Page 161 of Property of Necro
Mine.
That magnificent, caring, sassy brain...
Mine. Mine. All fucking mine.
Speechless, Sola stares into my soul with big, expressive green eyes and tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. My heart thumps madly, wanting to hold her and promise I’ll end anyone who ever touches heragain. Slowly. For weeks. Until they’re skin and bones and begging for death. That’s what they deserve, just as those who reared me or the bitches who ruined Coffin. Rot is the only one of us who came out… unwanted but semi-normal. Whatever the fuck that really means.
When I can’t stand another moment not touching her, I pull Sola onto my lap. Stuck in her head, she curls into me and lets me hold her. We remain this way for ages, her head resting on my chest. The scent of soap and sawdust tickles my nose.
Knowing she won’t mind, I remove my mask and set it on the desk to kiss her. Even though my lips don’t work as they should, I show her how I feel when words can never truly express how much it means she’s here, trusting me, letting me feel her, to be with her. Every inch of Sola melts in my lap.
In no rush to do anything or say anything, I hold her, stroking her back, her legs, her sides, and press kisses to her forehead and into her hair. She nuzzles me, and sure, I’m harder than a railroad spike, but we don’t take it further.
When Coffin and Rot drop by sometime later to check in, they find us in the same spot. They keep whatever commentary to themselves as they back out of the room with smug smiles and return later with dinner.
They pull up chairs to my desk, and we eat. Just like last night, I feed Sola. But I feed myself, too, and she watches me, curious, which makes sense. I’d wonder how a man with most of his tongue cut out eats. Tonight, I’m still on a mostly soft foods and liquids, per doctors’ orders.But I take my time, sipping my protein shake between feeding bits of chicken parmesan to My Soul.
“Sorry,” she whispers, looking away as if ashamed for watching me drink from a straw with lips that don’t pucker right. That happens when they’re sewn shut. The first time they did it was before I lost my tongue. I got caught talking to one of my bunkmates at night. I was torn from my sheets and dragged by my hair down the ice-cold hall to the room every one of us was terrified of.
They strapped me to a chair and braced my neck so I couldn’t move. I tried not to scream, but I was a kid then, and this was my first real punishment beyond the training and beatings. A thick needle pierced my lips once they clamped them shut.
I don’t remember much after that. I must have passed out.
That’s to be expected when you’re six.
It happened again at nine.
And once more, right before SWAT raided the bunker and freed what was left of us. Our food stockpile diminished during those months. They were killing the weakest to feed us. It wasn’t until years later that I found out they stopped making surface trips because the government caught on, and they were biding their time. Not because the apocalypse started.
Dabbing any dribbles that might have escaped my mouth with a napkin, I fork the last bit of chicken and feed it to Sola. It slides sensuously between her perfect lips, and when I pull the tines out, she smiles and licks any remnants of sauce from her mouth.
Beautiful,I sign, and her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of rouge.
“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.” Sola winks and pecks the corner of my mouth.
I forget to breathe as the imprint of her touch burns.
Fuck.
I’m screwed.
“Necro said we can all go downtown tonight and visit the strip club,” she sings excitedly, wiggling all cute and shit in my lap. Her shirt pools around her waist, placing her bare bottom directly over my already hard cock.
This woman is gonna be the death of me.
“Hell yeah,” Rot cheers, gathering our plates to return to the kitchen.
Coffin knocks on the top of my desk. “You sure about that, Prez?” he asks, looking me in the eye to gauge my reaction.
I frown at the asshole. Since when does he call me Prez in private? In here, we’re equals. Outside these walls, I can pull rank around the other brothers, but I don’t. Not with them. I don’t give a damn about rank. This chapter wasn’t even my idea. It was a gift from our foster dad—a way to keep us safe.
I’m the president because he made it so. I didn’t choose. He did. Well, his friends did. The Kings of Anarchy members who handed us the keys to this town. None of us questioned why back then, and I’m too old to care now.
Not wanting to start shit with Coffin since he’s clearly on edge for some reason or another, I nod once.
Yep. I’m sure I want to share the town with Sola.
She should get a feel for the place, see what little thereis to offer, and meet the only other women we directly associate with as a club. I haven’t been to the strip club in years. Hell, I don’t even know who works there anymore. I leave that up to Mama to handle. As long as the brothers are satisfied, I don’t care. That place is for them, anyhow—to let off some steam safely.
