Page 36 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Mama has been cooking nonstop. To the point we’re all starting to worry about him. He hasn’t taken a break in weeks. He ran out of his usual recipes and found new ones to try.

Quiche is one of those.

A little bougie for a bunch of killers, but I’m not complaining.

I pop one into my mouth and moan as the flavor washes over my tongue. These are good. I hum and point to them, then give Mama a thumbs-up.

For a moment, he grins until Sola moves. Like a bunch of stalkers, we watch the fox get off the swings and approach the ice cream bar.

Well, fuck a duck.

Today’s our goddamn lucky day.

I haven’t seen her gorgeous face in weeks.

The closer she gets to us, the harder my heart pounds… as does my cock. He misses her almost as much as I do.

Sweat beads on the back of my neck.

Coffin fidgets.

Mama shoves five mini quiches in his maw all at once.

Damn. She’s stunning.

Flushed cheeks, hair flying in the breeze. All those sun-kissed freckles and those damn eyes. They follow me everywhere. In my dreams. Into the shower, when I jerk off thinking about her. When I’m down here working or busy in my lab.

Coffin paces.

Then the cursing comes.

And the rage.

It never fails.

I reach into the desk drawer, twist open the jar of edibles, and offer him one.

He slaps my hand away. “No!”

Keepin’ a close eye on the screen and him, I address my stubborn brother.

“Coffin. You need to calm down. You’ve already added nine new jars to the trophy case.

You have the brothers runnin’ all over on fuckin’ goose chases to clean up your messes.

You haven’t been smart about it. For fuck’s sake, you kidnapped a woman in a Walmart parking lot in broad daylight. ”

Yeah. That happened.

If you’re shocked, trust me, I was, too. Who in the hell does that?

“So?” He sniffs, notching his chin at me with far too much bravado.

“We only have so much protection, you dumbass. I can’t keep the police out of Kings Cursed if you piss off the wrong ones.

Not everyone can be paid off. Not everyone is already on one of the payrolls.

You know that.” As much as it might not seem like it at times, Coffin is actually smart.

He knows what this could cost us, not only as a club, but emotionally and shit.

I don’t wanna see him behind bars. We deal with that enough, given our chosen lifestyle.

That’s why we live where we do. It’s safe, and it’ll continue to be that way if he doesn’t fuck it up.

We’ve never asked him not to do what he does and have always supported him, even embracing his particular needs.

A little goddamn common sense would go a long way here. Sheesh.

“I don’t care,” he throws back like a petulant child.

Christ. He’s a pain in the balls.

Inhaling a long, long, long breath, I hold it a beat and exhale just as long before replying with logic. “Listen. I get it. But if you end up in prison, what the hell are we supposed to do? What’s Sola gonna do?”

The entire club would be devastated.

Coffin throws his arms up as if he doesn’t know or care.

“We were gifted this town for a reason,” I explain. “Don’t fuck up a good thing ‘cause your heart’s sore.”

The asshole glares at me. “My heart isn’t fuckin’ sore.

It’s gone. It doesn’t exist anymore. It’s there.

” Coffin jabs two fingers at the computer screen where Sola sits at a picnic table next to a group of kids in baseball uniforms. She looks both sad and a little happy, eating a vanilla ice cream cone dipped in rainbow sprinkles.

“She likes vanilla and sprinkles,” Mama notes aloud. “I’ll be sure to buy some for when she comes home.”

“She’s never coming home!” Coffin roars, throwing his arms wide before aggressively tucking them across his chest .

Christ almighty, why do I always have to be the voice of reason around here?

“Give it time,” I soothe, summoning my innermost kindergarten teacher. “It’s only been three weeks.”

“That’s too long!”

“You spent one day with her,” I reason.

“I know, and it’s not enough.”

“We’ll figure somethin’ out.” We have to. I’m just as torn up about this as Coffin. But I, unlike him, have to keep my head screwed on straight. With Necro’s situation, Coffin spiraling along with Mama, I’m the backbone, holding us above water. I don’t have the luxury of losing my shit.

“How?” Mama asks around another mouthful of quiche as he watches Sola like a sad puppy.

“We’ll kill Necro,” Coffin announces, and I roll my eyes.

“We’re not killin’ our brother.” That’s his dumbest idea yet.

Shrugging his shoulders up to his ears, Coffin huffs. “People die all the time at random. We can add him to the list. I’ll build the coffin. Mama can take over as prez.” He glances over to Mama for validation, but he’s not listening. He’s too busy staring at Sola, eating more quiche.

I snap my fingers in front of Coffin’s face to set him straight.

“Listen, asshole. You’re not buildin’ him a coffin.

He’s been through far worse than all of us combined.

Cut him some slack. He didn’t do this to hurt us.

He’s not like that.” As much as I miss our girl and I’m pissed at Necro for doin’ what he did, I understand it.

We all do. Our pasts are damn near cake walks compared to his.

“Rot’s right,” Mama chimes in, finally backing me up.

“I know I’m right.”

Tipping his head toward the ceiling, Mr. Dramatic whines, “I don’t feel anything anymore.”

“Your erection would say otherwise,” I point out, staring right at his pronounced bulge.

“I don’t mean down there.” Coffin slaps the front of his pants and doesn’t even wince. “I mean in here and here.” He points to his heart and then to his head. “It’s a dark, empty void.”

“It’s always been a dark, empty void,” I remind him.

Not to be a dick, but because it’s true.

Had he taken my advice in the last decade and gone to therapy, or read a book, and worked through his years of pent-up issues, he’d know how to cope.

Now I’m stuck dealing with a grouchy, murderous man-child who refuses to take anything to calm his ass down.

“I know. Until it wasn’t,” he groans.

Sighing, I clasp Coffin on the shoulder and squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. Just be patient. And no more sloppy kills.”

Cursing under his breath as if he despises the idea, he ultimately relents and nods once, his shoulders slumping.

We’re exhausted. This has taken a toll I never anticipated. The ripple effect has caused the brothers who live down the street to stay away. The few who live in the church with us, like Creature, have distanced themselves since Coffin murdered Worm at dinner.

Don’t get me wrong, I figured it’d happen sooner or later.

Worm signed on to be a prospect, knowing that if you don’t patch in, you die. If you leave, you die .

Coffin slit his throat.

He wasn’t even angry at the time.

He took one look at Worm’s hand and the fingers he lost from touching Sola and ended him.

It was quick. Messy. But quick.

Can’t say I’ll miss the kid all that much.

Coffin built him a coffin, and we buried him in the yard. Not the same area we bury the whores. That’s Coffin’s thing.

Gathering around the computer, we watch Sola finish her ice cream and chat with a kid's dad. Coffin growls, and I’m ready to stab the fucker in the eye when the guy touches her arm with his slimy fingers.

She doesn’t notice him flirting, and her smiles never reach her eyes.

Sola’s polite, and when she leaves, I force the camera to follow her as far as we can go until she turns the corner down the street, and her gorgeous mop of red curls disappear and take my heart along with her.

I don’t know how I’m gonna do it, but I’ll figure out how to fix this.

Or die trying.