Page 39 of Property of Necro
Me: I don’t know what you’re so uptight about.
Coffin: I’m on my way home, and you send me this?
Me: How was I supposed to know you were on your way home?
Coffin: I have a guest.
Me: Sure, you do. Is she also redheaded?
Coffin: No. Why would she be? I fuckin hate red hair.
Me: Lies. Deflection. Bullshit.
Coffin: Stop with the psychobabble. Just make sure the room’s ready.
Me: Only one woman at a time. You know the rules.
Coffin: Yeah. Well. You keep breakin em, and I kinda like this one. So I’m changing the rules, too.
Me: Necro’s not gonna like this.
Coffin: She’s a willing cunt. He’lllove it.
Me: I’m not fuckin her.
Coffin: I’m not askin you to. That means more for the rest of us.
Me: You mean you and Necro, right?
Coffin: You mind your business. I’ll mind mine.
Me: You’re a dick.
Coffin: Yep.
Flicking off his text, ready to punch a hole through Coffin’s stubborn skull, I pull up Necro’s thread.
Three dots are bubbling at the bottom like he’s in the middle of messaging me. I wait a minute to see what he texts first, and I’m not surprised it’s a long, fragmented one.
Necro: I got the video. Coffin is bringing a new female back with him. I sent Worm to set up the bedroom. Don’t start shit. Tell Sola if you want her to know. Coffin wants to run the altar play when they arrive. We have a shipment coming in tomorrow night. Be ready. It’s bigger than usual.
Grinding my molars, I reread Necro’s text three times. By the fourth, I’m ready to commit murder.
Coffin wants to do the altar thing? Coffin wants to…
Oh. Fuck him. That ain’t happenin’.
Standing from my chair, I toss my laptop on my desk, slam it shut, and I…. I…. I lose my goddamn shit.
Kicking my chair backward, it crashes against the cinderblock wall.
It does nothing to tame the rage.
I slam my closed fists on the desk. It knocks a dozen pens on the floor and rocks my laptop, but nothing quells this… ugh! Fuck them!
I know Coffin hates women.
I know he hates the prospect of Sola actually being a good person, someone worthy, someone who may, if we pull our heads out of our asses, want to be with us as much as I want to be with her.
