Page 60 of Property of Necro
Age: 49
Crime: Sold nude photos of her grandchildren to sickos on the internet for money.
Lot: 34
I dragmy pointer finger over the smooth, laminated card. “She’s buried outside, isn’t she? That’s what lot thirty-four means.” Not everyone has a number. Most don’t.
“Yes,” Coffin grinds out as if he’s thrown off by my curiosity.
“If I want to ask questions, will you answer?”
“Um.” He roughly clears his throat. “Sure. Anything you wish to know, I’ll tell you.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I find him rocking back on his heels in front of the closed door. “Why?” I ask, reading his body language. Someone’s off his game. I’ve never seen him this unsure before.
“Because Rot wants to keep you, and you can’t live like this much longer.”
“How do you know how I’ve been living? You’ve been busy,” I sass.
“I pay attention, Sola.”
Ha. Yeah. Right.
“Not to me, you don’t.”
“Is this about Tiffany?” A smile threatens his lips, and I hate him for it.
“Yes.” I throw out an arm, needing to move, wanting to punch him, or something. Anything. “No.” I huff and shake my head to clear it before I reel in my emotional baggage and speak like a normal person. “Fuck. I don’t know. I’m so confused. WhyamI here? What’s the point?” I jerk my chin at the jars, at him, at everything.
“To find your place,” he answers so easily it pisses me off.
I rear back like I’ve been slapped. “My place is with men who don’t like me beyond my pussy?” A brutal, humorless laugh rips from my throat and echoes through the trophy room. “I don’t belong anywhere, Coffin. Don’t you get that? Nowhere. I’ve never been on a realdate. I’ve never been in love. People use me.” I smack the center of my chest, where my heart cracks with the truth. Angry tears coat my lashes, but I refuse to let the bastards fall. “That’s what I was born to be. A tool. To be used. Then, put away when they're done. When you’re done.” I point to him. “When Necro’s done. When Rot’s done. When my sisters are done. I don’t know the first thing about real relationships or friendships…”
“Or yourself,” he cuts in.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I growl.
“You don’t even know what you like or what you don’t like. Or who you are when you’re not working. You don’t know yourself.”
“That’s real rich comin’ from a man with a room full of women’s body parts.” To drive my point home, I gesture to said parts with the flick of my chin.
“This is how I cope.” Coffin spreads his arms wide, chest out, abs abbing, chin up, revealing the ugliest parts of himself along with me, like he isn’t afraid. When I’m over here, hurting. Hating myself. Hating life. Hating everything.
“It’s a shitty way to cope,” I throw back in his face, hoping it stings.
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But it works, and I know what works. Now, look down there.” Coffin points to the bottom row, where two jars rest. A white card sits all by itself without a trophy.
Tiffany
I gasp at the name and glance up to find Coffin standing closer than before.
“She’s one of the many,”he explains.
“You’re going to kill her.”
“Yes. I am, and I’m going to carve out her eyeballs,” he states like he’s talking about the weather, not torturing a woman he’s currently fucking every single day, in front of me, rubbing her in my face.
“What. Why?” I gasp in surprise.
