Page 59 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Forty-One

Still Day Two

“Okay, so how does one pick a house in town?” I ask Mama as we bang the heck out of chicken breasts with mallets.

He’s making an Italian dish tonight, and I’m helping him prepare while also digging for more club details, like how things function and why they work the way they do.

If I’m staying, these are things I should probably know.

“When a brother patches in, he picks a place,” he explains.

“And the prospects?”

Mama picks up his flattened breast and tosses it onto a plate with the others. “They live in our prospect house, or they live here. Depending on Necro’s mood.”

That makes sense.

“Right… and the rest of town?” I pick off a piece of fat and toss it into the trash can between us.

“Abandoned. ”

“Every house?”

“Every house.” He nods and swings his mallet on another tasty chicken carcass.

If what he’s saying is true, this town has entire streets of abandoned homes just sitting empty, and that’s sad.

“Then how does the strip club function?” I ask. “I’m assuming the brothers aren’t stripping for each other.” Swiveling my hips, I put on a half-assed show for Mama, and he throws his head back and laughs.

He laughs awkwardly. “Sweet Jesus, Sola, no.”

“Do you go to the strip club?” I wink. Mama doesn’t give off the sexual vibes the rest of the men do, and that’s not because he’s a eunuch. It’s just Mama—part of his warm charm.

“Also, no. But most of the brothers do. We have a few locals running the place. Women we’ve, well… women, I’ve vetted.”

I rear my head back in surprise. “You hired the strippers?”

Mama flashes me a saucy grin. “You realize I’m the club vice president, right?”

“Yes. But you mostly run the kitchen.”

“That’s ‘cause I want to. I think we’ve established I love cooking. It keeps me level. If I don’t cook, I get cranky. I gotta keep busy. But I handle other stuff, too.”

“Okay. So, about these strippers.” I return to the topic at hand, curious about these elusive women he vetted to work at the club, who obviously don’t live in town.

The testosterone soup I find myself living in is great and all, but a female face around every now and again would be nice.

The ones delivered specially for Coffin to unalive don’t count.

Neither does that woman he brought home months ago.

What was her name again? Tabitha? Tiffany? Something like that.

“You should ask him to take you to the club so you can see for yourself.” Mama smirks, tilting his chin at the doorway where a sneaky Necro is leaning, apparently listening in on our conversation.

“Are you eavesdropping, hot stuff?” I tease, waving my mallet at him in hello.

His blue-white eyes light up with amusement, crinkling around the edges. He’s definitely smiling behind the mask.

Pushing off the wall, Necro saunters up to me with all those muscles out on yummy display. Thankfully, he’s put on a few pounds since the incident, but he’s still not fully back to normal yet.

He lifts the edge of his mask to offer me his lips.

A girlish squeal erupts out of nowhere as I launch myself at Necro’s mouth to kiss him silly.

He’s smiling as I do, and though his skin is rough when we touch, it grounds me.

After worrying all day about how I might have screwed up last night, I’m so glad he’s here—offering me a kiss in a common area. I can’t believe it.

Taking it a step further, he curls his warm, shirtless frame around mine and hugs me up as he kisses me harder.

Parting his lips, I sweep my tongue inside, knowing he can’t do the same, but it doesn’t matter.

I devour him, and he does his best to return my vigor in an awkward, inexperienced way, but it’s so sweet and sexy that I want to climb him like a tree .

He grips the back of my neck, and I moan, sweeping my tongue across the rough edge of his severed one. A shiver ripples through me, and he gasps so deep and deliciously that my toes curl.

Some asshole clears their throat, breaking our spell.

I reluctantly pull back, but not too far, and swing my pissy gaze to a particular cock-blocking chef.

“What?” Mama shrugs with laughter in his voice. “We’re in the kitchen. Take it elsewhere.”

Fine.

I sigh, and it’s long, suffering, and far too over the top because Necro’s here, and we were kissing, and now we have to stop, and I hate that.

I haven’t been touched, touched since yesterday, and I haven’t come in what feels like a hundred years.

Alright. That’s an exaggeration, but this lady has blue balls.

Coffin wouldn’t fuck me when we worked in his barn today, where I swept the floors, and he built another coffin.

I’m a horny mess, and I hate it.

Throwing my mallet on the kitchen island, I kiss the center of Necro’s chest. “I need to wash my hands before I can touch you.” I lift them to show how icky they are.

Fixing his mask, Necro nods once and releases me. I rush to clean up before we leave the kitchen with a parting, “Have fun, kids,” from Mama.

I damn near skip from the room with my hand folded in Necro’s.

He escorts me through the halls to his office. But instead of leading me to the chair I once called home, he pulls me to his desk, where he picks me up by my waist and sits me on the edge. My feet dangle off the floor, and he takes his seat.

“Is there a reason we’re here?” I ask, knocking my heels against the drawers.

You want to see the strip club? he signs, getting straight to the point.

“Am I allowed to?”

Yes. This is your home.

“What about the rest of the town?”

We can show you.

“When?” I beam, excited at the prospect of leaving the church.

Necro’s head tilts to the side as he regards every inch of me. Staring at my toes, he travels up to my face, where his eyes soften around the edges. Tonight? I can’t go outside when it’s light out. But once it’s dark, we can go.

“What’s wrong with the sun?” I ask when I probably shouldn’t.

Relaxing back in his chair, Necro rests a boot on his knee. I didn’t know there was a sun for the first nine years of my life. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, so it hurts to be in bright light.

Fuck.

I keep my expression neutral, so he doesn’t think I pity him, when I ask, “Have you tried?”

Yes. In foster care. I used sunglasses, but the sun makes my skin itch, and my eyes still hurt with the glasses on.

“Is that why you don’t leave?”

I don’t like people. That’s why I don’t leave. It’s also hard to explain this . He points to his mask and eyes. These freak people out .

“Because they’re almost white?” I guess.

Necro nods. I also don’t like to wear shirts.

“I wondered about that. None of you wear shirts except Mama. Don’t get me wrong, I’m basically living in a sanctuary of hot, fucked-up men. So, I’m not complaining.”

His gaze dances with mirth as he signs, Sanctuary of hot men?

“Have you looked in the mirror, like ever?”

Staring down at his lap, Necro rubs the tips of his damaged fingers together.

I nudge the side of his thigh with my toe. “You don’t know you’re hot, do you?”

His head shakes, barely. If I wasn’t paying attention, I’d miss it. His shoulders rise and fall as he inhales and exhales as if workin’ through something.

I hate this.

Just because he’s different doesn’t make him any less attractive to me. Or any woman worth her salt.

“Babe, I don’t know your history,” I explain, tone soft.

“But I know mine, and I know firsthand that awful people can get inside your head and twist you up. A man named Ted did that to me. For years, I was never good enough. Never pretty enough. When he cheated on me, which he did a lot, it was always my fault. When he hit me, it was because I provoked him. When he starved me, it was because I was too fat and needed to lose weight.”

The more I speak, the heavier Necro breathes and the stiffer he becomes, but I need to get this out because he needs to know, to understand, that whatever he’s been through, that whatever anyone has ever said to him or made him believe, that that isn’t him.

He is who he decides to be. He chooses his value.

He isn’t what they made him. He is who he is, despite them.

It took me years to stop hating who I saw in the mirror.

That’s why I threw myself at jobs and into bed with men who never cared who I was on the inside, but thought I was pretty enough to fuck.

They held value in my looks. I was fuckable, but I wasn’t lovable because I didn’t let anyone know the real me.

Not that I should have. They didn’t deserve it.

They were targets. Cocks with a death sentence. But here, it’s different.

I’m wanted.

Not only for my body but for more.

Coffin might not have fucked me today, but he talked to me for hours, sharing stories as he built. I did the same. I’ve never spoken with anyone like I have them—unveiling the ugly, unsavory bits of us and our pasts and not being judged for it.

It’s freeing.

So, I continue to unburden myself, hoping that it helps Necro do the same.

From my time in the closet, to my uncle, to Ted, I open the door, and every skeleton falls out. Necro listens and doesn’t interrupt. He never looks at me. He stares at his lap and fiddles with his fingers the entire time, but I can tell he’s paying attention.

“You may hate yourself because that’s who they made you to be. But you’re more than that. You’re desirable. You’re the club president of a fucking motorcycle club, for Christ’s sake. Your brothers love you.”

A violent shiver ripples through Necro’s form as he slowly looks up and meets my gaze. You’re mine, he signs .

And I…

She’s mine.

Her.

Only her.

My Soul.

She belongs to us.

To me.

That pale skin.

Mine.

Those freckles.

Mine.

Those perky, but not too perky, tits with barbells poking through the thin fabric of her t-shirt.

Mine.

That sweet, sensitive pussy.

Mine.

That magnificent, caring, sassy brain...

Mine. Mine. All fucking mine.