Page 23 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Nineteen

Standing in the open doorway of Rot’s bedroom, Coffin tosses my purple Crocs, which I swore I’d never see again, into the middle of the floor.

They land with a thud and bounce apart as he lifts his chin at me, sitting beside Rot on the bed.

“Put ‘em on and come with me,” he says, then turns around and leaves, not giving me a chance to ask why.

Unsure of what to do, I look to my companion and the tablet propped up between us in the middle of the mattress. We’re about halfway through watching Deadpool .

Tapping the screen, Rot pauses the movie and leans over to peck my cheek. “Go on.” He flicks his gaze to the open doorway, urging me with his body language to get up.

Anxiety bubbles in my gut like Pop Rocks.

I don’t trust Coffin as far as I can throw his big ass, which is, basically, not at all.

Refusing to fall in line like a good little puppy, I rub the edge of the sheet between two fingers to center myself.

“This isn’t where I die, is it?” I ask, my voice wobbly from nerves.

Rot knocks his forehead into my shoulder playfully. “No, Red.” He sighs.

“Those are my shoes.” I nod at them, sitting in the middle of his room, inviting me to put them on.

“Yep. That’s them,” Rot comments, grinning half-cocked like he thinks I’m cute and ridiculous. Or that’s how I read it. I’ve been around him enough to know his expressions. Well, most of them. This one he uses when I ask silly questions or make equally silly comments.

“Will I get in trouble for wearing them?”

The skin between Rot’s well-kept brows creases, and his nose crinkles when he tosses me a frown. “Why would you get in trouble?”

“Because I… well… I don’t know. Rules.” I fumble over my words, far too anxious to think straight with the looming Coffin situation, or whatever you’d call it. My imminent death?

“Do you follow any of the rules?” Rot asks.

“Yes.” I follow most of them, actually. I don’t cause trouble unless flinging yogurt at Coffin’s chest this morning counts.

I do wear clothes, which I suppose is against the rules.

I’ve yet to see Tiffany in a stitch of clothes since she arrived.

Alright. So maybe I follow half the rules. That should count for something, right?

Snorting as if I’m full of it, Rot’s face morphs into a grin far too naughty as he leans down and licks the exposed tip of my pierced nipple.

Gasping in mock outrage, I swat him away, and he chuckles, throwing the covers off my lap.

“ See. I warmed ya up. Now go.” Shoving my hip, he scoots me closer to the edge of the mattress.

“But…” I attempt to stall, hoping Coffin will give up and get on with his day with his lady friend. Fat chance, I know.

Rot sees straight through my ploy and nudges me again. “Be a good girl and go with Coffin.”

“Do you know what he has planned?” I ask instead, refusing to admit defeat. Why? I don’t know. It’s not like I have a choice in the matter. If I don’t leave willingly, he’ll come after me, and with the goose egg now living on the back of my head after this morning, I have no desire to fight him.

“Yes,” Rot tosses out, more evasive than ever. He’s the sharer. The fact that he won’t has my stomach tied in barbed knots.

I swallow thickly. “Will I be safe?”

“Would I let you go if I thought otherwise?”

The word duh tingles the tip of my tongue, but I go with something a little less harsh. “Maybe?” Side-eyeing him, I lift a shoulder and drop it dramatically.

It’s not like he’s ever stopped Coffin before—tried, maybe. But actually interfered? Not so much.

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re mine, and I protect what’s mine. So does Coffin.”

“He has Tiffany,” I reason. He seems to like her. Maybe not like her as a person, but her body. How am I supposed to know how much he’s into her? It’s not like we’re friends. Staying away from Coffin is my daily goal. The less I see him, the better.

“No. He doesn’t. Open your eyes, baby girl. Pay attention,” Rot admonishes.

“I am,” I grumble.

Rot scoffs low in the back of his throat. It sounds like he doesn’t think I’m paying enough attention. “And no matter what you see, don’t scream.”

Oh. Super. Duper.

Everything great in this world starts with the words “don't” and “ scream .” This is already shaping up to be the best day.

Or not.

Squeezing my eyes shut for half a beat, I release a heavy breath and ask, “Why would I scream?”

“Go with Coffin,” the sexy biker replies, evading my question.

“Rot.” I shove the side of his leg, sick and tired of him trying to dismiss me. “Why would I scream?” That doesn’t sound promising.

“Trust me. Put on the shoes and your shirt and go with Coffin,” he urges, and I hate it because I don’t want to go.

Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I shoot Rot a dozen nervous glances, hoping he’ll tell me something as I right my beloved Crocs and slide my feet into them.

A private smile graces my lips as the familiar rubber curves to the contours of my toes from years of use. Even my cute charms remain.

I knock my heels together.

Oh. How I’ve missed you, old friend.

“Move your sweet ass, Sola,” Coffin hollers from the hallway.

“Have fun, Red.” Rot waves from the bed, smirking like he knows something I don’t, as he snuggles back under the blankets to finish the rest of our movie without me.

Ugh. Fine.

I pick up my t-shirt off the floor and tug it over my head.

Coffin did say he had something he wanted to show me this morning.

After the kitchen incident, I helped Mama with meal prep for the day and spent the rest of the time with Rot.

Necro is still nowhere to be found, which has me concerned.

Irrational? Maybe. But we have a pattern.

As much as that pattern might be vanilla-ish and boring as of late, I know what to expect.

His lack of presence is… I don’t know what, but I don’t like it, and the fact that I dislike it is problematic. This place is starting to screw with my head.

In the hallway, I find Coffin resting against the wall, arms tucked across his bare chest, covering the sprinkling of blond hair. When he sees me, he pushes off and starts down the corridor. Keeping a safe distance, I follow him to a door with the word exit on a brass plate tacked into the wood.

He turns an old rickety nob that screeches, pushes the door open, and I’m suddenly free. The fragrant summer breeze wafts in with a hint of fresh-cut grass. Heat bathes my face, and I nearly cry at how good it feels as the blue sky greets me like a long-lost friend.

Coffin jogs down concrete steps with an iron railing, and I tag along, smiling wide as the sun soaks into my skin.

Doing my best, I try to keep pace through the church’s backyard as his thick legs encased in jeans eat up the distance with much longer strides.

It doesn’t help that I’m short and wearing Crocs, and he’s well over six feet tall and wearing biker boots.

Plus, I’m distracted. This is incredible.

The land goes on and on, undisturbed. Dense woods cut along the back half, where Doug must live with his bees.

We walk a solid five minutes across the well-maintained lawn before we come upon a black barn with a tin roof.

Beyond it, the grass descends a short hill into a flat valley where iron stakes poke out of the ground in even intervals.

A tall stone monument, the color of ice and snow, is erected in the center.

It shimmers beneath the mid-afternoon sun.

Pushing a series of buttons on an advanced security system, Coffin unlocks the barn door and shoves both sides open wide, allowing the space to air out. The scent of sawdust smacks me square in the face as he steps inside, turning on the lights as he goes.

“Come on,” he calls.

Following the sound of his voice, excited to be out of the church for an hour, maybe two, I skip across the slippery, sawdust-covered floor, past stacks of plywood, a bunch of tools, and sawhorses, to find him in the back.

He opens a different door, a normal-sized one this time, reaches in, and flicks on a light but doesn’t step inside.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“My trophy room.”

I wring my fingers together. “What kind of trophies?”

He jerks his chin toward the open doorway. “The kind you need to see and learn about before you decide if you wanna stay or not. ”

“I didn’t think I had a choice in the matter.” I’m a gift. That’s the entire point of this, isn’t it?

Coffin frowns and shoves his hands into his front jean pockets. “There’s always a choice, Sola.”

“What choice is that? Live or die.”

“You’re not dying,” Coffin growls as if me even mentioning it irritates him, which is a surprise jolt to my system, too. I thought that was his MO.

“We’re all dying, Coffin.”

“That’s not what either of us meant, and you know it,” he snaps.

He’s right. It isn’t. But it’s nice to hear him confirm more than once on the same day that he doesn’t plan on adding me to the laundry list of forty-plus women buried down that hill outside.

There’s no other logical explanation for the hidden location or the eerie row of iron stakes. Is this the barn he kills them in?

Tucking a red curl behind her ear, Sola turns around and takes her time soaking in my workshop with her big, green, curious eyes.

I’m not sure what she expects to find, but there ain’t much to see.

My trophy room is where the real answers are.

If she can handle that, then I get to be the one to toss her into the real deep end and hope she can swim.

It’s been three months.

It’s time.

Once I’ve given her plenty of time to gawk, I sweep my hand toward the open door. “In.”

She finishes dissecting my workshop and offers me a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as she steps into the belly of the beast. My beast. I stroll in behind her and shut us inside to keep her from running should she freak the fuck out.