Page 81 of Property of Necro
“Where are my Crocs?”
“In my office. I promise to give them back to you later.”
Of course, they are. How convenient.
“They had better come with a big, I’m-sorry-for-stabbing-you-in-the-ass cake. I want a chocolate cake with two colors of purple frosting and lots of sprinkles. All the sprinkles.”
Rot presses his lips together to keep from laughing. Oh. I see it. He wants to. His eyes are dancing with mirth, but I’m dead serious. They hurt me. My ass still aches, and it’s gonna be worse tomorrow. I don’t know what was in that needle, and I never want to know, but that was uncalled for. I am covered in blood because of them. I had a racist’s precum touch my face because of them. That’s a new low, even for me.
This is not okay.
Not to mention the fact that I watched Necro kill two men, and Coffin kill one. I’ve never watched anyone die, die before. Not in a brutal way that wasn’t faked on television. There’s bound to be nightmares coming my way after the day I’ve had.
There’s a literal severed dick on the floor.
I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing that.
Turning on Rot, I arch a brow and poke him in the center of his pecs. Then I flick his nipple piercing. “You have something to say?”
“If you let me carry you, I will get you the cake,” he concedes with a fake, put-on sigh.
I offer him my pinkie. “And you’ll read one of the alien smut books Necro gave me.”
Dropping his head back as if this is literal torture, Rot groans at the ceiling. “Fuck. Fine. Cake. Crocs. Alien cocks.” He hooks his pinkie with mine, knowing he’s signing his life away. A smile splits my lips—wide and smug as fuck. Damn, if it doesn’t feel good to stand up for myself. It’s been a long time coming, and for some reason, I’m comfortable doing it with a bunch of big, muscly, hot, murderous bikers. Go figure.
Releasing his pinkie, I put my arms out and ready myself to be carried like a damsel.
Rot smirks, rolls his eyes as if he finds me ridiculous, and swoops me into his arms like he’s my knight in not-so-shining armor.
Coffin steps out of the way, and all three of us pause in the hallway, where Rot speaks to Creature. “Prez is donefor the night. Take the photos. Break him down. Put what you can in my lab.”
Please remind me to find out more about this lab he keeps going on about.
“Keep the dick,” Coffin cuts in. “We’re gonna save it.”
Wait.
Save the dick?
No. Ew.
I groan inwardly.
He doesn’t mean what I think he means, does he? I don’t really want a severed member for a trophy.
It was a joke.
Creature nods as if he’s making a mental note not to forget the appendage, and Rot jostles me in his arms. “You ready, Red?”
I cuddle my cheek to his shoulder. “I guess so. Lead the way, fellow alien smut reader.”
Rot groans, and then we’re off on our underground journey to Necro’s bedroom, through dark, narrow passages where Coffin’s phone light leads the way—it’s creepy but also kind of cool. In a horror movie, this is when the killer would stalk us to a dead end, where he’d murder us or throw us down a hole and feed us a baby bottle like they did in thatBarbarianmovie. It’s a great movie, by the way, and yeah, I may still watch horror movies. Sometimes. Okay. A lot. I consider it research. What not to do when you’re chased by an immortal man in a white mask, wielding a knife. Or, how not to act when an estranged family member dies, and they give you the keys to this weird glass-walled house that just so happens to house the souls of thirteen specific ghosts. Toobad I haven’t seen a movie on how to deal with three hot biker killers who live in an old church. But I’m pretty sure letting one carry you, covered in blood, through an old basement to a bedroom where you have nowhere to go is definitely on the you’re-an-idiot-you-better-run-girl part of the movie.
Oh. Well.
Nobody ever said I was smart.
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