Page 22 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Eighteen

Tucking into my berry parfait for breakfast, I lazily swirl my spoon and stare into the mixture, watching the granola chunks disappear as I try not to vomit.

Coffin is at it again. Every morning for the past, I don’t know how long, this has been the start of my day.

Who needs television when you have the world’s most over-the-top sex to hear or watch? Ya know, whichever tickles my fancy.

I rest my elbows on the island as Coffin bends Tiffany over the very same island, only on the opposite side, and proceeds to fuck her brains out. Not that she has any brains if she’s willing to fuck Coffin. If that wasn’t already annoying enough, she’s loud. Obnoxious, fake, porn star loud.

Remember yesterday when I was moping in Necro’s office, telling you about her preferential treatment? This is part of the bullshit.

Mama disappears like a coward when Coffin trots in with his big, scarred muscles, cocky smile, and his woman in tow. Every. Single. Morning .

Did you catch what I said?

Every.

Single.

God Forsaken.

Morning.

Looking up from my bowl, I don’t even pretend not to see them. Tiffany is in a full face of makeup, perky tits out, with her flawless skin and perfectly straight brown hair. Her mouth is agape as she moans far too loudly to be authentic.

Shaking my head at this pitiful display, I scoop up a bit of my parfait and don’t even bother to threaten them with it when I launch the entire scoop at the couple.

It smacks Ms. Fake Orgasm in the face.

Score!

She screeches as white yogurt with bits of berry slides down her cheek and plops on the island.

“Whoopsie.” I giggle, far too pleased with myself.

“Sola!” Coffin roars, pulls out of his woman, and marches around the island with his hard dick swinging like a baseball bat, acting like he’s gonna do something to me.

Ha. Right. I gather another spoonful and fling it right at the rude dick-for-brains.

It lands in the middle of his too-perfect pecs and slides down his washboard abs like some sexy food commercial.

Ugh.

Why are they all so attractive?

When I dip in for a third helping, Coffin rips the spoon from my hand and throws it across the room. It clatters against the floor as I remain on my stool and stare up at the massive prick with a prick just as massive .

I hold my head high and refuse to back down.

He could kill me.

But he hasn’t yet.

Something tells me that between Mama and Rot, his murder hands are tied. Too bad for him because I’m just getting started.

I’m not in the mood for their antics today.

Enough is enough.

I slept like shit. Wanna know why?

After my time in the basement with Rot yesterday and Necro refusing to come play with us… he also didn’t show up to put me to bed last night.

Or fuck me this morning.

Or watch me shower.

Or hand me a towel and one of his t-shirts after I bathed.

I woke up on my own.

Alone.

My casket was conveniently unlocked, which I’ve suspected it has been for some time now, but I’ve had no reason to test it.

I brought myself up here for breakfast this morning, and now I have to deal with this over a parfait. Them. Fake moans. A shitty attitude.

Normally, I ignore them and toss out the occasional under-breath jab.

Today… Bring. It. On.

Lifting my chin in challenge, I reach out and slap Coffin’s cock, not caring if it hurts or that it swings wide and collides with his hairy, muscular thigh before it returns where it belongs, pointing straight at me, a bubble of precum on the tip.

His nostrils flare.

Mine do, too.

“Whore,” he seethes, his face turning beet red.

“Bitch,” I bark.

Taking a step forward, he slaps his hand on the top of the island. “What the fuck did you call me?” Coffin snarls like a barely restrained animal.

Cocking my head to the side, I speak slowly so he doesn’t miss what I said a second time. Somebody is missing a few too many brain cells this morning. “I. Called. You. A. Bitch. Bitch.”

A growl rips from Coffin’s soul as he seizes my throat, and I’m airborne for half a second before he chokeslams me onto the floor, knocking all the air from my lungs.

Everything whiteouts for a moment. Then there’s pain, so much damn pain, as it explodes in the back of my skull.

Blood saturates my mouth as I bite my tongue.

Trying to draw breath, I frantically scratch at his arms as he looms over me, blotting out the world with his massive naked body.

I’m going to die.

I can’t breathe.

Tears matte my eyelashes as my heels dig into the floor, scrambling to gain purchase.

Coffin’s eyebrow raises. Only one. Followed by an arrogant smirk.

I want to tell him to go to hell.

I want to tell him that it sucks I have to see his stupid face as I die .

After what feels like millennia, my lungs quit protesting, and I gasp, drawing in the world’s longest, most satisfying breath.

“It’s about damn time.” Grabbing the front of my day-old, dirty shirt, Coffin sits me up and shoves my back against the side of the island, damn near knocking me out a second time. “You good?” he asks, kneeling on the floor in front of me, giving me a clear once-over.

“Fuck,” I force out, then inhale until there’s no space left in my chest for oxygen, and finish with a strong, “You,” on a long exhale.

The smug asshole pats my cheek with two fingers. “Ah. There’s that charming whore. Nice to see you’re not dead.”

I slap his hand away and glare at the bastard. “Funny. You. Want. Me. Dead.”

“Who said that?”

“A lucky guess.”

“You’re never dyin’, whore.”

“Everyone dies, bitch.”

“There you go. Gettin’ under my skin again.”

“I never left,” I snap and spit blood onto the floor beside me.

“True. True. But I don’t like bein’ called a bitch.”

“And I don’t like bein’ called a whore, or watchin’ you fuck in front of me every morning when I try to eat my breakfast, or having the wind knocked outta me.”

He snorts. “Tough shit.”

“I know. Right? Tough shit, bitch. Deal with it.”

“So that’s how we’re gonna do this, huh?”

“How else is it gonna be?” I challenge.

“I got somethin’ I wanna show you tonight. ”

“Is it your baby dick? If so, I can already see the little guy. It’s right there.” I point to said appendage with my middle finger, still out and very proud and not little at all.

He rumbles a deep, almost charming laugh and smiles. It’s creepy to watch. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile for real, and that laugh. Gah.

I blink, look around, and blink again, expecting to wake up after what must be a dream. When nothing changes, the crazy blond biker who hates my guts grabs my hand and wraps my fingers around his hot, throbbing shaft.

“Nice try, whore. See. Not small.” He uses me to jack his cock that was just bare inside another woman.

Bile surges up my throat.

Gross.

I try to pull away, but he refuses to let go.

Forcing my fingers to form a tunnel around his damp rod, he uses me to get off.

His hips snap forward, poking his fat head through my makeshift pleasure sleeve.

Precum dribbles out of his slit, lubing the way as he gets into it, not giving a single fuck if I want to do this, where Tiffany is, or who might be watching.

“Now tell me my cock is small,” he taunts, grinning like a madman.

Oh. I sure as fuck will.

I glare straight at his stupidly attractive face. “It’s microscopic.”

“Oh. Yeah?” He snorts, clearly holding back laughter. “Why don’t you put it in your mouth? Then we’ll see just how small it is when I choke you on it.”

Playing the fuck outta this fool, I scowl like that’s the dumbest suggestion I’ve heard in my lifetime. “Why? I wouldn’t feel a thing. I’ve seen bigger jellybeans.”

He snaps his hips, continuing to use my fist like a cock sleeve. “Fuck. You’re gonna regret those words.”

“I doubt it,” I volley, not at all scared of him.

Coffin’s cock twitches as if he gets off on our verbal banter. Sadist. Sociopath.

Knowing what’s in my best interest, I don’t stop stroking, even when he pulls his hand away.

He grips the lip of the island. Sweat beads on his brow, and he bites his bottom lip, eyelids growing heavy, as he watches me jack him off.

It isn’t half bad. If I liked him, I might actually find this a bit fun.

His breath sputters, and his legs tremble before they turn to flesh-coated steel.

“Fuck,” he groans, wraps his massive hand over mine, and squeezes the life out of his erection with my help. His cock head turns a scary shade of dark purple, and his entire body shakes like he’s attached to a live wire.

Mouth parting, air seizes in his lungs, and his eyes drop back into his skull in what has to be one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

Then he comes. Only, he doesn’t. Nothing erupts from his shaft as we choke him in our combined fists.

His abs tighten, turning his six-pack into a delicious eight.

His nuts draw so tightly into his body that they disappear. The universe suspends for a moment.

The hair on my arms stand on end.

My heart thunders against my breastbone as my own arousal dampens my inner thighs. Fuck. This shouldn’t be hot, but is.

The muscles in his neck turn into thick cords as he drops his head back, and whatever world of pleasure he’s currently swimming in seems to flow into something I’ve never witnessed before but am insanely jealous of.

Then.

His hand goes limp, and a wrecked, soul-splintering moan explodes from his lips. Cum rockets out of his angry cock and bathes the front of my shirt, my neck, and my thighs in thick ropes.

I don’t know why I don’t pull away, but my mind acts on its own accord when I jack him through it, wanting to make it good.

I feel it. His pleasure. It pulses through the heat of his silken shaft and soaks into me.

I get high on it.

On him.

On the power.

On his body.

When Coffin floats back down to earth, he carefully detaches my fingers from around his member and falls onto his ass. “Damn.” He breathes, turning to prop his back against the island beside me. He rests his hand on my bare knee like he can actually stand to be around me for more than a minute.

I want to ask if he’s okay.

But I don’t.

We sit in silence, shoulders touching, the thick scent of sex hanging in the air.

It’s peaceful.

It feels good.

Sorta.

This is the best I’ve felt in what feels like days. Even if I have a mild headache thanks to the chokeslam, which we all know I didn’t deserve. He can’t seem to help himself when it comes to hurting women. At least he didn’t use a knife this time. That’s a plus.

Blowing out a breath, Coffin drums his fingertips on my kneecap. The tip of his pinkie is missing from the nail down. I wonder how he lost it.

I gently trace the scarred tip, not sure how much feeling he has there. “What happened?” I whisper, not wanting to break our protected bubble where we don’t currently want to throttle each other.

“A fight,” is his vague answer.

“Is that all?”

“I shouldn’t be sayin’ any of this, but since you jacked all my brains outta my cock, I suppose, I can… whatever. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I get it.”

“You know how the story goes. It’s a tale as old as time—tragic childhood. Dad died young. Mom left at birth. Same shit, different day. Only there were these old cunts from church who promised Dad they’d care for me when he passed.”

“What’d he die from?” I whisper, hungry to hear more.

“Cancer.”

My heart aches for him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Coffin waves me off. “Eh. That was a long time ago. Another life. He went fast. I don’t remember much.”

“So tell me about these women.”

“They were a bunch of old, lonely hags who lived together for at least a couple of decades. They were big in our local church and believed children should be seen, not heard, which worked for a while. I did as they asked and kept my mouth shut. Even when they started the sick shit. I didn’t question it. I figured they knew best.”

Is he…

Bile rises up my throat as I stutter. “You’re sayin’ they…”

“Yeah.” He huffs. “That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

“And they cut off the tip of your pinkie finger.”

“When I’d gotten too big for them to boss around and stopped givin’ into their sick role-playing shit, they slammed it in a car door.

They acted like it was an accident, but it wasn’t.

They were mad I didn’t want to play .” He air quotes, and my stomach turns over at the thought of what kind of play they wanted from him.

As wrong as it may be, I wanna ask what they did to make him this way.

I want every last detail, down to the stuffed animal he hugged, to get through the worst. Mine was a purple pig named Hope, who wore a tutu.

The more I know about a person, the more I understand how they tick.

The demons a person carries make up the ugly, scarred underbelly of our consciousness.

But it’s none of my business why Coffin is the way he is.

He’s not a job. He’s not my boyfriend or friend or anything to me, really.

Not that I even know what that feels like.

I’ve never been in love, and I’ve never been in a relationship with anyone of my own free will.

But I’m happy to listen to whatever he says, either way.

This is the first real conversation I’ve had with this man outside of slinging insults and the occasional fuck, which hasn’t happened since the day of his return.

Tiffany has been fulfilling all his needs. Not that I care.

Nope.

Not at all.

A companionable silence falls between us. I don’t know what possesses me to rest my head on his bare shoulder and absentmindedly rub the tip of his missing pinkie, wishing I could crawl inside his soul and glue all his broken pieces back together again… but that’s what happens.

It all makes sense now—his disdain for women. Perhaps I’d hate men, too, if my first taste of pain came from them. But my mother beat my uncle and his friends to it. Ted was just the icing on the cake.

Whether Coffin knows it or not, we’re kindred spirits.

Two shattered souls fated to be alone. To die alone. To never love or be loved.

That is our curse.