Page 32 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Three

Walking around the casket in the center of Necro’s room, barefoot and freshly showered, wearing one of his soft t-shirts, I soak in the space.

I’ve never been inside a bedroom that felt this cozy—matte black walls, with matching black floors and ceiling.

There’s a thick black rug that squishes between my toes and low, sexy mood lighting that glows from antique, amber-shaded lamps.

I can’t believe my basic room has been beside his the entire time.

There’s a wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of books and an oversized chair he must read in because that’s what I’d do.

You’d have trouble getting me out of it.

Coffin is seated there while Rot is sprawled out on the most enormous beanbag I’ve ever seen.

It’s black like everything else, but three of us could fit on it without having to dog pile on each other.

I might be a little bit jealous. Okay. I'm a lot jealous. My inner child, who barely had a childhood, is screaming at me to run, jump on it, and tackle Rot. But I won’t .

Necro exits his bathroom, clean as a whistle.

Droplets of water drip down the contours of his abs as he finishes buttoning up his black jeans without any underwear.

I don’t know what it is about these men, but none of them wear shirts, boxers, or briefs.

He’s also barefoot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without boots before.

As he ambles closer and tosses his towel into a black hamper next to his dresser, I notice raised scars across both feet.

Lacing his fingers behind his head, relaxing in the beanbag, Rot nods toward a section of wall where Necro taped a series of sketches. “You’re drawing again, I see.”

I find my way over to get a closer look.

They’re pencil on off-white paper.

They’re also of me.

All of them.

“They look just like her,” Coffin throws out, picking his nails with the tip of his knife.

They do.

They’re so detailed that they look like actual black-and-white photographs. I had no idea he was this talented.

Stepping up beside me, Necro knocks his arm into mine.

It’s playful and disorienting because we don’t do this.

He isn’t lighthearted. He doesn’t share.

This is messing with my head. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye, afraid he'll shut me out if I give him my full attention. Not that he’s let me in, but this is far more than I’ve ever gotten with him.

While it shouldn’t matter to me because we’re nothing more than fuck buddies?

Acquaintances? Damn if I know. I don’t seem to know much of anything anymore. Today’s been a lot .

“You drew me,” I whisper to myself, more than him.

I did, he signs.

“Why?”

You’re beautiful.

I gasp. It’s loud and awkward, making me blush ten shades of red as I fight off a smile.

I know it’s silly and all the dumb girlish things it can be, but he thinks I’m beautiful, and… that warms something in me because it feels sincere, not just a random compliment handed out to appease me. Necro doesn’t appease anyone.

Lock me in a church with three insane men for three months, and now look at me.

Gah! I’m pathetic.

I rub my cheeks, trying to make the blush stop.

Necro cocks his head to the side, curious. Red cheeks. Red hair. Perfect , he signs.

“Stop being nice to me,” I grouse, turning around to get as far away from him as possible.

Coffin snorts, and Rot chuckles deeply as Necro hops up and sits atop his dresser, legs dangling over the side, bare feet pointed toward the floor. Hunching forward, he rests his hands on his knees.

“Well, this is awkward,” Coffin announces.

He can say that again.

And again.

And again.

“We could play twenty questions,” Rot offers, and before any of us can ask him why we’d want to do that, he explains, “It’ll give Sola a chance to get to know us better and maybe the same on our end.

We’re all on the same page now, right? We’re keepin’ her, keepin’ her.

Like the way he talked when we were kids. ”

“She’s not a dog, brother,” Coffin rumbles.

“No. But she’s good for us, and we’re good for her.”

With my back planted against the wall, I slowly raise my hand.

“What if I don’t want to be kept? What if I want to choose what’s best for me?

What if this is as much my choice as it is yours?

I don’t know any of you very well. Today’s the first day I’ve had a real conversation with Coffin. I’ve never had one with Necro.”

Rot frowns as if my words upset him. “But I know you.”

“Maybe. A little. But up until today, you didn’t know I could sign or understand sign.

” Which was my plan. To let them know as little as possible.

The story I shared with Mama was a silly fluke on my part.

Sure, Rot knows the basics. Beyond that, we’re strangers.

Truth be told, I’m a stranger to most people.

I’ve never been an oversharer and keep everything locked down.

It’s nothing against anyone. I prefer to keep it that way.

The less I connect, the less it hurts in the long run.

Everything ultimately ends up in pain, one way or another. So, what’s the point?

"True," Rot hums.

“You also have a lab I’m just hearing about, and Necro kills people on live streams,” I add, just to put that out in the ether, because… wild.

“Most of us do that,” Coffin throws out. “Except Rot and a few of the others.”

“Because he works behind the scenes,” I guess.

Coffin tucks his knife back inside his boot. “Pretty much.”

“It’ s been three months of sex and…” I stare pointedly at the blond in the chair. “Hate.”

“I’ve never hated you, Sweet Cheeks. I hated the idea of you,” Coffin returns.

“Because I have a vagina.”

“And that you’re hot,” Rot inserts, grinning like a lunatic.

Rolling his eyes, Coffin flips Rot the bird. “Shut up, asshole.”

“What?” He shrugs, his voice higher than usual. “It’s true. Don’t pretend you’re not thinkin’ of Sola when you’re fuckin’ Tabitha.”

“It’s Tiffany,” Coffin drones.

“Whatever.” The word rolls off Rot’s tongue like a valley girl. “You know what I mean. Why else would you fuck her every morning in front of Sola? Other than to get under her skin and so you can…” Rot bats his thick eyelashes. “Dream it was her you were fucking,” he finishes, his voice wistful.

“Shut up.”

“Am I wrong?” the dark-haired hottie challenges.

Coffin rips his knife out of his boot and points the tip at his brother. “Do you want another scar?”

“See. I’m right. I’m always right.” He waves Coffin off with a huff as if the threat doesn’t mean a damn thing to him. “So, anyway, let’s start by lettin’ Sola ask each of us a question, and then we can each ask her one. Does that work for you, Red?” Rot asks, arching his brows in question.

I shrug. “Sure.” I don’t see what it could hurt.

A grin pulls at the corner of Rot’s sumptuous mouth. “ Good girl. Now you’ve got one minute to pick your first victim.”

Turning to Necro, I don’t need a minute to decide when I blurt the question I’ve been dying to know since I arrived. “Why do you wear the mask?”

Why do I wear the mask?

Fuck.

This is not the place or time to talk about any of this. I’m not ready and don’t know if I’ll ever be. Most of the brothers don’t even know the history, and none of them, besides Mama, Rot, Coffin, and Creature, have seen my entire face.

“Coffin showed Sola his trophies today and took her to his barn,” Rot explains, and my eyes damn near pop outta their sockets as I swing my head to look at said brother.

You showed her? Everything?

“I saw the wombs, Tiffany’s coffin, and he explained a little bit about the women he kills,” Sola answers with an even, matter-of-fact tone from her spot against the wall, too damn far away.

Alright. So she’s not running for the hills or freaking out.

That’s a good thing, I suppose. Why did he decide to show her today?

What in the fuck happened when I was busy?

Coffin fondly rubs the bruised teeth marks on his pec.

Is that from her? I ask, almost jealous of the mark.

“Yes. I’m thinkin’ maybe I should get it tattooed.”

“What?” Sola squeaks.

“I like havin’ your mark on me, Sweet Cheeks.” He caresses the spot again.

“You’ve only liked me for a day,” she sasses back.

Coffin grumbles a low laugh. “I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you walk up that damn aisle, lookin’ all cute and shit, starin’ at your purple Crocs.”

Yeah. I wouldn’t say they’re cute. Maybe hot. Don’t ask me why Crocs on Sola do it for me, but they do.

She gasps. “You have not.”

“I have.”

“Are you still high?” Sola asks Coffin, who smirks like a cocky fuck, hitches his elbow on the arm of the chair, and shakes his head.

I lift my chin at Rot, who’s busy watching their back-and-forth with his lips pulled in the sappiest smile.

Edibles? I sign, wondering if that’s what Coffin took today. I’ve never known him to do any other drugs besides those, and he doesn’t drink.

Rot nods.

That makes sense. They calm him down. A calm Coffin leads with logic, not misogynistic bloodlust.

Tiffany? I check. I haven’t seen her in a few days. Not that I’m payin’ much attention. She’s Coffin’s plaything.

In her room .

Gotcha.

So, he didn’t kill her before takin’ Sola to his barn. He should have. I don’t know how Sola’s gonna take it when Coffin flips his switch and fucks Tiffany one last time before he carves out her insides and ends her life. He is who he is. He does what he does. Same for me. Same for Rot.

Sola deserves better.

Better than us.

Better than me.

Better than all this.

Christ. I’ve let this go on for far too long, haven’t I?

Livin’ in delusion.

Lettin’ my obsession rule me.

For what?

My selfish reasons.

I am no one.

I am nothing.

I deserve no one.

I deserve nothing.

Fuck.

Massaging the nape of my neck, I squeeze my eyes shut as an ache I hate with every fiber of my being churns in my gut. It’s ugly and new… and…

Fuck.

Every part of Sola bein’ here is thanks to Rot and that damn childish dream from long ago—to find a woman to fit us. Yet he never bothered to consider what’s best for her.

It’s not this life.

In this church.

Sequestered away .

I can’t even go out in the daylight, for fuck’s sake.

What kind of woman would want a man who can’t stand to be in the sun?

I’ve never dated.

Never loved.

Never kissed.

Never ate pussy or ass.

Never sucked tits.

Never held anyone’s hand.

No one has ever hugged me, and my brothers know better than to ever touch me.

I wasn’t born for that.

I was born not to feel.

I was born to kill.

Massaging the tense wrinkles on my forehead, my jaw clenches as everyone around me carries on as if I’m not waging an internal war between what’s right and what a small part of me wants.

My gut clenches in pain, and I damn near throw up when I look over at Sola, smiling and joking around with my brothers.

This is not the life for her. Her light shines bright.

I don’t ever wanna see it dimmed by our fucked-up mess—by me.

She deserves a normal man with a normal job.

They’ll live in a normal house, in a normal town.

Maybe they’ll get a cat or a dog. Or maybe just a pretty goldfish she’ll smile at every day when she sprinkles little flakes of food in the tank.

The fish won’t know how fucking lucky it is to swim around her all day and watch her through the glass, since it’s a fucking goldfish.

But I’ll know, and that’s good enough. She’ll have a king-sized bed with a million big, fluffy pillows to sleep on and whatever other shit women love.

She won’t live in a room next to a man who sleeps in a casket because he sleepwalks and almost killed Rot because of it—a man who, deep down, is terrified he might accidentally do the same to her.

Dropping my chin to my chest, I blow out a harsh breath and hop off the dresser. I grab my phone out of my casket, where I last left it, and I text Dark before I chicken out.

Get your ass here and pick up Sola before I come to my senses and change my mind.

There, it’s done.

Ten years from now, I hope she’ll thank me when she’s living in a nice house with her nice, normal husband, who doesn’t get hard when he slices a man’s throat open.

If I live long enough to see that.

If not… It’ll still be worth it.

For her.

My Soul.