Page 15 of Property of Necro
“Put the shirt on, Red. You’re already trouble.”
My stomach dips into unfamiliar territory. “But I haven’t done anything.”
Rot flashes me a panty-melting smirk. “Oh. Babe. You don’t know how wrong you are about that.”
“Then you should probably fill me in. Do you have aDummy’s Guideon how to be a fuck toy to the Kings of Anarchy?” That would be helpful. A manual written by all the ladies before me…. Women. Whores. Whatever they call us. I’m among the many, and that shouldn’t rankle me, but does.
Chuckling warmly, Rot slides on a pair of jeans, tucks his more than adequate dick into the confines sans boxers, glides up the zipper, fastens the button, and holds up one finger. “Number one. Be quiet.” He produces a second finger. “Be what?”
“Still.” I snort, relaying what he told me on the altar.
The cocky man grins. “Good girl.” Up goes a third digit.
“Endure,” I reply before he can.
Those lips morph into a megawatt smile, and a fourth finger joins the party. “Stay in your room unless called upon.”
I pat the mattress. “Is this my room?”
“No. This is my room. You’ll see your room soon enough.”
I nod. “Okay. What else?”
“No clothes. No leaving. No problems,” Rot adds as I tug his t-shirt over my head.
That seems simple enough… but… “What if I want to leave?”
“You die,” he replies casually, like he’s talking about the weather, not my death.
I gasp and grip the bedsheet in myfist. “Wait. What? I…I die?”
“Yes. You read the sign.”
“The poem out front?”
“Yeah. You read it and chose to come in anyhow.”
Oh. Fuck.
“I’m going to die,” I whisper to myself, staring down at the cotton twisted in my hands.
If I can’t leave, and I don’t plan on being here forever, that only means one thing.
Death.
“Not if I can help it,” Rot comments. “Plus, I don’t think Dark would take kindly to his gift endin’ up dead.”
“What happened to the forty-three other women?” I ask, even though I probably shouldn’t.
“We buried ‘em out back.” Again, he replies so casually, it sends an eerie chill down my spine.
“Rot. This isn’t funny.” Please tell me this is a sick and twisted joke. A gotcha, they tell all the women to make them stay longer.
“Do I look like I’m laughin’?” The biker points to his level expression. “Trust me, I don’t like this any more than you.”
Dark did more than lie. He sent me to a place that kills women when we, as sisters, focus on saving them. What the hell is this place?
I lick my bottom lip before whispering, “You kill women.”
