Page 8 of Property of Necro (Kings Of Anarchy MC: Illinois #1)

Chapter

Eight

I can’t believe Coffin, the woman killer, cut a man’s fingers off. Just like that, the slimy digits touched me for barely a second, and then they were gone, bouncing on the floor.

Shivering, I clasp my hands in my lap, trying to ignore the splash of his blood on the side of my leg and arm.

Rot left me here to wait for dinner.

My stomach grumbles, having not eaten since this morning.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.

I may be alone. I may be here without a mission, but I have survived much worse.

So much worse.

But I miss my sisters.

I wish I could talk to them.

Kali would have much to say about Dark’s choice to drop me here.

Calloused fingers wrap around my wrist, ripping me from my thoughts and my seat.

Stumbling behind Coffin, I’m forced to follow him from the dining room, through a hallway, and into a bedroom where everything’s white, from the walls to the furniture to the bedding, apart from the dark blue carpeted floor.

It’s soft beneath my bare feet as he nearly dislocates my arm from its socket as he drags me into the attached bath.

Not saying a word, the blond biker lifts me and sets me roughly on the counter. My t-shirt rises, and my bare bottom meets the cold vanity. I gasp on contact.

Not paying me a lick of attention, Coffin grumbles under his breath as he riffles through a cupboard until he finds a bottle of alcohol and cotton balls. He douses the cotton in way too much disinfectant, which soaks the tiled floor, before he slathers the wetness over the blood on my arm and leg.

Rivulets of alcohol mixed with blood run down my skin.

“Fuck,” he snarls, grabbing a towel and wiping up the mess.

Not wanting to anger him or, worse, end up hurt, I sit on the counter like a mannequin and let him do whatever he wants. I try not to breathe.

When he’s through, Coffin chucks the towel into the shower.

“You good?” He frowns, lifting my arm to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

I nod dumbly, even though I don’t know what I am at this moment.

Coffin curses, then leaves. A moment later, he’s back, carrying a t-shirt. It’s one of those thin, white ones you find in four-packs at the store.

Not saying a word, the gruff biker forcefully removes Rot’s shirt from my body, tosses it into the trash bin, and replaces it with one of his.

I feed my arms through the holes, and he tugs it down to my hips.

My pierced nipples are visible through the thinner fabric, poking through like a porn star answering the door on set for the mailman.

Not that I mind. Any shirt is better than no shirt, considering the stares I got at the table.

If what Rot said was true, Coffin offering me anything is a step in the right direction.

Though I don’t feel safe or comfortable in his presence.

Waves of frustration and anger surge off him as he plucks me off the vanity and sets me back on the floor. Once more, he secures my wrist in his large hand and drags me back the way we came, returning us to the dining room, where half the men are gone.

A big, bald guy with a baby face is now sitting at the table, close to Necro, who is stationed at the head. Everyone has a bowl of food in front of them except him. Rot now fills the chair I left. Coffin releases me and drops down beside him with a grunt.

The bald man waves me closer and points to a spot on the floor beside him and Necro, where a towel is balled up.

So now I can’t sit at a table, and I’m forced to be on the floor?

Like a dog…

Pressing my lips together, I nod at the bald man and comply, even if this is the most dehumanizing thing I’ve experienced since, well, Ted.

The man who bought me from my uncle after my uncle had already gotten his fill.

I was too old by then. Too mature. He liked his girls young.

Ted was his friend. He was one of the men who paid to sleep in my bed.

Each night, a different one was there to take care of me.

They did unspeakable things. Things I’m pretty sure my mind has repressed for the most part. Thankfully.

If only I were young enough to forget Ted.

He was forty when he bought me. I was his thirteen-year-old child bride. Yes, that’s a real thing—child brides. They still exist to this day. I was one of them. Ten out of ten would not recommend.

Curling my knees to my chest, I relax with my back against the table leg as the bikers around me carry on as if I’m invisible.

My stomach grumbles from hunger, but I go numb as I’m transported back there… mint and nicotine.

Ted.

My husband.

The man I’m still married to.

The man I ran from.

Duct tape secures my wrists as I sit on the floor beside the kitchen table on the cracked linoleum, shivering.

“Open up, wifey.” Ted smiles, his mouth full of yellow teeth, pushing a spoonful of his body fluids to my lips. “Time to get your fill.”

“Sola.”

Someone jostles my shoulder, and I jerk away, gasping. My heart leaps into my throat.

Frowning, then schooling his expression, the bald guy offers me a bowl with a spoon.

I look down at my wrists.

I’m not bound.

I’m not here with Ted.

This isn’t the same. They’re not the same.

Except I might die. There’s that.

Inching my head up, I peek inside the bowl, expecting something terrible. But it’s chili, topped with cheese and crackers, and it smells divine.

Eyeing him warily, then Necro, whose jean-clad leg is touching my side, I wait for them to snatch the food away. Mom always did.

When I don’t accept the bowl, the bald man scoots his chair back and tries again. “Sola, I made this. Everyone has eaten some.”

Pulling what I assume is a clean spoon from a pocket in his white chef’s coat, he scoops out a bite and puts it in his mouth. “See. It’s safe.” He speaks with his mouth full and offers me the bowl again.

This time, I dip my head in appreciation and accept the meal with a small smile.

Tucking it to my chest, I eat slowly, savoring the delicious flavor as it bursts over my tongue.

A low moan escapes me, and my eyelids flutter closed in pleasure.

This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. It’s spicy, but not too spicy.

Garlicky, but not too much. The beans are firm. The meat is perfect.

“I’m Mama,” the bald man says, chuckling at my noises.

I nod, accepting his name, which I think I’ve heard before. Didn’t Rot mention him? I think he did. Either way, Mama is an incredible chef.

It doesn’t take long to polish off my chili.

Mama offers me a napkin to wipe up and a bottle of water.

He might be my new favorite person.

Once I have finished everything, I offer my trash and empty bowl back to Mama, who takes them with a kind smile and unfolds from his chair with an old man groan.

“Someone likes to eat my food. Think of some meals you might wanna try, Sola, and I’ll see what I can do,” he offers as he rounds the table.

My heart warms and gets weirdly fuzzy at his thoughtfulness.

I can’t think of a time anyone has asked me what foods I might wanna try.

I eat whatever is offered, even if I don’t like it.

The closest I’ve come to having someone cook for me or care about what I like is when I’m back in the apartment with the sisters, where it feels like home. Even then, it’s not about me.

Resting my head against the table, Necro’s leg at my side, I relax with a full belly.

Today is not what I expected. It feels like it’s gone on forever.

As the sounds of men’s chatter and laughter fill the room, I allow myself to soak in a moment’s peace, even though I’m forced to sit on the floor .

When the dishes are cleared away and the noise dulls, Necro scoots his chair back. When I glance up to see what he’s doing, our eyes catch, and he jerks his masked chin at me, then nods as if it’s time to go.

Getting to my feet, I follow him from the room.

“Where are you taking her?” Rot calls to our backs as I trail Necro down a dark hallway to a creaky set of wooden stairs that descend below the church.

Old sconces flicker on the stacked rock walls as the moist, chilly air greets us.

Doors line the walls as the scent of mildew mixed with copper and a hint of incense fills the air—an unusual combination.

I rub my arms as goosebumps flare across every inch of my exposed flesh.

Extracting a key from his pocket, the muscles of Necro’s scarred bare back contract as he unlocks a door and flips a switch just inside.

Following him, despite the eeriness, I enter an all-black room.

The concrete floors, the walls, and even the back of the door are painted black.

A single sconce lights a small portion of the space.

In the center of the floor stands a black casket with black handles, reminiscent of something from a vampire movie.

“What’s that?” I point to it.

Why the hell is there a casket here?

Necro doesn’t give me an answer. Of course, he doesn’t. He lifts the lid, and the inside is lined with red fabric.

Why is it red?

Showing zero emotion, he points to the pillow, where a corpse would lie its head .

Hold up.

Does he think what I think he thinks?

I’m not…

He doesn’t really want me to…

Wait…

Keeping my eye on him, I slowly back away in horror, one step after another. “I’m not sleeping in there.” My voice wobbles as my heart hammers a million miles an hour.

I’m not sleeping in a casket or a coffin or anything of the like.

No.

No.

No.

My back hits the door, and when I try to turn the handle, it’s locked.

Fuck!

As still as a statue, Necro continues to point to the casket, those insane blue eyes glued on me.

There must be a way out.

Shaking my head, my bare feet slap against the cold, black floor as I dart to the other door in the room and jerk the knob, trying to get out. It doesn’t budge.

Sweat beads on my brow, and air wheezes from my lungs as I race to the final door across the space, where I grab, pull, and push with all my might to get out.

I beat the side of my fist against the wood until little pieces of wood pierce my flesh as I throw my hip into it to break the hinges or something.

Pain ripples up my thigh, but I don’t stop.

This is crazy. I can’t sleep down here .

“Help!” I screech as tears leak down my cheeks. “Help! Please!”

My plea is met with a cold, sad silence.

Alone.

Again.

Swiping the back of my hand across my damp face, I turn and press my spine against the door to face him—the monster they call Prez. “I’m not sleeping in there.”

The big fucker with the mask doesn’t move, he just points.

“I’m not!” Please don’t make me.

Shrugging as if he doesn’t give a fuck, the man with muscles, pale skin, and an entire chest and abdomen covered in scars approaches. I square up, ready to fight. They can fuck me. They can pierce me. They can even make me sit on the floor like a dog, but I’m not sleeping in a casket.

“You’d better unlock the door,” I warn, raising my fists.

The asshole cocks his head to the side, and I swear I see mirth dancing in his ice-blue gaze.

He won’t be smiling when I cut off his dick.

Necro advances another step, then two, and when we’re almost toe-to-toe, he wraps a hand around my throat.

Without thinking, I knee him in the junk with all I have.

Then, wait for him to go down, but nothing happens.

Not even a wince.

The grip around my throat is warm as he squeezes enough to assert himself but not enough to cut off my blood supply .

He doesn’t even seem pissed I tried to hurt him.

He doesn’t seem to feel anything.

“What do you want?” I shove at his rock-hard stomach, hoping he’ll let go.

He nods toward the casket.

My bottom lip wobbles. “I can’t sleep in there.”

Necro’s brow raises as if calling me a liar.

“Fine,” I huff. “I won’t. I don’t like the dark.”

He shrugs up a single muscled shoulder and drops it as if he doesn’t care what I want and is determined to get his way, regardless of how I feel. That much is evident when he applies pressure to my throat.

He can’t do this.

Why does he hate me so much?

I was meant to be his gift.

Clawing at his hands, my nails bite into his flesh as I try to make him let me go, but he doesn’t.

When I struggle to kick and try to scream, it comes out as a raspy gargle, and still, he doesn’t relent.

With those eerie eyes locked on mine, I fight to remain conscious and swing on him until my last breath.

And when my world descends into darkness, I vow to ruin him forever.