Page 20 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Seventeen

Six Weeks Later

Knees pulled to my chest, I relax my head against the supple leather of my chair in Necro’s office, inhale the deepest breath, expanding my lungs and my belly. I hold it for a count of five and sigh through the exhaustive release.

I’m tired.

My vitamin D is running on E, as is my mental health.

I’ve been here nearly three months and have yet to set foot outside these walls. I stare out the window of Rot’s bedroom every day, watching summer play out without me. I’m a spectator to the world, stuck in Krampus’s snow globe, living life on repeat.

When Coffin returned home, and the messiness of our reunion played out, I assumed things would change for the better.

When I woke up in his room, cleaned and patched up, I felt good despite the aches and pains.

It took weeks for the bruises, cuts, bite marks, and floor burns to heal.

There is still a tiny scar on the inside of my thigh and another in the shape of a C by my pubes. I’m sure both will fade with time.

But… boy, oh boy, was I wrong, thinking anything would be different.

I don’t know what’s worse, watching Coffin meltdown and hoping like an idiot we broke through one of his carefully constructed women-hating walls, or now, dealing with our downright volatile relationship—if you can even call it that.

Anytime I see him, Tiffany, the new girl, who’s maybe twenty-one, I don’t know, I’m not allowed to speak to her—she’s stuck to him like a barnacle.

She gets preferential treatment, and don’t even get me started on what that looks like. Just thinking about it pisses me off.

I don’t know what I did to be treated this way, but I’m sick of it.

Watching a different woman, a woman not invited here, get treated like a queen while I’m treated as lesser-than hurts.

I know it’s stupid. I shouldn’t care. I’ve experienced far worse.

At least I’m not being abused, stabbed, or beaten.

There’s that, I suppose. I get fed two home-cooked meals a day, breakfast and dinner.

I have a snack for lunch. I have sex at least once a day, usually twice.

I get to lounge and read and shouldn’t have a care in the world.

But I do.

I care a lot.

I’m bored.

B.O.R.E.D. with a capital B.

I knew it would happen sooner or later .

I knew the cozy life and being babysat every single day would wear me thin.

We are there, folks.

And I’m sick of this.

All of it.

Her.

Them.

The only people I can stand are Rot and Mama.

After three months, you’d think Necro would acknowledge I exist beyond the morning fuck and shower. Well, you’d be wrong.

Those little gifts… like the rose.

Poof. Gone.

I don’t know why they even keep me here.

It’s pointless.

They need to call Dark to pick me up.

Simple.

Except it’s not.

Because this bothers me.

They bother me.

How could you want someone here but treat them like they don’t matter? Is it a kink? Does it get them off? Is that the point?

Rot tells me all the time I’m different. I’m different. I’m different.

Yadda. Yadda. Yadda.

Hollow sentiments mean fuckall.

Not bothering with reading today, I sulk in Necro’s office. Of course, he doesn’t notice. Why would he? I don’t think this man has a single feeling in his body beyond the tip of his cock. Even that doesn’t seem to bring him enough pleasure to make a sound whenever he uses me as his personal hole.

Ugh.

I’m sorry.

I know I’m being a whiny bitch.

It happens sometimes.

Staring at the blank wall, contemplating life and what I should do, I must pass out because I’m woken up by someone shaking my shoulder.

Yawning and stretching my legs out, I blink a handful of times before I tip my head back and find Necro standing beside my chair.

“Is everything okay?” I ask through a yawn.

The exposed half of his face blank with indifference, Necro dips his chin and waves for me to follow him.

Okay. This is strange. Where’s Rot? I glance around for any sign of him before I get up, drape my blanket over the back of my chair, and shadow Necro out of the door, where he turns, locks up, and waves for me to tag along.

Keeping two steps behind him, not wanting to crowd his space, I trail him to another part of the church I’ve yet to see.

We descend into the basement on a different set of stairs than I’m used to.

The air is much cooler down here than in my bedroom.

Human skulls line the walls like a homemade catacomb, filled in between with jagged concrete, lit by the same old sconces, casting an eerie glow across the hollow faces and the packed dirt floor.

It’s weird but also kind of beautiful, if you find this kind of stuff interesting. Which, apparently, I now do. The fact that this doesn’t bother me is something I should probably reflect on later when I’m alone again, with my thoughts, for the billionth time.

Rubbing my hands up and down my bare arms to keep warm, I cringe at my feet, knowing how dirty my still-stained slippers will be after walking across this ground. Not that they could get much worse at this point. At the rate I wear them, it’s a miracle they’re still wearable.

We reach the end of a hall that seems to narrow as we go.

Necro unlocks a rusted steel door with a key from his pocket and doesn’t bother turning around to see if I’m still following when we turn down another corridor until we reach a row of empty jail cells—a dozen or so with old iron bars and dirt floors.

There are shiny steel toilet/sink combos in each one that look like something you’d find in a new prison movie.

The rest gives Pirates of the Caribbean vibes.

You know, when Captain Jack is locked away, and the dog won’t give him the key?

Does that even make sense? I dunno. You tell me.

Just past them are four steel doors, two on each side of the hall, with slots you can peek through at eye level.

A little further down, Necro stops, knocks twice on a rusty steel door, and pushes it open but doesn’t bother to enter. His near-white gaze flicks into the room as if urging me to go in without saying so.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” Rot’s irritated voice booms off the stacked rock walls. There’s a pause followed by a string of curses and a metal screech before his handsome head pops out of the doorway like a curious gopher.

“Hey, Red.” He grins wide, clearly glad to see me .

“Hey.” I lift my hand midway in greeting and chew my bottom lip, feeling out of place.

“I must have lost track of time.”

He must have, if Necro is bringing me here to meet him.

“Is that your office?” I point to where he steps forward and fills the open doorway.

Rot dips his chin, then glances at Necro. “Why’d you bring her down?” he growls and licks the front of his teeth in palpable irritation.

Necro runs a hand over the top of his shorn head to the back of his neck, where he squeezes. His thick bicep contracts with the moment. You were late, he eventually signs.

I’ve been late before , Rot responds in sign, looking far too hot doing it.

I don’t know what it is about watching two big men with bare chests, broad shoulders, abs, and low-hung jeans signing to each other in a dim hallway, feet from outdated jail cells, that kinda turns me on. But it does. Sue me.

Bored with this conversation, Necro shrugs. I have shit to do.

“Right,” Rot replies out loud, not the least convinced. He rolls his eyes, then swings his gaze to me, dismissing his brother. “Have you been a good girl today?” He bites his plump bottom lip.

I grin. “I’m a good girl every day.”

“Oh yeah?” He winks and flashes me a cocky smirk.

Playing into this little flirtation, I bat my eyelashes. “Sure.”

Rot grips his bulge over the top of his jeans. “Then why don’t you let me show you around my office and maybe, if you’re extra good, ride my cock for a bit.” He winks again, steps back, and nods for me to enter his space.

As I pass by, I deliver a tight goodbye smile to Necro. Once I’m inside, Rot locks us in his office. The solid steel door closing sends an electric chill down my spine.

I slowly spin in a circle in the middle of the space, taking in the dingy, mildew-scented room.

“It’s not a looker,” he notes, tossing an empty energy drink can in the trash beside his rusted desk.

“I see that. I didn’t even know you had an office,” I comment, taking everything in.

It’s not tiny but not big, either. The walls are white-painted cinderblock, likely an old addition, considering the age of the church.

Half of the paint lies in flecks on the damaged concrete floor that has seen better days.

There’s a desk with a standard, albeit old, chair with wheels, what looks like a newer laptop, and a wall of old televisions that are monitors—I think.

There’s a whiteboard on one wall with blue scribbles I can’t discern, and that’s about it. Basic. Nothing over the top.

Rot rests a hand on his desk and drums his fingers on the scuffed top. “Not all of us are lucky enough to get a room like Necro’s.”

“His office, you mean?” I ask. “Or his bedroom?”

“His office. For sure. His bedroom is… It’s something.”

I chuckle. “It is?” That’s news to me. After three months of living here, you’d think I’d have heard about Necro’s bedroom or gotten a peek, but there’s been nothing. Not even a hint.

“Yeah. It’s right beside yours.”

“What do you mean it’s right beside mine? ”

“That stubborn asshole didn’t tell you, huh?”

“Tell me what?”

“You have three doors in your room, right?”

“Yes.”

“One is to the hall. The other is to your bathroom. The other leads directly into Necro’s.”

“What? I thought that was just a closet or something.” When I asked Necro about it, he pretended not to listen, which is par for the course when dealing with him.

“Ask him about it,” Rot suggests.