Page 27 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Twenty-One

Coffin holds my hand like we’re a couple out for a sweet mid-afternoon stroll as we return to the church.

We enter through the same back door, and he escorts me through a series of dark hallways to the stairs Necro brought me down yesterday.

We end up in the jail area, where the cells are now filled with mostly men and a single woman.

I wonder if Coffin will kill her or if she’s here for some other reason.

Two big, naked guys push their hairy, overlapping bellies against the cell bars and reach out, trying to touch me with their thick, sausage fingers.

“Come here, little bitch,” the one with a giant swastika tattooed across his chest snarls, banging his big frame against the steel.

A tiny squeak eeks out of me when his fingers get too close for comfort. I drop Coffin’s hand to hide behind him as he strolls down the hallway without a care in the world. Just past the cells, a club brother stands watch by the steel doors and chin lifts at Coffin as we draw closer .

“Stay here, Sweet Cheeks,” Coffin commands before he up and leaves me with the shirtless brother.

I’ve seen this one a few times before. Creature.

I think that’s his name. He’s tall and bulky, with thick hair on his head and some of the nicest chest hair I’ve ever seen.

Half of his face is scarred like a bear mauled him, and I don’t think that eye works anymore.

If it wasn't rude, I’d ask what happened, but it’s none of my business.

Coffin turns back the way we came and pulls a knife from his boot. The same one he used to reopen my C. He spins and points it at Creature, who’s busy leaning a shoulder against the concrete wall next to a random button. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he barks.

Huffing at Coffin’s dramatics, Creature lifts both hands, palms up.

“I’m just doin’ my job, brother. The lady’s safe with me.

Let me know when you want me to push this.

” He nods toward the button, which piques my interest even further.

I wonder if it unlocks the cells. Or maybe it’s sleeping gas. The options are endless.

Coffin swings the tip of his blade my way as one of the big dudes starts to heckle him. “Don’t scream. Don’t run. Don’t puke,” he orders, staring straight into my soul. “Did you get that?”

Yes. Duh.

“Don’t scream. Don’t run. Don’t puke,” I repeat, wanting to ask why, but I know I can’t. He gave an order I’m supposed to follow. So, I will. I’ll behave. Rot told me to, and Coffin hasn’t given me a reason not to listen, at least not in the last hour or so.

The blond monster flashes me a demonic grin, blows me a kiss, then turns to the hairy heckler and stabs the knife through the bars straight into the man’s gut. Smooth like butter. To the hilt.

The big guy’s mouth opens and closes in shock, his eyes rounding in fear. Fresh piss rolls down the inside of his leg.

“You don’t try to touch what’s mine,” the biker snarls so low I barely hear him before he extracts the blade and ruthlessly stabs the man.

Blood pours onto the floor at their feet, coating the top of Coffin’s boots.

He reaches in and grips the back of the man’s neck, shoves his face against the bars, and drives his knife up through the prisoner’s chin, through his tongue, into the roof of his mouth, and beyond.

When Coffin yanks it out, crimson rushes like a waterfall from his gaping mouth.

I watch every moment in awe. There’s no other word for it. Coffin’s raw power, his zero hesitation, is… beautiful.

And kind of hot.

No.

A lot hot.

This should bother me. Some part of my brain knows I should want to scream, run, or even puke.

Perhaps it’s living months in a church filled with human bones and men who don’t apologize for their nature that has led me to accept what is, not what’s normal or humane.

I’ve lived in the ugly underbelly of this world for years, as a captive to my uncle and my husband, and working jobs for the club.

How many times did I wish I could watch these sick fucks die? To see life fade from their eyes.

Sure, some of them did, thanks to my help. Watching it, though, has never been a thing .

As the man falls to his knees and collapses onto the dirt floor, I’m pleased, far more than I should be. Excited goosebumps pebble across my flesh.

Coffin spits on the corpse and turns to Creature. He nods just once, and the scarred brother slaps the button.

The other fat guy, gripping the bars of his cell, howls as what must be an electrical current ripples through the steel. Falling onto his ass, he stares down at his raw hands.

“Let this be a reminder to all you motherfuckers,” Coffin booms, spinning in a circle between the cells, waving his bloodied knife in the air like a conductor.

“This is your final resting place. You won’t be visiting the pearly gates.

You won’t have a happily ever after. This is the end of the line.

You will be tortured. You will scream. You will die a horrible death, and I will love every fuckin’ second of it.

As will my brothers.” He bows at the end of his speech, then turns and strides straight for me.

Gripping my chin with his bloodied fingers, he tips my head back and crashes his lips to mine.

A surprised moan slips from my mouth into his as our tongues duel.

Coffin shoves me against a steel door, hooks my leg over his hip, and forces me to climb him like a tree until I’m clinging to him like a monkey.

Settling my pussy against his trapped erection, we make out like teenagers, not caring who watches.

It’s hot. It’s heavy. It’s the best time I’ve had in ages.

A familiar laugh fills the air. “Get a room.”

Growling in frustration, Coffin tears his mouth from mine and whips his head toward our spectator as I struggle to catch my breath.

“Fuck off, Rot,” he seethes .

The dark-haired menace tips his head to the side, wearing a Cheshire grin. “I mean, that’s a lot of tongue action for a man who doesn’t like kissing,” he taunts, waggling his brows.

“Is she ours?” Coffin throws back.

Rot’s eyes round to the size of Mars. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Then I can shove my tongue down her throat anytime I want, right?”

“Uh.” Rot flicks his gaze to me, swallows hard, then blinks as if breaking out of a spell before swinging his attention back to Coffin. “Ye-yeah,” he sputters.

“Then shut the fuck up.”

“Right.” Rot slowly bobs his head up and down. “Yeah. Okay. You… Yep. Do that. Keep doin’ that. I’ll be here when you’re done.” He hooks his thumb toward the office door and backs away like a not-so-stealthy cartoon, his jaw damn near hanging to the floor.

The moment lost, Coffin grumbles a string of expletives and pecks me soundly on the lips before he returns me to the floor.

“Fuckin’ Rot,” he grumbles to himself and offers me his still-bloody hand to hold. I hesitate, and he looks down, just now realizing the mess he’s made. Coffin shakes his head, then looks at my face, where he must find more blood.

“Goddammit.” Thrusting his fingers through his hair, his biceps flex with the movement, giving me a perfect show.

He jerks his chin at Rot’s open doorway.

“Go. I’ll be back. I gotta. Ya know.” He rakes his gaze down his blood-speckled chest and abs, all the way to his dirty boots.

“I’ll bring you fresh clothes and…” He pauses, frowning deeper wi th every passing second before blowing a harsh breath.

“Do you maybe want…” Pausing again, Coffin shakes his head and mutters something I can’t make out before he steps away, having made up his mind.

“I’ll be back. Just stay with Rot. K?” he grumbles.

Not knowing what to say, I nod. It’s short and awkward, but it must be good enough because Coffin spins on his heel and splits without a backward glance.

When I turn, I find Rot in the doorway, shoulder leaning against the jamb, staring at me with the silliest cartoon hearts in his eyes. “You broke him.” He smirks.

“I did no such thing,” I comment as I slip past him into his office.

“Coffin doesn’t kiss women.”

“Well, he kissed me.”

I can shove my tongue down her throat anytime I want.

I shiver at the memory.

He sure can.

Anytime he wants.

Rot rushes up behind me. I squeal with laughter as he scoops me into his arms and plops me on the edge of his rusty desk.

It groans under my weight as he claims his chair and rolls it closer.

Opening a drawer in his desk, he pulls out a package of manly-scented body wipes and tosses them into my lap before grabbing my feet, taking off my Crocs, tossing them onto the floor, and massaging my heels.

“What happened today?” he asks, as if we’re an old married couple discussing our normal, mundane day, not sitting in a basement with prisoners just outside. One of which is now deceased .

Not sure what’s safe to share with Rot, as I don’t wish to get on Coffin’s bad side, I twist an imaginary key to lock my lips and toss it over my shoulder.

“Really, Red?” He smirks and waits patiently for me to share. Which I won’t. I’m serious about my imaginary lock and key. I’m a vault baby—one of those big ones you see in the spy movies with infrared lasers.

“What?” I shrug and open the pack of wet wipes, pull out a few, and give myself a quick whore bath.

“You’ve clearly passed Coffin’s tests.” Rot taps my chin, so I don’t miss a spot.

“I guess so,” I reply, attempting to play it cool when, on the inside, I’m downright giddy.

I couldn’t tell you the last time I was this proud of myself.

Not that I should be proud, I suppose. But that’s what it feels like.

I’m just glad we got to get to know each other.

Plus, the sun. That was a huge bonus. I love the outdoors.

Not pushing me to divulge further, Rot says, “Now check this out.”