Page 125 of Property of Necro
“Rot didn’t mean it.” I swing my gaze to the biker on the desk, and he mouths a stricken,I’m sorry.
I understand. I do.
He was trying to fix things. To help in his own weird way.
All the color drains from Rot’s face as he hops down and raises his hands as a peace offering. “She’s right, brother. I was bein’ an idiot.”
Eyes downcast, Coffin shrugs, crestfallen. “I’ve raped women. I don’t know why you sayin’ that gets under my skin, but it does. He’s our prez, but mostly he’s family. We need to help him.”
“We will,” I promise. We’ll do it together. Whatever it takes.
Slowly lifting his head, Coffin nods toward the screens. “Yeah. Well. We’re runnin’ out of time.”
And he’s right… There stands Necro, and his knife and…
Shit.
Racing from the room, I track the growly music and throw open the door with Coffin and Rot hot on my tail.
Rushing inside, I slip on the blood-soaked floor as I skate over to Necro with bare feet.
Lying in the middle of the room, on his back, blinking up at the ceiling, a knife sticks out of the side of his throat.
Fuck. Fuck.
Fuuuck.
I drop to my knees beside him as Rot and Coffin run to get help.
Please don’t die. Please don’t die.
Necro’s blue-white eyes open and close as he looks at me. Surprise registers as he reaches up to touch my face and smears blood across my cheek.
“What did you do?” I sob, taking his cool hand into mine as his chest rises and falls in quick, uneven breaths, and his eyes widen in panic.
He tries to sign with his opposite hand.Heaven?
“No.” I poke him in the chest. “You jerk. You’re not dead.”
A stampede of brothers race into the room—one with a medical kit, another with a stretcher.
“We can’t take the knife out or he’ll die,” one says to the other as Necro holds on to me for dear life, refusing to let go.
I’m sorry,he signs with one hand.
“You should be.”
Necro grabs the knife handle as the men slip him onto the board.
“No!” I smack his hand away.
I know what he’s doing.
He’s ending things. Taking away his pain. Forever.
That can’t happen.
Jumping into action, the brothers strap their prez to the board and stabilize what they can of his neck, including tapping the blade in place, so it doesn’t move more than necessary. “We’re not letting you die this time, either, Prez,” a biker says as they hoist him up and carry him from the room.
