Page 35 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Six

Till, one of my sisters, pushes a Shirley Temple across the sleek bar top. A little umbrella twirls in the liquid—a purple one—my favorite color.

“What are you up to today?” she asks.

Cupping my hands around the cool sides of my drink, I shrug.

What am I up to?

Nothing really. Except sitting here at Dark’s Delicacies, the bar/chocolate shop I live under, in the sisters’ apartment, where I lie low between jobs.

It’s been three weeks since Dark took me from them.

Three weeks of pants, people, and sunshine.

Three weeks back in the real world.

Ick.

I hate every second of it.

The real bed.

I hate.

Watching anyone but Mama cook.

I hate .

I haven’t touched a book since I got back. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to read again without thinking of them.

More than anything… I’m just sad.

I’ve never failed a job before, and even if this wasn’t technically a job, I still feel like an epic failure.

On the drive back, I didn’t even have the energy to yell at Dark for lying in the first place. I didn’t say a word to him, and I don’t plan to.

He’s dead to me.

And I’m dead to myself.

A touch dramatic? Probably. But ask me if I care. I don’t.

Twirling the umbrella around in my glass, ice clinks against the side.

Till waves her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Sola.”

She must have been speaking to me, but I don’t care.

I have nothing much to say anyhow.

What is there to say?

The door to the bar opens, and in floats the summer breeze and, with it, the scent of sage. It tingles my nose as the only person who ever smells like that claims the stool beside me.

Kali.

Her long boho skirt brushes the outside of my leg as she settles on the seat and orders a glass of red wine.

“I have a job for you,” she sings, far too chipper for my foul mood.

“No.”

“Sola.” Her motherly tone sets my teeth on edge.

“I said. No.” No more jobs. No more… any of it.

“You don’t even know what it is yet. ”

Yeah, and I don’t care.

“The answer is still no. I’m done doing jobs for the club.” I’m tired of being used.

“But you like helping people. You’re a sister. That’s what we do.”

“I know.” I nod, voice low, staring into the pink abyss of my drink. “And I’m grateful, I am. For everything you’ve done for me. For giving me a place to stay and helping me get back on my feet after everything. But I can’t do it anymore.”

Kali pats my shoulder. “Hey. That’s okay. You’re always welcome here. Till can teach you to bartend.”

“I don’t want to bartend.”

Heaving a sigh, knowing she’s not going to get through to me no matter how often she tries, which she has every day since I got back, Kali sets a blue-and-white crystal on the bar in front of me.

I don’t know anything about it, and she doesn’t explain, but I slip it into my pocket anyhow.

Because this is what she does. She tries to help, and even if I don’t buy into her earthly holistic practices, carrying around a crystal can’t hurt. I’ll add it to the others.

Kali’s the mom I’ve never had. Maybe not exactly.

Okay. More like a big sister. She cares.

All the sisters do. I get that, and I appreciate it.

But I… I don’t care, and that’s the crux of the problem.

I don’t want to take another job where I need to get close to another sex trafficking asshole.

I don’t want to fuck him and pretend to like him.

I don’t want to search his belongings when he’s asleep to send pictures to the club. I don’t want any of it.

I want to be free.

I want to be me .

Not a version of me.

Just me.

And I don’t know what that looks like.

I’ve spent most of my life just surviving.

Existing. Twisting myself into a person to appease someone else so I could sign their death sentence.

I slept with them all. I took pleasure from them.

Then, when I was done and got all I could, I sent the guys in and, in the famous words of the badass Queen of Hearts, “ Off with their heads.”

I’m not much different from… them. Am I?

The ones who sent me packing.

The ache in my chest throbs at the thought of them , and I shove my glass away. Liquid sloshes over the edge and drips down the sides.

I need to go.

Leaving my sisters without a word, I fly out of the bar and into the mid-afternoon heat. The sun bathes my face in its rays as I speed walk in my Crocs, trying to get as far away from here as possible, even for a moment, to breathe. To be. To release the pressure valve before I burst.

It’s suffocating, living with so many women who want to help.

And talk.

Well, guess what? I don’t want to talk.

Coming to the local park, I claim an open swing next to a blonde girl with pigtails who can’t be older than four.

She lays her belly over the black rubber seat, pushes off the gravel in her pink sandals, puts her arms out, and soars like Supergirl, giggling the entire way.

It’s mesmerizing. Watching her with such joy. Smiling. Her hair flapping in the wind.

Her mom snaps pictures close by, laughing along with her daughter.

The bond they share is beautiful.

I never had that.

My mother never took me to the park or watched me swing on the swings.

I never learned how to ride a bike or roller-skate like other kids.

This little girl lucked out. She has a good mom, and I’m grateful. In my now former line of work, you never witness this—the simple joy. You swim in the ugliness so often you forget there’s good. That there is a normal. If that’s a real thing. Normal. Whatever that means.

Gripping the chains on either side of me, I push off the ground, and like the little girl, I fly. Only I do it without lying on my stomach and getting my knees dirty. I drop my head back, close my eyes, and soar for a little while.

I’m free.

Clicking a fuckton of keys on the computer in my lap, I chew on the inside of my cheek as Coffin paces behind me .

“What’s she doing now?” he asks, as we follow the trackers he placed on Sola that she doesn’t know about.

“She’s at a park.”

“What’s she doing there?”

“How should I know?” I huff.

“Can you tap into any local camera feeds?” he asks, impatient as ever.

Christ. If he’d just give me a minute to breathe, I’d be done.

“I’m already on it,” I explain, doin’ my best to keep my frustration in check. Breaking security systems isn’t my specialty, but I know a few guys, and Necro isn’t half bad either, but we’re not talking to him. So, he’s out.

I also taped over the camera lenses in my office so he can’t see what we’re up to.

‘Cause… Fuck him.

It takes a few minutes to get connected, and I’m serenaded by a slew of Coffin’s impatient grumblings as I finally break through the security wall of a local ice cream place.

“We’re in.” I focus the security camera toward the park and zoom in to find a flash of curly red hair.

Coffin stops behind me and drops into my space, his face beside mine, hot breath tickling my ear.

I peek at him out of the corner of my eye. “You’re in my bubble.”

“Get over it,” he growls.

“Dude. This is a little gay.”

He grumbles and flicks my ear, but doesn’t back away as he stares at the screen, playing the game of “Where’s Sola? ”

I snap my teeth at him.

He bites my cheek.

“Hey.” I shove his face away, and the asshole cackles before stealing my laptop.

Rubbing my cheek, I get out of my chair and charge his ass. “Coffin. Not cool.”

He waves me off.

Punching his shoulder, I steal the laptop back, carry it over to my desk, and set it on top so we can see it together.

When it shouldn’t be equal at all, since I did all the work, then again, we wouldn’t know where Sola was if it weren’t for the jewelry trackers.

Both tits and her clit piercings. The little balls Coffin special ordered. Fucking genius.

There’s a double knock on my office door, and it opens a moment later. Coffin steps in front of the laptop in case it’s Necro, but it’s Mama instead. He’s carrying a tray full of delicious-smelling food.

“Did you find her?” he asks, setting a platter of mini quiches on the desk next to the computer.

Coffin gestures for him to take a look. Using the keypad, Mama moves the camera around a bit before pointing to her on the screen. “Swings.”

We all hunch down to get a good look.

Yep.

Swings.

She’s wearing black again.

All black.

Like she’s in mourning.

Her shirt is oversized, and she’s wearing shorts. Even though we can’t see them, we can see her legs. Those creamy white, gorgeous legs that fit perfectly around my hips when I’m all snuggled up in that warm, wet, happy cunt.

Just the memory of her and those sweet, sweet sounds she makes when I’m giving it to her good has me adjusting my cock.

“You’re hard already?” Coffin accuses, laughter in his voice.

I shove him to the side, and he trips over his feet, laughing. Actual laughter. Shit. That’s the first time I’ve heard that in… Damn knows how long.

Pointing at him, I address the bulge in his jeans. “You’re hard, too.”

He shrugs, not the least bit embarrassed. “I miss her.”

No shit.

“Me too.”

“I shouldn’t have been such a fuckin’ dick for so long. I wasted all that goddamn time.”

I get it. I do.

Hindsight and all that.

When you expect something to be there forever, you lose sight of its importance. You don’t cherish it like you should.

We didn’t, well, they didn’t , do right by her.

I did.

‘Cause I knew from day one.

Coffin took a bit of warming up.

Alright.

A fuckuvalot of warming up.

Then Necro.

He sent her away for one reason and one reason alone—he’s terrified of her.

We talked it out and have had weeks to think it over—Coffin, Mama, and I… and that’s the only logical explanation we can come up with because none of us are talkin’ to him.

He’s been holed up in his office, doing fuck knows what.

Coffin’s been out killing more than usual but not staying away for more than a day, just in case she comes home.

I’ve been working in my lab and making money.