Page 6 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Six

They’re arguing in the bathroom. Whether they know I can hear them or not, Rot’s voice carries.

He wants them to come talk to me, but something tells me, whoever these men are, they’re not about to warm up anytime soon.

Not yet, anyhow. I have ways to change that.

It’ll just take some time. This arrangement might be the first I’ve dealt with of this kind.

But men wanting to use my body yet caring nothing about the person inside the bag of flesh, yeah, I know that all too well.

I’ve been used and discarded my whole life.

I’m the unwanted byproduct of a one-night stand. My mother didn’t even know she was pregnant until she was in her third trimester. By then, it was too late to kick her habits, and I was born a drug-addicted baby to an addict who couldn’t even hear me when I screamed. Not that she cared.

I don’t have a single fond memory of her.

She was a brunette with brown eyes.

I’m obviously not that .

Thankfully, I must take after my sperm donor.

Thank Heavens for small miracles.

Leaning against the headboard on Rot’s bed, I cross my ankles and wait for their brotherly spat to fizzle out. I’ve been around enough bikers to know this happens a lot.

“Suit yourself,” Rot says as the bathroom door opens, and the naked hottie with the nice cock saunters back into the room.

It’s a simple, clean space, and it smells good too.

It’s not the room I pictured him having when we first met.

I expected half-naked posters of women all over his walls and dirty clothes all over the floor.

Not a comfy chair in the corner that looks like a reading nook.

Or a dresser with two large stacks of books on top.

The walls are painted a deep red—think Merlot, not firetruck.

The personal touches are non-existent. There’s not a single photo or keepsake.

Nor is there a television. It’s just a bedroom. A place to sleep and fuck. I like it.

Bouncing on the bed like a child, Rot winks before he settles beside me against the headboard. Our hips touch, and he lifts my leg to drape over one of his and rests his hand on my knee. “Soooo… What do you wanna do, pretty lady?” He sidelong looks at me, flashing me a row of pearly whites.

“I dunno. You tell me.” I shrug and glance at the open bathroom door, waiting for the men to emerge.

Rot notices and drums the inside of my knee with two fingers. “They left through the other door in the bathroom. It connects to Coffin’s room.”

“Coffin?” I ask.

“The blond asshole.”

“Ah. His name’s Coffin.” Another unique name I’ve not heard before.

“Technically, it’s John, but yeah, we call him Coffin. Kinda like I’m Rot, but my name’s James.”

I smirk at his explanation. “I know how road names work, Rot.”

“Well, you’d be the first. Most don’t get it.”

“My name’s not Sola, either,” I note, so he doesn’t think otherwise. “It’s the name I gave myself.” It means alone and suits me just fine.

“After you joined the sisters?” he asks.

How does…

“Wait… what?” My voice quivers in surprise.

“I know all about what you ladies do. I did my research. Dark filled in the rest.”

“He…” I start, then clear my throat, but the words aren’t wording.

“Told you that you were here to spy on us to gather intel for the club,” Rot fills in for me.

I stop breathing.

What in the crazy hell is happening?

When I don’t confirm or deny his statement, Rot keeps talking as if a bomb hadn’t just dropped on my shoulders. As if this isn’t a big deal at all. “He didn’t tell you anything about us, did he?”

Eyes widening to the size of the sun, I blow out a harsh breath and shake my head.

“You’re not here for intel, Red. You’re here ‘cause we need the feminine energy.” He winks.

Feminine energy, my ass .

A short laugh bubbles out of my throat. “You mean you need someone to fuck.”

Rot chuckles. “That too.”

“You’re attractive guys,” I note, appraising his physique.

“You don’t need me for that. You can fuck anyone you want.

” Sure, they may not all be traditionally hot, but there are plenty of women who’d happily spread their legs for them—no strings attached.

Ladies love bikers. Add in the dark and dangerous aspect of whatever it is they have going on here, and they’ll be drowning in pussy juices until the day they die.

Rot nods. “True. True. But that has consequences, and you’ve seen Necro.”

“Is that your president? The one with the mask?” I ask to be certain, so I don’t mix up their names. The last thing I want is to piss them off when we haven’t gotten off to the best start, aside from the orgasms. Orgasms are good.

“Wait.” Rot drums his fingers on my bare thigh. “You didn’t know his name either?”

“Not until now.”

He hums thoughtfully. “I’m guessin’ if Dark didn’t tell you that, he also didn’t tell you Necro doesn’t speak.”

Good ole Dark left a whole lot of everything out about my visit with the Kings of Anarchy.

“No. He didn’t, but I gathered that on my own. Is he deaf?” I ask.

“No. He hears just fine. He can’t, well…can’t ain’t the right word. He doesn’t like to talk.”

I glance at Rot out of the corner of my eye to gauge his reaction. “Why not? ”

“That’s not my story to tell,” he replies, head tipped against the headboard.

Fair enough. I wouldn’t want someone sharing my life story without my permission, either.

“Can I ask you a question?” I prompt instead.

He drums a beat on my kneecap. “Sure. But I can’t promise to answer.”

That’s fair.

“How many women came before me? I don’t mean how many women have you fucked. After the whole altar thing and the piercings, something tells me you’ve done this before, more than a few times.”

Rot knocks the side of his head into mine playfully. “Yeah. We’ve done it a few times.”

Thought so. The whole meeting them on the landing and then walking into the church by myself, only to end up on an altar, my clothes being cut off by a massive blade, and everything that subsequently happened feels too ritualistic for me to be the first or even the second woman welcomed into their domain.

“Is it always the red tile? The piercings? The be quiet, be still, endure? Do you guys rehearse it?” I ask.

Rot snickers but doesn’t seem annoyed with my probing. “That’s a lot of questions, Red.”

I shrug, not put off by his deflection. If he doesn’t wanna answer, he doesn’t have to.

But something tells me Rot is far chattier than his fellow brothers.

There’s a reason he’s here, powwowing naked in bed with me, and they disappeared.

“I’m a curious cat.” I rub the back of his hand on my leg to feed the bond I’m already starting to build with this man.

The quicker I can get him to trust me, the better.

“Hmmmm,” he hums. “I can see that…”

“So?” I flash him an easy smile.

“You’re lucky number…” Rot pauses for a beat as if counting the ladies in his head. “Forty-two… no… forty…four. Shit. Somewhere around there.” He shrugs.

“There have been forty-two of us?” I squeak.

“No. There’s been forty-three of them and only one of you.”

Knocking my shoulder into his, I snort at his half-assed flattery. “Good try. But you don’t need to butter me up.”

“Not butterin’ you up, Red. This is the first time I’ve had a woman in my bedroom.”

Ha. Right.

Rolling my eyes, I snort again. Laying it on thick isn’t necessary.

I am here for a job, whatever the job may be.

Sure, I could assume that Dark lied to Rot, and I’m here for intel.

But my gut tells me, what it’s been telling me all along—something’s off.

With no information on the club, no instructions on what I’m supposed to dig up, and the fact that their president uses sign language and Dark knows I do, too…

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

Dark lied. Why? I don’t know. But if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's probably a duck.

That duck has some explaining to do. Had he just asked me to do this, I would have still said yes, maybe, possibly.

Now that I’m sitting in the den of bikers, cuddling up next to one, I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do. When there’s a task to focus on, I’m good to go. Without one, what’s the point ?

Sighing, I close my eyes and rest my head against the slab of smooth wood at my back.

Why am I here?

What now?

I’m… lost.

There’s no other word to describe it.

What’s funny is I felt that way my entire life, until I was rescued by the Sacred Sinners and given a place among the sisters.

They’re my steady. My home. The comfort I know I can return to after a long job. After I sow my wild oats with men who never truly know me beyond the physical. It’s a lonely life. But it beats living with my mother, my uncle, or Ted.

Ted was the worst.

He still visits me in my nightmares. I can still smell him—nicotine and mint.

Rot squeezes my thigh. “What’s wrong?”

Everything.

Nothing.

Fuck.

I don’t know.

“We didn’t pierce the other women,” Rot throws out when I don’t reply. “I didn’t even know they were gonna do that.”

“Sure. Sure,” I mumble, not knowing what to believe.

“Coffin’s our club piercer. He’s a… well… It doesn’t matter what he is. You’re still the first woman he’s ever pierced on the altar. I haven’t gotten a chance to ask them why. But I’m gonna find out.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I mumble. What’s done is done. I now have three fresh piercings to tend to, and as someone who’s never had a single one, not even her ears, it’ll take some adjusting.

“How’s your neck?” Rot turns on the bed and tilts my chin to check my throat.

It hurts. Not horribly, but tomorrow’s a new day, and I’m sure it’ll suck then when the bruises form on my pasty flesh. Rot knocked me the fuck out. Not that I mind. I’m kinda into that stuff and other things, too.

He gently brushes across the tender spots. A growl rumbles in his throat. “I fucked up.”

I wave him off, not wanting him to fuss. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. You’ve already gotta worry about these healing.” Rot caresses my tender nipple.

I suck in a sharp breath and swat his hand away. “Really. It’s fine.”

Shaking his head, the biker frowns, spares me a final glance, and slides off the bed. Opening his dresser, he extracts a black t-shirt and throws it at me. It lands on my thighs. “The guys are gonna be pissed you’re wearin’ that. The women we have don’t wear clothes.”

“Seriously?” Why does it matter if they wear clothes?

“Yeah. We don’t like ‘em. Even if the other brothers can’t touch, they love to look. But since we’re already breakin’ all the rules, put the damn shirt on.”

Fingering the edge of the cotton, I hesitate. “I don’t wanna cause trouble.”

“Put the shirt on, Red. You’re already trouble.”

My stomach dips into unfamiliar territory. “But I haven’t done anything. ”

Rot flashes me a panty-melting smirk. “Oh. Babe. You don’t know how wrong you are about that.”

“Then you should probably fill me in. Do you have a Dummy’s Guide on how to be a fuck toy to the Kings of Anarchy?” That would be helpful. A manual written by all the ladies before me…. Women. Whores. Whatever they call us. I’m among the many, and that shouldn’t rankle me, but does.

Chuckling warmly, Rot slides on a pair of jeans, tucks his more than adequate dick into the confines sans boxers, glides up the zipper, fastens the button, and holds up one finger. “Number one. Be quiet.” He produces a second finger. “Be what?”

“Still.” I snort, relaying what he told me on the altar.

The cocky man grins. “Good girl.” Up goes a third digit.

“Endure,” I reply before he can.

Those lips morph into a megawatt smile, and a fourth finger joins the party. “Stay in your room unless called upon.”

I pat the mattress. “Is this my room?”

“No. This is my room. You’ll see your room soon enough.”

I nod. “Okay. What else?”

“No clothes. No leaving. No problems,” Rot adds as I tug his t-shirt over my head.

That seems simple enough… but… “What if I want to leave?”

“You die,” he replies casually, like he’s talking about the weather, not my death.

I gasp and grip the bedsheet in my fist. “Wait. What? I…I die?”

“Yes. You read the sign.”

“The poem out front?”

“Yeah. You read it and chose to come in anyhow.”

Oh. Fuck.

“I’m going to die,” I whisper to myself, staring down at the cotton twisted in my hands.

If I can’t leave, and I don’t plan on being here forever, that only means one thing.

Death.

“Not if I can help it,” Rot comments. “Plus, I don’t think Dark would take kindly to his gift endin’ up dead.”

“What happened to the forty-three other women?” I ask, even though I probably shouldn’t.

“We buried ‘em out back.” Again, he replies so casually, it sends an eerie chill down my spine.

“Rot. This isn’t funny.” Please tell me this is a sick and twisted joke. A gotcha, they tell all the women to make them stay longer.

“Do I look like I’m laughin’?” The biker points to his level expression. “Trust me, I don’t like this any more than you.”

Dark did more than lie. He sent me to a place that kills women when we, as sisters, focus on saving them. What the hell is this place?

I lick my bottom lip before whispering, “You kill women.”

“No.” Rot slaps the center of his bare chest. “ I don’t kill women. I’ve never killed a woman. Okay. I’ve killed one. Just one time. It was an accident. Coffin kills women. They’re his specialty. ”

Coffin, as in the man who stormed into the bathroom after he came?

That man?

The brute blond.

Great.

Just great.

“So… the, the forty-three others…” I trail off, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Coffin and Necro handled them. Along with some of the other brothers.”

Of course, they did.

They handle them like this is every fucking day here. Oh. Just another dead woman to bury in the backyard.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Anxiously drumming my fingers on the bed, I stare Rot in the face. “Why are you telling me all this?”

He shrugs up a single shoulder and drops it. “Because you asked.”

And just like that, as if the atomic bomb wasn’t just dropped on my head and my brain matter isn’t scattered metaphorically all over his sheets, Rot saunters up to the bed, pulls me to my feet, and escorts me from his room, still reeling from the news that…

I am definitely going to die.

They’re gonna bury me somewhere on their property with the other forty-three women they’ve killed.

And if, by some miracle, I don’t die, I’m going to murder Dark myself.

What in the hell did he get me into?