Page 162 of Property of Necro
This will be more than an adventure for Sola. It’ll be one for me, too.
Chapter
Forty-Two
Day Two - Night.
Twirlingin the middle of the road in the abandoned downtown of Kings Cursed, my dress swirls around me as I smile up at the sparkly night sky and breathe in the cool, fresh air. The nip of fall is upon us, and as much as I love summer, fall is the absolute best.
A light breeze ruffles my curls, and I laugh, feeling lighter than I have since I can remember.
Hovering close by, Coffin stands guard, his head on a constant swivel, like he’s afraid someone will race through downtown like a bat outta hell and mow me over.
Hardly.
The dim streetlights cast a pretty glow over the chipped sidewalks in front of the old, worn storefronts, which could regain their former glory with a little TLC. What is it about old shops in small towns that seem to have all the charm? The details in the carved window framing and wooden doors are so beautiful that when youclose your eyes, you can almost picture the shop bustling with people from another time. You rarely find that in bigger cities anymore. All the character has bled into modern, sleek lines, sucking all the warmth and detail from the world. Or that’s how I see it.
I don’t know about you, but a cozy store with tall ceilings makes my heart happy. I bet this place was hoppin’ half a century ago.
The sun-stained outline of an old sign above a shop with a dilapidated awning readsMal’s Malt Shop. I skip over to the window, wipe the side of my hand across the dirty pane, and try to peek inside, but it’s too dark.
Darn.
My shoulders slump as Rot stops beside me, takes my hand, spits on the side, and wipes it on his pant leg. “That’s gross, Red. If you wanna see inside, we can come during the day.”
“You spit on me. I think that’s grosser.”
Smirking, Rot rolls his eyes, and I shiver as the breeze tickles the hairs on my arms, forcing them to stand on end. Necro crosses the street and shrugs off his leather jacket. He steps up behind me and feeds my arms through the holes.
“I don’t need this,” I tell him as the weight settles on my shoulders, exposing him to the elements. None of them are wearing much for clothes beyond jackets and jeans. They didn’t put on shirts for our little town outing. Not that we went far from home.
“You’re gonna get cold,” I comment, eyeing his bare chest.
You are cold,he signs, and I sigh.
Fine.
“We can share it,” I offer. “I’ll warm up and give it back.”
A chuckle vibrates in Necro’s throat, and he shakes his head, running a hand down his eight stupidly ripped hot-man abs.
“Will you stop that?” I scold, pointing to all those bumps with my leather jacket-covered hand. I force my fingers through the hole and try again, so I look more like an adult and less like a five-year-old swimming in a coat four sizes too big.
He arches a dark brow and cocks his head to the side.Stop what?
“That.” Frustrated with this encounter for no logical reason, I gesture to all six feet and some odd inches of him standing on the sidewalk, shirtless, with hard nips and cum-gutter hips.
Down the way, Coffin hollers, “Come on,” from King’s Cunts strip club. Holding the door open, he sweeps his hand for us to get our asses inside. A woman pops out, tall, blonde, and topless. She takes one long, sexy look at Coffin and runs a finger down the center of his bare chest to the buckle of his belt, and I see red. Thankfully, he does, too, when he seizes her hand and shoves it back at her as we make our way over. Swearing under my breath, I step directly in front of Coffin and put my hand out to the woman who still hasn’t left, despite Coffin’s brush-off. “Sola,” I introduce myself with a bit of sass, and her eyes get big. Not just kinda big, but Uranus big.
Apparently, she’s heard of me, which makes sense ifthe brothers frequent here and I’m the only woman currently living in the church.
That much is confirmed when Necro steps up behind me, and she reads the name patched on the chest of the jacket I’m wearing, stating he’s president.
The woman damn near trips over her feet when she about-faces and races into the club, probably to alert the masses of our presence, or in reality, to the four people inside.
Rot slips past me, snickering at our exchange, and leads the charge into the club. “You sure know how to make an impression, Red,” he teases. Not amused, I flip off his back. She didn’t ask Coffin if he wanted to be touched. At least I was nice about it. I could have gone old-school and torn her hair out in a catfight, but I’m grown. I can kill people with kindness, even if I still want to break her finger for assuming it’s okay to touch him. He doesn’t like it.
Necro rests his hand on the slope of my back, and Coffin brings up the rear as we reach the main room that looks like something out of the seventies, with wood paneling and dark orange carpet everywhere. It smells old, too. There’s a single stage with a gold pole in the center, surrounded by brown leather bucket seats.
