Page 50 of Property of Necro
Okay. This is strange. Where’s Rot? I glance around for any sign of him before I get up, drape my blanket over the back of my chair, and shadow Necro out of the door, where he turns, locks up, and waves for me to tag along. Keeping two steps behind him, not wanting to crowd his space, I trail him to another part of the church I’ve yet to see.
We descend into the basement on a different set of stairs than I’m used to. The air is much cooler down here than in my bedroom. Human skulls line the walls like a homemade catacomb, filled in between with jagged concrete, lit by the same old sconces, casting an eerie glow across the hollow faces and the packed dirt floor.
It’s weird but also kind of beautiful, if you find this kind of stuff interesting. Which, apparently, I now do. The fact that this doesn’t bother me is something I shouldprobably reflect on later when I’m alone again, with my thoughts, for the billionth time.
Rubbing my hands up and down my bare arms to keep warm, I cringe at my feet, knowing how dirty my still-stained slippers will be after walking across this ground. Not that they could get much worse at this point. At the rate I wear them, it’s a miracle they’re still wearable.
We reach the end of a hall that seems to narrow as we go. Necro unlocks a rusted steel door with a key from his pocket and doesn’t bother turning around to see if I’m still following when we turn down another corridor until we reach a row of empty jail cells—a dozen or so with old iron bars and dirt floors. There are shiny steel toilet/sink combos in each one that look like something you’d find in a new prison movie. The rest givesPirates of the Caribbeanvibes. You know, when Captain Jack is locked away, and the dog won’t give him the key? Does that even make sense? I dunno. You tell me.
Just past them are four steel doors, two on each side of the hall, with slots you can peek through at eye level.
A little further down, Necro stops, knocks twice on a rusty steel door, and pushes it open but doesn’t bother to enter. His near-white gaze flicks into the room as if urging me to go in without saying so.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” Rot’s irritated voice booms off the stacked rock walls. There’s a pause followed by a string of curses and a metal screech before his handsome head pops out of the doorway like a curious gopher.
“Hey, Red.” He grins wide, clearly glad to see me.
“Hey.” I lift my hand midway in greeting and chew my bottom lip, feeling out of place.
“I must have lost track of time.”
He must have, if Necro is bringing me here to meet him.
“Is that your office?” I point to where he steps forward and fills the open doorway.
Rot dips his chin, then glances at Necro. “Why’d you bring her down?” he growls and licks the front of his teeth in palpable irritation.
Necro runs a hand over the top of his shorn head to the back of his neck, where he squeezes. His thick bicep contracts with the moment.You were late,he eventually signs.
I’ve been late before, Rot responds in sign, looking far too hot doing it. I don’t know what it is about watching two big men with bare chests, broad shoulders, abs, and low-hung jeans signing to each other in a dim hallway, feet from outdated jail cells, that kinda turns me on. But it does. Sue me.
Bored with this conversation, Necro shrugs.I have shit to do.
“Right,” Rot replies out loud, not the least convinced. He rolls his eyes, then swings his gaze to me, dismissing his brother. “Have you been a good girl today?” He bites his plump bottom lip.
I grin. “I’m a good girl every day.”
“Oh yeah?” He winks and flashes me a cocky smirk.
Playing into this little flirtation, I bat my eyelashes. “Sure.”
Rot grips his bulge over the top of his jeans. “Then whydon’t you let me show you around my office and maybe, if you’re extra good, ride my cock for a bit.” He winks again, steps back, and nods for me to enter his space.
As I pass by, I deliver a tight goodbye smile to Necro. Once I’m inside, Rot locks us in his office. The solid steel door closing sends an electric chill down my spine.
I slowly spin in a circle in the middle of the space, taking in the dingy, mildew-scented room.
“It’s not a looker,” he notes, tossing an empty energy drink can in the trash beside his rusted desk.
“I see that. I didn’t even know you had an office,” I comment, taking everything in. It’s not tiny but not big, either. The walls are white-painted cinderblock, likely an old addition, considering the age of the church. Half of the paint lies in flecks on the damaged concrete floor that has seen better days. There’s a desk with a standard, albeit old, chair with wheels, what looks like a newer laptop, and a wall of old televisions that are monitors—I think. There’s a whiteboard on one wall with blue scribbles I can’t discern, and that’s about it. Basic. Nothing over the top.
Rot rests a hand on his desk and drums his fingers on the scuffed top. “Not all of us are lucky enough to get a room like Necro’s.”
“His office, you mean?” I ask. “Or his bedroom?”
“His office. For sure. His bedroom is… It’s something.”
I chuckle. “It is?” That’s news to me. After three months of living here, you’d think I’d have heard about Necro’s bedroom or gotten a peek, but there’s been nothing. Not even a hint.
