Page 29 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I shake out my shoulders and crack my neck to loosen up.

Alright.

Let’s do this.

Bring ‘em to me.

My fingers itch to get this over with. Flexing them down at my sides, I open and close my fists—little bits of dried blood flake off my skin, raining debris across the smooth, concrete floor.

I know, gotta give ‘em time. The brothers are gettin’ things ready. New victim. New room. New setup. Same shit. Different day.

“Hey, Prez, you wanna rinse off? Maybe change your clothes?” Creature asks from the doorway, givin’ me plenty of space to breathe.

I shake my head.

I don’t need to rinse off the blood.

It’ll all fall off in time.

It always does.

I don’t need new clothes.

These are fine.

Nobody gives a fuck what I wear.

Nobody gives a fuck who I am.

They only care that I kill.

That I… release.

I need it.

My Soul’s green eyes flash before me, etched in worry.

No. She can never see this side of me.

It’s bad enough, Rot already showed her my fucking office. He gave her a peek into the darkness. Into the pain. Into all that is broken.

Me.

I should’ve killed him for it.

Instead, I felt relief.

Relief that she kept coming back.

Sitting in my room every day, reading those books I bought just for her.

Keeping her close gives me time to work…

to focus. When she’s near, I’m grounded.

When she’s not, I spend hours warring with my past as I watch her on the cameras like a stalker—taking pleasure from Rot, eating, drinking, and chatting with Mama.

I’m always watching, watching, watching, soaking up every smile, every frown, every moan of pleasure.

When we have morning fucks and the shower, that’s the best part of my day.

Hell. It’s the best part of my entire fuckin’ life.

Watching the hot water sluice down her incredible body to her curly red pubes, I hate that she washes my cum away.

But those sighs when she cleans with the lavender soap are worth it.

The way she rubs between her thighs. Her eyelashes when they’re wet.

The way she dries off in front of me without an ounce of fear.

When she wears my shirts. The ones I buy just for her.

Only the softest and most expensive for her—My Soul.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I push the thought of Sola from my mind. She’s the reason I’m down here. She’s the need for the release. Between the emails from Dark and her beggin’ to suck my cock…

I broke and let the demons crawl back in to live and breathe under my skin.

She can’t see my cock. Let alone suck it. It’s not… normal. I’m not normal.

I am no one.

I am nothing.

Dark needs to stop with his shit. No matter how often he checks on her, he can never have her back.

She was a gift.

She’s ours.

I will burn every Sacred Sinner compound to the ground if he ever tries to take her from us.

This is her home.

Where she belongs.

In the room beside mine, sleeping in the casket I had designed just for her… for the one who would click. It took years, but she’s finally here.

Sola deserves happiness. Whatever the fuck that looks like.

When you figure it out, let me know.

As I pace the room, needing another release, coiled energy prickles under my skin.

When are they gonna be done?

My patience is circling the drain, and nobody wants to deal with me when it disappears.

The quicker these new assholes are dead, the faster I can see her. Smell her. Watch her through the camera feed. Watch her come. Watch. Watch. Watch. I need to watch. I need to see her. I need…

Creature pops his scarred face in the doorway. “We’re ready, Prez.”

I blow out a relieved breath.

Thank fuck. It’s finally showtime.

Nodding once, I stroll out of one room into the next.

Propped on the floor in the corner is not who I expect to see.

Sola is slumped, her chin on her chest, t-shirt pooled around her waist, giving me and whoever’s watching a clear view of her sweet pussy.

The top half of her face is covered with a simple cat mask.

What the fuck is going on?! Why is she here?

Rage boils under my flesh as I step forward to make sure she’s still breathing. But I don’t get a chance to do jack shit because in rushes, a big, muscled Nazi determined to knock my block off.

Posting in front of Sola, ready to protect her with my life, I plant my feet as the biggest dude I’ve fought in ages slams into my stomach like a well-trained linebacker. Gritting my teeth, I absorb the blow. Pain rips up my spine, and I grow hard. Loving it. Needing it. Getting high off it.

Pleasure throbs through my veins, and my muscles engage. Wrapping my arms around the dude’s thick waist, I toss him to the side like he’s a ten-pound sack of rice.

“You’re gonna die,” he seethes, as he rights himself and rushes back for more.

Dodging his fist, I crouch low and punch him in the junk.

Just like that, he drops to his knees. They crack against the concrete floor before he falls to his side and cups himself, howling in pain.

Dumbfuck.

Why do the big ones always make it too easy?

All brawn. No brains.

Pft.

This is why I leave the real torture to my brothers. They play with their kills. They enjoy screaming, begging, and crying. But it’s far too simple. Death comes for us all. It’s life.

Art is forever.

Using a body to create something else.

To express yourself.

That’s what matters.

I don’t collect trophies like Coffin.

I collect art.

Pictures of my art since I can’t keep rooms full of corpses for enjoyment. Even I know that’d stink, and while parts of me don’t function or look like they should, my nose works just fine. Better than most. Even with the mask.

Sola groans in the corner as the racist, rapist, vile piece of shit groans by the door, far from her.

He glares at me. I glare back, crossing my arms over my chest, and tilt my chin in challenge, waiting to see what he plans to try next.

Whoever set this room up will be punished later.

There’s not a single tool or weapon in sight.

It’s just me, this dead man, and Sola locked in a concrete box with little cameras stuffed into holes in the walls, live-streaming.

I turn to one and stare straight into the souls of my viewers and my brothers watching on the other side.

You will be punished, I sign. You will pay.

I know Coffin and Rot and their devious natures. We’ve been family for more than half our lives. This has their fingerprints all over it. Rot’s especially.

Throw a sexy, drugged redhead into a room with a killer and her masked hero, and the book basically writes itself. Ugh. That irritatingly sappy, fucked-in-the-head, romantic.

This is real life.

Not a fantasy.

And Rot thinks we need therapy.

He’s the one who put her in here.

Coffin’s too selfish to come up with this on his own. Just the thought of letting anyone else get close enough to bleed her, and his possessiveness, won’t be able to take it.

This is all Rot’s masterful planning.

Jackass.

To toy with them, like they’ve decided to toy with me, I plop down at the opposite corner of Sola. She’s close enough I can get up and intervene whenever I need to, but far enough to make those fuckers sweat.

She doesn’t belong here.

She shouldn’t be watching me in action.

Exercising this part of myself is private .

Well, not private, private, but I don’t want her seeing me like this. Not when they want— we want to keep her.

“Necro?” Sola croaks, opening her eyes and blinking a dozen times before groaning like she’s just waking up from the worst hangover of her life.

Knowing I can’t speak, and she can’t understand sign, I lift a blood-caked hand in greeting, so she knows she’s not imagining things.

Lolling her head side to side, Sola takes in the room. “Those assholes,” she hisses.

My sentiments exactly.

“This was all Rot and Coffin,” she confesses.

Hitching the side of her butt off the ground, she points to a purple bruise just starting to form.

She barely brushes the spot and hisses in pain.

“They plunged fire into my ass cheek, and they weren’t even nice about it.

I’ll kill them for it later. Will you help me? ”

I nod.

Once we get through this, I’ll help her do whatever she wants. Kill them. String them up by their cocks with fishing wire. Pour acid into their eye sockets and watch them turn to soup. Whatever she wants, she gets.

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Thanks.”

I want to tell her, no problem, that I’m happy to do anything she asks, but I can’t. The Nazi finally decides to get off the floor and prepare himself for round two.

“You look like a good fuck before I die,” he says to Sola, and I roll my eyes.

She’s not a good fuck.

That’s a goddamn insult .

She’d be the best fuck of his life if I let him get his prick anywhere near her. Which, I won’t. Breathing the same air as her is a gift. He should consider himself lucky to die looking at her beautiful face. It beats seein’ my ugly mug.

Ignoring the brute, Sola pulls her knees to her chest, trying to shrink into herself.

“Are these guys usin’ you as their cum dumpster, honey?” he taunts, and Sola’s shoulders stiffen. “Oh. I struck a nerve.” The man steps closer, closing the distance between them.

Legs stretched out in front of me, I cross my ankles, tuck my hands behind my head, and wait.

It might be difficult… But Coffin and Rot need to learn a lesson.

Sola looks at me for help.

My heart responds, wanting to tear out of my chest to save her.

Not yet.

The big man starts pullin’ on his cock, getting it nice and hard. He licks his lips like a fuckin’ pervert, staring at her like she’s his last supper.

“Necro,” she croaks, looking at me with those wide, expressive green eyes, and then swings them to the other bald guy in the room.

We’re not so different—he and I.

He’s big.

I’m big.

He’s bald.

I’m bald.