Page 13 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Twelve

Tying pantyhose around a blonde bitch’s wrist, I yank her arm up and secure it to the corner of the bed.

I do the same to the other. Then, her ankles.

Thankfully, she’s passed the fuck out on top of the thick sheet of plastic I draped over the shitty motel bed.

Not for long, though. I knock ‘em out, tie ‘em up, and then we have our fun. Well, I do. Them, not so much.

Knowin’ damn well this one will scream like a banshee, I dig through my special bag, pull out the roll of tape I rarely use, rip off a strip with my teeth, and slap it over her mouth.

The last thing I need is someone overhearing our fun times.

They’d intervene and would have to be killed.

Then I’d have to call in more favors, and that’s a headache none of us needs.

I heave a sigh, just thinkin’ about the damn mess.

The fewer people involved, the better. That’s why I go at this alone.

On top of the dingy table, I unpack my bag and lay out all my special toys for tonight’s festivities: a special crucifix, clamps… ya know, the works.

My cock gives a cursory twitch behind my zipper, down for whatever games we’re gonna play.

I pat him like the good boy he is. “You’ll get some, don’t worry,” I whisper.

He thickens, and I groan.

It’s gonna be a long night.

I shouldn’t have waited this long to… take care of my… our needs.

Fuckin’ Sola was a bad idea.

Her pussy made all this worse.

She’s made everything worse.

Those green eyes, red hair, and her taking my piercings like a champ flash through my mind.

My dick bucks, goin’ from a chubby to a railroad spike.

Nope. Fuck that.

Shaking my head, I tug my hair ‘til my scalp burns to stop these bullshit thoughts. We’re not thinkin’ about Sola. All women are liars and cheaters. Not a single one of ‘em is worth more than a fleeting thought.

A rumble of frustration battles in my chest as I focus on the room, on the now, not her, and sure as fuck not them.

The woman sprawled out on the plastic pops open one eye, then the other.

I approach the bed and slap her cheeks. “Wakey, wakey, whore,” I taunt.

Flinching, she groans behind the tape. Air whistles out of her nostrils as she glances around the room in a daze before her brown eyes settle on me, where they round to the size of the moon .

Rocking an evil smile, I tinkly wave at her. “Hello, Clarisa. Thanks for bein’ here today.”

She tries to talk behind the tape, but it’s useless.

I don’t give a single fuck what that bitch has to say.

There isn’t enough begging or pleading she can do to convince me not to hurt her.

That ship sailed a long time ago, along with her conscience.

That’s why I’m here. To play judge, jury, and executioner since nobody else has the balls to do it.

Not bothering with niceties, I snatch a little wooden something I made off the table that I can’t tell you about, as some things must be left up to your imagination, and I use it to my advantage.

As predicted, the bitch screams. Too bad it’s not a pretty scream. She’s definitely not enjoying my fun as tears trickle down the sides of her face. Neck arching, her head digs into the plastic-coated bed. The sound of it crumpling sends a delicious shiver down my spine.

Her chest heaves for oxygen, and she yanks on her restraints to test their strength. After a minute of feeble attempts, the hose digs deeper into her wrists and ankles. If she’s not careful, it’ll cut off her blood supply. Not that I care. It’s her choice.

Leaving her to wonder why I’m here and why this is happening, I grab another contraption from the table, and because I’m an asshole, I hold it up to show her. “I’m gonna put these on you. If you move, they’re gonna hurt more,” I lie. No matter what she does, it’s gonna hurt.

A torrent of crybaby tears pours down the sides of her reddened face and soaks into her yellow hair that fans out around her.

I feel nothing .

No sorrow.

No guilt.

My phone buzzes on the table.

Leaving her to catch her breath, ‘cause it’s gonna be a long night, I drop into the chair and connect to FaceTime.

Necro and Rot’s ugly mugs fill the screen from two different rooms. I guess we’re three-way calling tonight.

“What?” I grunt, scratching my stubbly chin.

“You weren’t supposed to leave for a month, fucker.

” Rot lays into me just as I figured he would when Necro told him I left.

We had a half-assed agreement before Sola showed up.

He made me promise him, with a pinky like some little schoolgirl, to stay with them for a month to test things out with her, since she’s different .

Whatever.

She’s a woman, ain’t she?

They’re all the damn same.

I met her.

Got a taste.

I’m done.

Pinky promises are for babies, anyhow.

Rot carries on for a goddamn lifetime, handing me my ass, but I ignore most of his bitching in favor of watching my latest catch writhe on the bed.

Yeah. I know. I’m a horrible person.

You don’t have to like me. That’s not my problem. You know where the door is.

So what if I left when I promised Rot I wouldn’t?

So what if I don’t care about Sola?

Yeah. I tied a woman to a bed, and I’m hurting her for my own sick pleasure .

All those things are true.

But looks can be deceiving.

You don’t know me.

You don’t know the horrifying shit I’ve been through. Not that it matters.

This is penance.

A small price to pay compared to what this bitch has done.

She will die by my hand tonight. You can count on it.

I will spend hours torturing her, bleeding her, cutting out her womb, and stuffing it in the jar I have sitting in the sink in the bathroom for my trophy.

And I won’t feel an ounce of pity.

I won’t feel anything.

Because they did that to me.

They made me this way.

I killed them all for it, too.

Rot’s obnoxious hollering draws me from my sick musings.

“What?!” I snap.

“Did you seriously fuckin’ ignore me for the past three minutes?”

I shrug.

“I’m going to shove a literal corn cob up your ass and film it.”

Always with the dramatics. “No. You won’t.”

“Oh. Don’t push me, motherfucker. You broke your promise. Now, pan the camera to the table.”

I don’t. Because he already knows what’s there. They both do.

Necro signs, Did you find a good one?

I dip my head.

He knows I only ever find good ones , as he calls them. I text a number, and they give me a name along with the laundry list of their indiscretions. I hunt them down, and the rest is history.

I caught this bitch leaving the supermarket.

It was as simple as taking candy from a baby.

Not that I’d ever do that. Only assholes do that.

As much as Rot talks trash, I’m not actually an asshole—I’m a sociopath.

Rot diagnosed me. So, you might as well take that with a grain of salt.

But he does read a lot on this stuff to try and help me and Necro exorcise our demons, or what-the-fuck-ever else he drones on about.

He’s lucky we’re brothers, or I’d never put up with his nagging.

“Coffin!” Rot smacks the phone.

“What?!” I snarl.

“You’re ignoring me again.”

I suck the front of my teeth. “And?”

“When are you coming home?”

“Whenever I feel like it.”

“Coffin,” he drones, like a fuckin’ little bitch that makes me never wanna come home.

“Rot,” I mimic his annoying tone.

“Sola needs all three of us.”

A brittle laugh breaks free. “No. Sola needs to go back to her sisters or find her final resting place in the yard. Whichever works.” Preferably the latter.

“You don’t mean that,” Rot argues.

Oh. How wrong he is about that. “Yeah. I do,” I reply, staring straight at the dumbass so he knows where I stand. We are not the same. Rot wants a woman. I don’t. He knows this. It’s not a goddamn secret.

“Well, we need to figure out what to do with her while she’s here.”

“Orrr,” I offer. “Why don’t you break club rules and send her home? It’ll keep the Sacred Sinners off our backs and her out of our fuckin’ club. She doesn’t belong there.”

Instead of heeding a lick of my wisdom, Rot keeps on yappin’. “I showed her Necro’s office today and she didn’t freak out.”

“You what?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head at the stupidity of my brother.

Necro nods in the affirmative, then shakes his head as if he’s just as irritated by this as I am. Nothing with a pussy is allowed in his office. Not only is it his sanctuary, but it’s also where he displays all his trophies as literal wallpaper. It’s pretty fuckin’ dope if you ask me.

“You heard me,” Rot snarks, knowing I don’t need him to repeat himself.

“And?” I mock.

“She didn’t freak out.”

Yes, she did, Necro throws out, cocking his head to the side as he calls Rot on his shit.

“Fine.” He huffs dramatically. “She only kinda freaked. But she didn’t cry or anything. That counts for something.”

“You do realize this is never gonna work, right?” I address Rot to get this stupid, childish, romantic fantasy out of his mind once and for all.

Men like us don’t get happily ever afters.

If there are any women out there of value, they sure as fuck wouldn’t give any of us the time of day.

Nor should they. They’re left for the men who do good in the world and have money to buy them nice stuff. That ain’t us.

We’re evil men who do evil shit.

We’re the kind of men Sola has worked to take down, and now she’s sleeping with us… Well, them. My brothers. Not me. I’m never touchin’ her again.

The stubborn fucker dismisses me with a wave of his hand and forges on. “What do we do with her?”

“Lock her in her bedroom like we did with all the other women. Feed her there. Fuck her there. Simple. Then, when you’ve gotten over this stupid fantasy, send her home or kill her, whatever works.

” I shrug. “I don’t care. Now, I’m busy.

I’ll be home when I’m home. And keep Sola out of Necro’s office.

” Stabbing my finger against the screen, I end the call, blow out an irritated breath, and toss my phone on the table.

I can’t believe they called me for that shit.

What to do with Sola?

Why would I care?

They’ve got it handled.

He wanted her. He can figure it out.

Slapping my hands on my knees, I push to stand and approach the bitch on the bed. Her eyes widen when she sees me, and I smile, waving at her like a fucking psycho.

“Sooo… Clarisa, you ready to tell me why you sold your four-year-old son to your coke dealer?” I arch my brow, pause for effect, and let her vileness perfume the air before I speak again. “How long did he have him before he died?” I taunt, already knowing the answer.

Walking over to my bag, I dig to the bottom for the manila folder. Using it as a prop, I flip it open and read the detailed police reports out loud.

Clarisa here gifted her dealer her son when she couldn’t pay a debt.

He had the boy for four days before he died.

They found his body in a dumpster behind a fast-food joint.

You can guess what the man did to him. I’ll spare you the gory details.

I have enough of a soul to know not everyone can stomach that level of depravity.

Clarisa was tried, and for whatever reason, the judge went lenient on her. No doubt it’s because she’s pretty with full lips and big tits. I bet the judge got off on her crocodile tears, the idiot. All she served was six months in a mental health facility. That was three years ago.

Sure, on paper, she’s been clean since. She attends church on Sundays and married a God-fearing man. I wonder if Jackie-boy knows his dear wife's sordid past.

Too bad for him, it doesn’t matter now.

No amount of Hail Marys will save her from her fate.

“I hope you’re ready to apologize to your son,” I growl, slap the file closed, toss it on the floor, and turn to the table.

I pick up the scalpel and run the sharp edge over my thumb.

A fine line of blood bubbles to the surface, and I suck the wound into my mouth.

Humming around the metallic taste, I face the woman who’ll meet the vile pieces of shit who made me this way.

They have a lot in common. Only I wasn’t lucky like Connor. I didn’t die.

“I hope you like to scream.” I chuckle darkly and draw the blade across her c-section scar—enough to slap her into reality but not enough to kill her just yet.

A delicious line of blood rises to the surface and drips down the sides of her hips .

Right on cue… she screams and screams behind the tape, trying desperately to break free.

That’s it, little bitch, keep trying to get away.

It’s early, and we’re just getting started.

Now, get lost. I’ve got shit to do.