Once again, Sig got the shaft deep up his ass.
And he hated taking dick there. Never liked it, never would.
Now, as he rode along Copperhead Road, he debated whether to head back to The Barn and deal with Trip, or just keep riding.
If it wasn’t for every damn bump he hit, making him grit his teeth and grumble a curse, he’d keep riding.
Maybe even roll past the farm and keep rolling out of Manning Grove to never come the fuck back since he no longer had Rebecca to help work out his temper when it boiled out of control.
Jesus fuck, he was going to miss her and their late-night sessions.
It was going to suck that his belt, which he had luckily found next to him in the field, would only be used to hold up his damn jeans.
Unless he found someone else.
Maybe one of those sweet butts. Didn’t matter how old they were if all they had to do was bend over and give him their ass.
Yeah... Maybe...
A flash of color moved quickly through the woods to his right.
And again.
What the fuck?
Sig released the throttle, slowing down in case it was a deer or something. Because hitting a deer on his sled would fucking suck. Especially since he was still hurting from the last “collision” he had with some sort of object.
While having fresh venison would be great, becoming roadkill himself wouldn’t.
Though, wrecking would give Sig a good excuse to give Trip on why he looked the way he did and hadn’t come home.
But hitting anything with a sled would still suck donkey dick.
That flash of red and white kept moving quickly toward the road but awkwardly. Like whatever it was might be injured or, at least, limping.
And it was zig-zagging through and around trees and brush.
He hit the brakes and swerved to the narrow berm, squinting up through the thick woods.
No. Not a fucking deer.
Not a coyote.
Not a bear.
Human.
A fucking woman.
Holy fuck. A naked woman.
Long red hair. Pale as fuck skin. Too fucking thin.
Totally naked like a woodland nymph. Or some fairy.
Or a fucking ghost.
Or just a naked fucking woman.
One who was scared.
And running away from something.
Or someone.
Or maybe running toward something.
Or someone.
Him.
She was blindly running toward him.
What the fuck.
He kicked his stand down and jumped off his sled, then almost fell to his knees as the pain shot through him. He took a second to catch his breath, then straightened, trying to get a bead on this wild woman.
When she spotted him, her eyes went wide and she veered in a different direction. And when she turned, he spotted it.
Oh fuck.
She was thin everywhere. Skin and bones except for her belly, which was rounded. He guessed it could be a sign of malnutrition like those kids starving in Africa he’d seen in all those commercials.
Or...
“Hey!” he yelled, which hurt like fuck.
Where the fuck was she going?
He moved as quickly as he could down a small ditch and up a sharp incline until he was in the woods, heading in the direction she was.
“Hey!” he yelled again, but not as loudly this time, because his lungs were having a hard time keeping up.
She darted around a tree a few hundred feet from him.
Goddamn it.
He pushed past the searing pain and began to run, clenching his teeth as he did so. Biker boots were not made for running, especially not in the thick brush. Fuck, bikers weren’t made for running, period.
Branches smacking him in the face and ribs did not help him keep moving, either.
Nor did it help her. Because he was about to give the fuck up and let her go.
Let her go back to the pack of wolves that raised her. Because the fuck if he needed to deal with some mental woman on the loose. He already had enough of his own issues.
But then she tripped and disappeared as she tumbled, a small cry hitting his ears, causing him to move faster in that direction.
When he got close enough, he saw she had ended up on her knees in a slight dip with one hand to her distended belly, and he tried not to fall himself. He picked his way over the slippery rocks hidden beneath the thick carpet of rotting leaves and downed branches to get even closer.
She was struggling to get to her feet, sobs coming from her open mouth, tears creating a path over her dirty cheeks.
Then he was there.
“No!” she screeched at the top of her lungs. “No!”
Jesus fuck. A shiver slid down his spine at the pure terror in her voice.
She got to her feet and before she could run, he hooked her around the waist, pulling her to him.
She shrieked so loudly he winced, then winced again as she clawed at his arms, fighting like a crazy woman. Pure panic in her hazel eyes. Nonstop tears.