Page 67 of Property of Necro
“Why wouldn’t I thank you?” I challenge, lifting my chin in defiance, willing him to fight me like he does with just about everything else. “You shared a part of yourselfyou didn’t have to. You’ve been nice to me. Considerate. That says a lot. After the past few weeks with Tiffany, I appreciate seeing this side of you.” I more than appreciate it. Up until now, I thought he was a massive asshole. A hot one. But an asshole, nonetheless.
“You know, just ‘cause I’m talkin’ to you about this doesn’t change me. I’m still the same man,” he growls, like that’s gonna change my mind. It doesn’t.
“Who kills women for hurting kids.”
“Sola, don’t say it like that. I’m not the hero in this story.”
“You’re not the villain either.”
“How could you say that? You saw the trophies. You’re lookin’ at the proof.” Coffin juts his chin at the cemetery.
“Exactly. And whydidyou show me? What did you think would happen?”
“I don’t know. Not this.” He gestures between us and the ease with which we’re talking. It’s nice opening up with someone besides Rot, and this is far more than I’ve ever gotten out of him. Had you told me last week I’d spend time having a semi-normal conversation with Coffin and it wouldn't lead to us fighting, I’d wash your mouth out with soap for lying. Yet here we are.
“It was a test. Was it not?” I ask.
“Everything’s a test, Sweet Cheeks.”
“And you wanted me to call you names and cause a big fucking scene. Didn’t you?” I push harder than I should.
“I didn’t want that.”
Turning to face him, I stiffen my spine and push a little more. “Then what did you want, Coffin?”
“You!” he booms and throws an arm to the sky. “Foryou to be different. Fuck!” Coffin grips the nape of his neck and stares up at the clouds. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and he shuffles from foot to foot like he can’t stand still. “I… I don’t want to be alone. Okay?” he rasps, sparing me a quick look before he resumes cloud watching. “I don’t want my brothers to be alone. I don’t want you to be alone. I want us to take care of you. You belong here, Sweet Cheeks. You belong with us. Not with your sisters or some other man’s bed. With us. We have all the space you need to find yourself. To be you.” Coffin’s abs ripple as his chest expands with the world’s deepest breath. He rubs his knuckles across his heart, and I… well… I stare at him in awe, dumbfounded by the words coming out of his mouth.
I’d expect this from Rot.
But Coffin… I just…
A wild mess of coked-up butterflies riding the scariest rollercoaster wreaks havoc on my insides. I press both hands to my belly to stop the madness, but it doesn’t do anything as I watch Coffin. His swaying. Flushed cheeks. The strong set to his jaw covered in a week’s worth of scruff.
His shoulders deflate as he blows all the air out of his body and turns to stare me down. “I swear to fuckin’ Christ, if you ever breathe a word of this to Rot, I’ll spank your ass for a week…” he vows, nostrils flaring.
My pussy clenches at the thought.
Spank me? With those big hands? Oh…
I look at them as they ball into fists down at his sides and all those glorious, corded muscles.
That doesn’t sound so bad. But that’s not the point, is it?
Swallowing thickly, I bob my head. “Okay. I won’t.”
“Good.” Coffin takes a menacing step forward until we’re flush—my tits to his bare abs. His pulse melds with mine. He pinches my chin and forces me to look him in the eye, where he holds me firm, caressing my skin with his thumb. I shiver. It’s impossible not to.
“This is where you work through your demons,” he states. “For real. If you want us to find dirty cops and you wanna carve ‘em up to deal with your past, I’ll ask around. We’ll find the pigs. I’ll teach you how to carve ‘em up any way you want. Then Rot can make you a trophy room. Fill it with dicks...” Coffin’s brows knit together, and he clears his throat. “Alright. Maybe not dicks. I don’t want you touchin’ anyone else’s dick. I’ll cut ‘em off for you. You can watch. We can draw funny faces on ‘em with a permanent marker.”
Wait.
What?
“You want to draw faces on severed dicks that you want me to keep as trophies?” I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing.
Coffin’s entire face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Fuck yeah.”
Good lord, this man. My silly, fickle heart suddenly feels ten times lighter than it has my entire life. Cutting off dicks and keeping them as trophies, while disgusting, the sentiment is beyond sweet. He’s beyond sweet. Who knew?
