Page 64 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

“Stop it!” Coffin scolds.

“What?” It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. I’m admiring his hours of meticulous work. There are floral curtains in the windows that flank either side of the door for fuck’s sake.

That’s just…

Incredible.

And thoughtful…

Shifting from foot to foot, he shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

Oh. Yes. It is. It’s a massive, giant, huge, Titanic-sized deal. Are those all synonyms for the same word? Yep. It’s how big of a big deal this is.

“What are you talkin’ about?” I play it cool as a cucumber, not wanting to ruffle his feathers any more than they already are.

Ha.

Feathers.

Like a chicken.

“You’re lookin’ at me funny and at this…” He nods toward the coop. “Weird. Don’t.”

I kiss the top of Chicken Elvis’s head. “But you did this for me.”

“No,” Coffin grumbles. “I didn’t do shit. Rot and Necro did.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Rot snaps as he inspects Coffin’s incredible craftsmanship.

“Necro may have bought the chickens, but you built all this.” He knocks on the solid door. “I was the idea guy. That’s it.”

“So, all of you…” I start, but Rot cuts in.

“Wanted you to have a place away from our grumpy asses sometime. Yeah.”

Beyond the chicken coop is a matching shed. “What’s that?”

“Your pussy shed,” Coffin snaps.

“My what?”

Lumbering over to the pussy shed , as they call it, Coffin acts as if I’m the most annoying person on the planet when he huffs and shoves the front door open. Following behind him, I step inside, still holding my new chicken to my chest.

It’s purple.

Every. Single. Square. Inch.

The couch. A rocking chair. The corner bookshelf full of smut.

The desk tucked under the window, facing a line of trees and a squirrel feeder.

There’s even a radio, but no television.

There are empty shelves for me to fill, a soft rug covering a mosaic-tiled floor, and a ceiling fan.

All purple. Varying shades. From eggplant to lilac, to whatever color Grimace from McDonald’s is.

Even the artwork of Ghost Face is purple. From floor to ceiling, it’s…

Emotions clog my throat, and I must make some sort of face because Coffin curses before he shoves past me to get away before I cry.

I can’t help it.

I…

They made this for me.

For. Me.

Sola.

Me.

The… unwanted one.

A sanctuary.

An all-purple sanctuary with chickens. Therapy chickens.

I swallow and force the tears to be good.

In the corner of the room, there’s a camera—Necro’s spying device. A wet chuckle rolls up my throat as the Elvis chicken rubs its head against my chin.

Rot steps inside, slings his arm around my shoulder, and kisses my temple. “You like it?”

I point to my face. “I’m almost crying. What do you think?”

He snorts. “I think women are complicated creatures. You cry over toilet paper commercials and when aliens give their lady good dick. I can’t always tell. ”

That’s true. We do.

“I’m happy. This is so…”

Rot pats my butt. “Worth a night of hot foursome sex with your guys?”

Chuckling wetly, I nudge him with my hip. “Oh. My. God. You’re such a pervert.”

“What?” He shrugs, not the least bit concerned with his horn-dog ways.

“We did that last night.” At the club, or did he already forget?

Smiling down at me, he waggles his dark, well-manicured brows. “But we haven’t done it today.”

“Ugh,” I grunt dramatically and shove Rot’s pec. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Wait.” His eyes get really big. “What did you just say?”

Oh. No.

No. No. No.

Abort. Abort.

“Nothing. I said nothing,” I recover in the worst recovery of the history of the world. My voice shakes, and I step back, knocking my leg into the desk chair.

“Red.” He advances on me in the tiny space, and I skirt past him to stare at the wall. It’s a nice wall—purple and stuff. Wood. It’s made of wood.

“I didn’t say it,” I whisper, clutching the overly nice chicken to my chest like a lifeline.

Sliding up behind me, fitting his front to my back, Rot’s heat seeps through my dress, but it does nothing to calm my frazzled nerves. “You did.” He rests his hands on my shoulders and rubs them, gently, patiently.

“It was a slip of the tongue. ”

“Hey,” he soothes. “That’s okay. I love you, too. I love you so fuckin’ much. I want this for you. Coffin and Necro do, too. Even if Coffin’s dogshit at showin’ it.” Rot spins me around to face him, and I do, reluctantly.

“You love me? Like for real?” A single tear drips down my cheek. Nobody has ever said that to me before, and not used it as a weapon to hurt me. This doesn’t feel that way. Rot wouldn’t do that. His eyes are soft around the edges. His lips tipped in a sweet smile.

“Yes. Of course.” He brushes the backs of his fingers across the apple of my cheek, and I shiver. “I wouldn’t have jumped in that grave to save you if I didn’t.”

“But that was your fault.” I arch a brow to deflect from what’s going on.

“Sorta. Yeah.” Rot’s smile spreads until it lights his entire face.

“But I still did it. Because I love you, and I want you to be alive and stuff. Listen, I know we can be a lot. So, this is yours.” He lifts his chin at the shed.

“You can escape us anytime you wanna come here, commune with nature, and play with your chickens. Doug already said he’d help look after them. Mama will love the fresh eggs.”

Wow. They’ve thought of everything. This is a lot, and I don’t deserve any of it.

Not really. I’m just a girl—a girl who was given to them what feels like forever ago.

But I can’t say that to Rot. He’d find some way to prove I’m wrong, and it would include his mouth and cock, and a yearlong scolding for ever believing I’m not worthy.

So, I deflect instead, for both our sakes.

“Can we not feed them dead rapists?” I plead, jutting out a pouty bottom lip, in hopes my poor chickens don’t have to endure the horror .

Grinning at me, Rot pats the chicken’s head. “They’ll be fed whatever Doug decides.”

“Ugh. Fine,” I relent. “‘Cause I don’t know shit about taking care of chickens.” If they eat the dead men and I eat their eggs, does that mean I also eat the men, too? I’m trying to avoid this, but so far it hasn’t worked out all that well.

“Yeah. Neither do any of us. Which is why Doug’s the man, and they’re your pets.”

“Is this what you meant about owning chickens last night?” I ask.

“Yep. It kinda slipped out. Thankfully, you were too distracted by our cocks to ask me about it.” Rot winks.

I roll my eyes, and he swipes his thumbs underneath them to remove the stray tears before jerking his chin toward the exit. I follow him out.

Necro and Coffin are both holding chickens when we join them, and it might be one of the cutest sights I’ve ever beheld.

“I’m namin’ this one, Big Booty,” Coffin announces, turning the chicken around to show us how fluffy her rump is. Is that what they call a chicken’s butt? I have no idea. But he is right. It’s big, white, and fluffy.

“What is it with you and butts?” I tease.

“Have you seen yours?”

“In the mirror.”

“Then I rest my case.”

“Wait. What case?”

He likes your ass, Necro signs.

“I gathered that.” I chuckle.

“I don’t like it. I love it,” Coffin announces .

“Then tell her.” Rot takes Big Booty from Coffin’s arms and nudges him toward me.

Refusing to meet my gaze, Coffin scratches the top of my chicken’s head with a single finger.

“Just say it. Now’s the time. Trust me,” Rot urges.

“Coffin?” I whisper his name like a prayer.

Said man kicks the grass with the toe of his boot and curses under his breath.

“I love you. Alright? There. I fuckin’ said it.

Now go be with your ugly chickens.” About facing, Coffin marches into the tree line, and I look to the guys for some indication of what the hell just happened and what I’m supposed to do about it.

He didn’t have to say that to me. Not if he didn’t want to.

“He’s been wantin’ to say it for a week now,” Rot explains, somehow knowing what I’m thinking.

“Is that why he’s angry?”

Necro takes the chicken from my arms and nods for me to go after him.

Fine.

Sighing, I march after the bastard and find him deep in the woods. If not for his loud cursing and stomping, I wouldn’t know where to look, but I track the sounds, and when he stops, I do, too, a few feet away.

“I love you, too!” I declare obnoxiously loud, so he can’t pretend he doesn’t hear me. The birds, the bugs, and the deer in these woods all heard it.

Shoulders hunched forward, he kicks the trunk of a fallen tree. “You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.” He doesn’t get to decide who I love and who I don’t.

Once upon a time, I was an idiot who thought I was in love with Ted.

Years of brainwashing does that to you. Now, much older, wiser, I get to choose.

For me. For the little girl who lived in a closet with a mother who hated her.

For the little girl who was forced to marry a predator.

“Don’t say that. Just don’t,” he scolds.

“Don’t say that I love you? Why?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Yes, you do.” I call him on his shit. Lies erode relationships. They break trust. I don’t want that for us. Not now. Not ever.

“No. I don’t.” Rounding on me, Coffin stalks over.

He bends and rips his knife from his boot and wraps a giant hand around my throat.

Shoving me backward, my spine collides with a rough, oversized tree, and he snarls in my face, gliding the tip of his blade up the inside of my dress to the scar he made.

“I. Don’t. Like. This,” he grates, sounding inhuman.

“What? Don’t like what? Me?” I challenge, keeping my hands down at my sides as air saws in and out of my lungs. “Your cock getting hard when you touch me with your knife? What? If you think you scare me? You don’t.”

A low rumble rattles in his throat. “I should.”

“Why? You love me, and I love you. You’re fucked up. But so am I.”

“You’re perfect.” He bites my cheek, and I whine in pain, skin throbbing, but my pussy has other ideas when she clenches, knowing it’s Coffin loving us in the only way he knows how.