Page 121 of Property of Necro
“Not exactly.”
“He was born into a cult,” Coffin cuts in, his tone gruff and sexy.
“Coffin,” Rot grates, balling his fists down at his sides, ready to square up. “Shut the fuck up.”
“No. He won’t tell her.” He notches his chin at me. “You know he won’t. If she’s stayin’, then she should know.”
“Notif,” Rot grumbles.
“Fine. Since she’s staying…” Coffin flips Rot off and turns to give me his undivided attention. “Necro had no parents. There was no one there to love him, hug him, or tell him he was a good boy. He doesn’t know feelings or how to handle the ones he does have. You don’t cry. You don’t feel. You do. That’s all he knows. He wasn’t given a name, and doesn’t know when he was born. Our foster dad spent a long time tryin’ to help Necro assimilate to real life outside of the underground bunker he was born in, including getting him a birth certificate and a Social Security number. We’re the ones who named him and picked his birthday.”
“That’s awful,” I mutter, not knowing what to say. It’s all just so… tragic. And here I thought my childhood was terrible. Sure, it was no walk in the park, but I have a name. I’ve had an identity my whole life.
I glance at the screen, and my heart aches for the man beyond. For the boy who had nothing and no one. Not even a name. No wonder he’s so distant. No wonder he sent me away.
Coffin massages my shoulder, and his tone is extra soft when he replies, “His name is Azrael, after the angel of death. We thought it was cool.”
“It is cool,” Rot chimes in, a smile in his voice as he stands beside me and gently grips my butt cheek. It’s not sexual. It’s grounding, like he needs to touch me to cement that I’m really here. The heat of his skin penetrates through the cotton of my t-shirt as his clean scent calms me.
“And now he goes by Necro,” I whisper, watching said man. His lean muscles shift as he works, and he bobs his head to the music he loves most.
“Yeah.” Coffin wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I rest my head against the side of his pec, snuggling him there, soaking in his warmth. Earth and spice and man cling to him. It’s such a contrast to Rot, but a yummy scentall the same. “He enjoys playin’ with dead fucks and uses those dead fucks to bring art to life. It suits him.”
He’s right. It does. Coffin builds coffins and puts dead women in them, and Rot repurposes corpses. All their names are a little too on the nose and morbid as fuck. I shouldn’t like them, but I do.
Flicking my attention to Creature, leaning against the wall, I ask, “Where’d you get your name?”
He stares at me with his one working eye and the side of his mouth that functions tips up in the corner. “Really?” He snorts and points to the wrecked side of his face.
I shrug half-assed. “How was I supposed to know your name is because of that?”
Creature gives me a blank, unimpressed look. “You can say it, ma’am.”
“Say what?”
“That I’m an ugly, scarred-up creature. I look more like a science experiment than a human.”
Frowning at his horrible use of words, I give Creature a slow, head-to-toe once-over. That’s not at all what I think. “Is that how you see yourself?” I ask, concerned about his warped sense of reality. Sure, he’s scarred. But he’s far from ugly or even creature-like. He’s kind of hot. If I wasn’t already claimed by two men and their president, who likes me but doesn’t want anything to do with me, I’d give his dick a ride or two to see how well it works. And before you judge me for saying that, check yourself. Hot is hot, and sex is a normal biological function. I know who I belong to, but you can’t stop a girl from ogling.
All the wind suddenly knocked out of his sails, Creature shrugs sadly, not answering the question. Because Imade him uncomfortable, he turns and leaves. When the door shuts behind him, I look up at Coffin, then over to Rot. “What did I say?”
“He’s sensitive about how he looks,” Rot explains.
“I don’t know why. He’s hot.”
Rot smirks and nods as if he agrees with my sentiment.
See. He knows hot when he sees hot.
Coffin growls, and like the possessive, violent caveman he is, grabs my throat and yanks me in front of him. Leaning down, he gets right in my face. His warm breath washes over my skin, and while he glowers at me, I can’t help but smile. He might think he’s intimidating, and sure, I may have a few scars from his dickish nature, but I’m not scared of him. Not anymore.
Smirking, I blow him a kiss.
The hand wrapped around my throat tightens. “You think this is funny, Sweet Cheeks?”
“I think you’re sexy when you’re jealous,” I quip.
He scoffs. “I don’t do jealous.”
