Page 10 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Ten

Pointing my toes, I groan and stretch in a pitch-black box lined with silk. At least it’s warm. Reaching out, I run my fingers across the padded lid. I can’t believe Necro put me here.

Jerk.

Testing the top, I push up to see if it’ll budge.

It doesn’t.

“The asshole locked me in a tomb,” I whisper hoarsely, my throat and neck sore from being choked out not once but twice yesterday.

What a way to be welcomed into this new life.

For as many times as I’ve run jobs for the club, I can’t think of a single instance anyone put their hands on me like these men have.

Sure, they fucked me. They all do. Sure, I got spanked in the heat of the moment and degraded a time or two, but they’ve liked me enough to show some semblance of decency.

Forcing myself not to panic or piss myself from my inability to use the bathroom, I accept what is and breathe through it. Kali would be proud. She’d give me a crystal I don’t know crap about and talk me through the wave of helplessness. She did that a lot when I first joined the sisterhood.

And that feels like a lifetime ago…

The day I met my first Sacred Sinner, it was a chilly spring morning.

I’d run from Ted, not for the first time, but lucky number seven.

Knowing what worked and didn’t work from all my failed attempts, I planned my escape weeks in advance.

When he went to the store for our weekly grocery run, I broke out of my locked bedroom with a knife I’d hidden under my mattress.

Stealing a backpack from his closet, I threw what I could inside, then ran.

For days, I traveled back roads and through the woods to get as far away from the demon as possible.

I didn’t have a penny to my name, but I was determined to make this time count.

Out front of a truck stop, in the middle of nowhere, sat a big-bellied, bearded man smoking a joint.

Between his legs was a shiny blue Harley.

He wore a leather cut that read Blimp on the front.

A skull and roses emblem adorned the back, which read Sacred Sinners, Mother Chapter .

I don’t know what possessed me to approach him or ask for help, but he never hesitated.

One second, I was cold and alone. The next, he bought me an oversized sweatshirt and fed me a warm meal at the greasy spoon diner across the parking lot.

He never asked what happened or why I needed help.

He sat in the booth across from me as I ate a plate of breakfast, the first meal I’d had in days, and when I was done, he asked, “Where to?”

“Somewhere safe,” I replied.

Two weeks later, I was delivered to the sisters .

Now, I’m locked in a casket by an emotionally manipulative sadist.

Oh, how times have changed.

I sigh, and as if summoned by a guardian angel, there’s a click and the groan of metal as the casket opens.

A shiver passes through me from toe to nose as Necro comes into view wearing the same as yesterday—jeans with his bare chest and scars out on full display. Even his mask hasn’t changed. I wonder if it ever does.

Not knowing what’s next, I blink at him and remain still, not wanting a repeat of last night.

He waves for me to get up and steps back to give me space to climb out. As my bare feet touch the cold ground, he shuts the lid and pats the top.

I don’t understand.

He pats it again, firmer this time. The noise echoes through the space.

Is he asking how I slept?

Sure, I could let on that I know how to sign and speak to him that way, but I’m not laying all my cards on the table this early in the game.

“I don’t understand,” I croak, rubbing my throat.

Sighing as if I’m a nuisance, Necro grabs my shoulder, spins me so I’m facing the casket, and pushes me forward so my breasts kiss against the smooth top, my ass perched in the air.

Shucking my t-shirt up that barely covers my behind, he kicks my legs apart, and I hear the tear of a lube packet a second before two wet fingers breach my pussy.

“Fuck,” I rasp and bite my bottom lip as Necro works me open, one pump, then two. By the third, he extracts his fingers and replaces them with the brutal slam of his pierced cock.

All the air punches out of my lungs as he screws me partway over the casket. For balance, I press my hands against the top and push my ass up for him to hit my G-spot just right. It’s been years since I’ve had a good morning screw.

Not giving a damn about their rules, I moan as he fucks me, not caring how awful my voice sounds. Closing my eyes, my legs quiver, and my clit aches as he washes the world away and replaces it with pleasure.

I bend to his will.

When he makes me come, I don’t hold back.

Screaming through the crescendo, fluid squirts from my pussy, bathing the inside of my thighs and my feet. Without touching me with anything more than his cock, Necro doesn’t stop. He fucks me harder. Longer. Deeper. Carving a path into my psyche, where sexual deviants frolic and play.

It’s heaven.

It’s hell.

Time ceases to exist.

When he comes, he stills, and glorious heat floods my core.

I sag against the casket in relief, unable to hold my legs up any longer.

Resting my cheek against the cool lid is a reprieve as sweat drips down my brow onto the shiny finish.

A slow, satisfied smile curls at the corners of my lips as I drag my finger through the wetness and catch my breath.

There’s a jangle of keys as Necro walks across the room and opens one of the doors I tried to escape through last night. Flicking on a light, he waves for me to follow.

I slide down the casket and stand upright.

Cum runs down the insides of my thighs as I shuffle across the room and through the new doorway into a small, attached bath.

It features a single-stall shower, sink, and toilet.

It's nothing fancy but nothing gross, either. It’s clean, which is all that matters, considering we’re in a church basement.

Thankfully, there isn’t a big hairy spider ready to bite my ass as I sit down on the toilet to relieve myself, with Necro watching.

He leans a shoulder against the doorframe and quietly observes.

Even if it should bother me, it doesn’t. Not even when I wipe and check to see how much of his cum is left on the toilet paper.

“Am I allowed to shower?” I ask as I flush and move to wash my hands.

Scratching the top of his head as if he’s not sure that’s a good idea, he pauses, then nods once.

Hoping he doesn’t suddenly change his mind, I quickly turn on the water. As I wait for it to heat up, I catalog the minimal soap choices—a bar of soap and basic dollar-store shampoo. Not exactly the best choice for curly hair like mine, but I can’t complain.

Removing my shirt, I drape it over the edge of the sink in case I have to wear it again before I climb under the spray.

Tugging the curtain closed, I close my eyes and sigh as heat envelops me.

A moment later, the curtain slides back open and remains that way as I wash.

Necro watches from the doorway. Whether he’s worried I’m up to no good or fascinated enough to watch me scrub between my thighs with nothing more than soap suds on my hand, I pay Necro no mind as I bask in what could be my last shower in a while.

When I wash my hair, I take my time and scrub it twice, knowing it’ll be a frizzy mess when it dries. That’s future me’s problem.

Content to observe, Necro doesn’t rush me, and for that, I’m grateful. Once I’m through, he leaves for a moment and returns with a fluffy black towel and a t-shirt like the one Rot gave me yesterday.

“Thanks.” I smile and secure the towel around my breasts before stepping onto the painted floor.

Necro doesn’t reply, not that I expect him to.

In the mirror, I comb my fingers through my curls the best I can and finish drying off before I slide the shirt over my head.

Drawing the fabric to my nose, I breathe in deep.

It smells like a man—smoke and spice. Not at all like Rot’s.

It’s also ten times softer. Maybe it’s Necro’s. Then again, probably not.

I’m just glad he let me bathe.

Facing him, I tug the hem of the t-shirt to keep all my bits covered and do my best to ignore my chilly toes. “Thank you for this.” I wave my hand around, indicating the bathroom.

Pushing off the doorframe, his expression as closed off as usual, Necro walks away.

No acknowledgment. Nothing. I'm not sure what I’m supposed to do, so I follow him.

If he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t say as much when he unlocks my bedroom door, and I scurry after him through the dimly lit hallway and up the same creaky stairs from last night.

Staying close, but not too close, I follow him to the kitchen, where Mama is busy humming to himself as he prepares what I assume is lunch or maybe breakfast. I have no idea what time it is. It could be dinner again, for all I know.

“Sola,” he greets, flashing me the friendliest smile.

“Mama.” I return his smile with a smaller, far more reserved one. Calling a man Mama is a little strange, but I roll with it as Necro scoots out a stool by the kitchen island and nods toward it.

Taking it as my cue to sit, I don’t ask questions and climb onto the seat. Then the biker who fucked me into oblivion this morning just leaves without a parting glance.

I drum my fingers on the edge of the island.

Mama slides a plate of biscuits and gravy with a side of scrambled eggs my way.

“Eat,” he orders, setting a fork and napkin beside my food.

My stomach audibly grumbles, and we laugh as I tuck into my breakfast, grateful for another delicious meal.

“You’re the best cook,” I mumble around a bite.

Cheeks pinkening, Mama waves me off with the flick of a kitchen towel. “Oh. It’s nothing.” He shrugs.

“It’s not nothing. This is incredible.” There is no way these biscuits came from a can. They’re homemade. The flour residue left on the island confirms as much.