. His mother letting the bastard do it. Encouraging him to give “it” to her harder. Faster.

He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and rolled off his bed. He needed to get out of the house. Needed to get away from them.

That bastard got what he wanted, whenever he wanted.

It was like Buck was king of the club.

He ruled them all.

And no one was going to stop him.

Sig vowed it would be him someday. Buck would pay.

He tagged his jeans from the floor and yanked them up his legs, pulling on the first shirt he came across. He snagged his sneakers as he went and threw open his door, trying to ignore those noises as he passed his mother’s bedroom door.

“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath as he kept rolling.

His feet stopped moving as the front door of their tiny house was flung open and his father came barreling through.

Finally!

Finally, his dad was going to stop Buck. Take him down a peg or two.

Before Sig could say anything, his dad shoved him out of the way and into the wall, not saying a word to him.

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.