Page 17 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Fifteen

“What’s going on, Rot?” I ask from the comfort of his bed, blanket tucked around my waist, my breasts still hanging out after a long and delicious fuck.

His phone went off a minute ago, and he shot out of bed like his ass was on fire.

Now he’s throwing on clothes and socks and stuffing his feet in his leather boots by the door, giving me a fantastic view of his ass stretching his black jeans.

The muscles in his back shift as he ties one boot before the other.

When he doesn’t respond, I sit up straighter and try again. “Rot?”

“Stay here, Red,” he orders, then he’s gone without a parting glance, slamming the door shut behind him.

Um. Okay.

What the hell is going on?

What am I supposed to do besides listen to him? Just sit here and wait? Which I suppose is the right thing to do, but I don’t want to sit here all day wondering if something’s wrong. There definitely is. Rot wouldn’t leave like that otherwise.

As I contemplate my next move, I slide off the bed and remake it before I slip into his shared bathroom with Coffin and take a quick whore bath in the sink to wash Rot’s fresh cum from my pussy.

I sniff my armpits, and they smell the same as they did this morning when I used the new deodorant Necro put in my bathroom.

It’s scented with lavender essential oils and, I think, lemongrass or something like that.

It’s aluminum-free, dye-free, and far bougier than any deodorant I’ve had before. I bet it cost a fortune.

Using my fingers, I tame what I can of my curls after Rot messed them up. Thankfully, the leave-in conditioner that showed up in my bathroom last week has helped a ton, and fixing my freshly fucked hair is far more manageable now. Thank the universe for small miracles.

In the bedroom, I dig through Rot’s dresser for another plain t-shirt, as Necro’s from this morning is now coated in bodily fluids.

I slip it over my head and hunt for my crocheted slippers from Mama.

One has found its way under the edge of the bed in our mad dash to rip each other’s clothes off.

You’d think even after a few weeks, I’d be sick of sex with multiple men.

Or the same men. But I can’t seem to get enough.

Not that Necro’s counts all that much. It’s turned from surprising and kinda hot to basic vanilla.

That happens when there’s no variation. It’s not much different from missionary.

He never touches me with more than a finger or two and his cock.

He never makes a sound. Sure, it feels good, but it’s predictable. Predictable is boring .

Sighing, I crawl on my hands and knees to find the last of my missing slippers, feeling like Cinderella.

“There you are.” I locate it behind the nightstand. “How did you get there?” I speak to the inanimate object like it’s somehow going to grow a mouth and talk back to me as I sit on my butt and slip them on before I stand.

Hands on my hips, I look around the room to see if I’ve missed anything. When nothing comes to mind, I clap my hands together. “So. What do we do now?” I speak aloud in the hope that a brilliant plan will form on its own.

A bunch of shouting from the church makes my mind up for me. Knowing Rot didn’t lock me in here, I escape his bedroom and navigate through the halls I’ve memorized by now to the chapel, where all hell is currently breaking loose as Necro sits on his throne, looking bored with the spectacle.

That makes one of us.

A different brother, I can’t remember the name of, notices me first and steps back to give me space to get closer to the men gathered around in the center of the room, encouraging someone to fight.

Ugh. Bikers and their testosterone.

I tuck in behind two big, burly men and peek between them to see what’s happening.

“Fuck you!” Rot knees Coffin in the nuts and drops him onto the tile floor. Straddling his waist, he punches him in the face, and Coffin grins like a madman, blood painted across his front teeth.

The blond idiot spreads his muscular arms wide. “Do it again, bitch,” he urges Rot, and Rot does as he’s told and socks him in the face .

Turning his head to the side, Coffin spits a sticky wad of blood on the tiled floor. “That all you got?” he taunts, barely fazed.

Irritation prickles across my skin as I shove one man to the side to reach the center of the makeshift fight ring. He grumbles a curse, and when I look up at him, arching a brow, he puts his hands up. “Sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

I nod once, accepting his apology, and approach the dumbasses still throttling each other on the floor.

“Are we done?” I boom, then I kick Rot in the side. Not hard, but enough to stop him from pummeling his brother.

He whips his head to look over his shoulder, and Coffin takes the opening to punch him in the chest and knock him backward. Rot lands on his hip, and Coffin sits up.

I point at him. “No more.”

“Fuck you, bitch. You don’t tell me what to do,” Coffin seethes, blood trickling out of the corner of his nose as he spits even more blood at my feet, coating my new slippers in his disdain.

Did he just do that…

I…

Oh. Hell. No.

Balling my hands down at my sides, I stomp over to Coffin, and he smiles up at me from the floor in cocky challenge. Not giving a damn who watches or what the consequence might be, I slap the smug look right off his face.

The sound echoes through the space. You could almost hear a pin drop as his head whips to the side from the force, and redness blooms even brighter across his cheek. A string of saliva mixed with blood shoots from his mouth and lands on the floor.

“Fuck you, too, bitch. You stained my new slippers,” I snarl and rear back to slap him again, but he catches my wrist and hauls himself up from the floor and drags me from the room.

“What are you doing?” Digging my heels in, I try to tug myself free, but it’s futile. The bastard is too strong.

“Let her go, Coffin! If you hurt her. I’ll kill you!” Rot roars as a lump of nerves knots in my throat.

I’m in trouble.

He is going to hurt me.

He’s the worst of the brothers.

He kills women.

Knowing this might be my last moment alive, I stop stumbling after Coffin and force him to drag me.

My knees hit the rough hardwood floor in the hallway as he pulls me toward the stairs to the basement.

My wrist burns, and my arm feels like it might be jerked from its socket as my ass and hip crash against every step on the way down.

The awful thumping of mass striking wood bounces off the walls as fresh bruises form alongside the floor burns.

Tears fill my eyes, and I wince, but I keep the noises to myself, refusing to let the big, blond brute win.

Once we reach the bottom, Coffin stops and turns to me. Nostrils flaring, jaw set, he glares down at me like I’m nothing more than a squished bug on the bottom of his shoe. How dare I exist.

I glare a big fuck you back up at him. My own nostrils flaring, my t-shirt pools around my waist, exposing my bottom half. Goosebumps prickle my skin from the chill of the basement.

He kneels on the concrete floor and wraps a massive hand around my throat.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t fuckin’ kill you?” he rumbles like chewed-up gravel, the muscles in his neck taut like thick ropes.

A shiver passes through me as I meet his thunderous gaze. I say nothing. If he expects me to beg. I won’t. If he wants me to explain why I should live. Not a chance.

He can decide that himself.

He can shove an entire goat up his ass if he thinks I’m going to give him the satisfaction of any answer.

The hand around my throat tightens, and I remain still. Coffin’s face grows closer until I can feel the hot puff of his breath across my skin, smelling of blood and mint.

He nips my cheek with his teeth, and it stings, fuck does it sting, but I don’t let it show.

Smiling like he’s convinced he’s gonna get a rise outta me one way or another, Coffin forces my head back and bites my chin hard.

My stomach quivers as pain erupts. A slight whine eeks out of my throat, but I swallow it down before I make too much noise.

A cruel smile spreads across his scary face as Coffin drops my wrist and arches a brow, testing to see if I’ll fight him.

I don’t.

I wait to see what he’ll do next.

There’s no way I can run down here when the entire floor is a mystery of mazes.

There’s no way to fight when he’s bigger and far stronger.

A look of surprise washes over his face. It lasts a second and is gone the next. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I imagined it.

Dragging me over to the hallway wall just outside my bedroom door, Coffin forces my head against the jagged rock, a hand still around my throat.

Pushing my legs apart, he settles between them on one knee and reaches behind his back.

He produces a knife, similar but not the same as the one he used to cut off Worm’s fingers.

He presses it to my inner thigh, inches from my bare pussy.

I gasp as the sharp tip pierces my skin, and his eyes roll back in his head in pleasure.

He presses in further, and it burns. Fuck . It burns.

Biting my bottom lip to keep from screaming, tears I can’t hold back drip down my face. My gut tightens, but I remain still. I take it. I can take it. I will endure.

Coffin extracts the blade from my flesh, and warm blood rushes from the wound, pooling on the dirty ground beneath me.

He drags the tip up, up, up until he caresses the edge of my labia.

Teasing it there, he baits himself or me, I’m not sure which, before he glides it up to my small thatch of red pubic hair and stops.

A low rumble emanates in his throat, and the muscles in his jaw clench as he pricks my skin, presses in a little, and curls downward.

A ripple of something wicked passes through his body as blood rushes to the surface.

I slam my eyes closed, and pain erupts, burning, stinging, throbbing.

I chew the inside of my cheek and breathe.

Air saws in and out of my lungs as I take the pain, wrap it up in a bow, and own it before it owns me.

I’ve done this before. Maybe not with a knife, but I’ve been through worse.

I’m not dead yet. It's just blood. It’s just another scar to add to the rest.

Coffin removes his toy from my flesh, and when I open my eyes again, he’s there, watching me. His lip is cracked from his fight with Rot. One of his cheekbones is swollen. A bruise has already started to form under his other eye.

He reaches down to undo his button and zipper, his stern gaze still latched on mine. I can feel it. A tether, reaching, reaching, reaching out as my heart hammers in my chest and the pain dulls to a warm throb.

He forces my head back, jamming it against the sharp wall. Leaning forward, his breath wafts across my lips. Something odd, something… new… unfurls in my belly as Coffin pulls out his cock and strokes himself.

“You’re a fuckin’ whore,” he breathes, fucking his fist with one hand as he squeezes my throat with the other. “You deserve to die.” A feral groan of pleasure leaks out of his throat. “Fuck.”

Knowing this could be the worst choice I’ve ever made in my life, I reach out and take his cock in hand. His falls away, and his forehead drops to mine as a broken moan pours from his soul. Silky precum paints my palm as I take my time jacking him off. He feels good. Hot. Big. The perfect size.

Gliding me from the wall to the floor, Coffin releases my throat, settles between my thighs, shoves my shirt up to my ribs, and stares down at me. He traces a fingertip across the fresh cut above my pussy. His upper lip curls back as he groans, staring at the seeping cut .

“You don’t deserve it, but I’m gonna fuck you now.” His body covers mine. The heat of his bare chest soaks through my t-shirt, taking away the chill in the air as he wraps my legs around his waist and slams into my core.