Page 61 of Property of Necro
“She saw you naked.”
What does that have to do with anything? “I… I don’t understand,” I stutter, my brows glued together in confusion.
“She saw you naked,” he repeats, his voice smoke and whiskey, arms tucked across his chest.
“I got that. But you collect uteruses, uteri, whatever they’re called.” I wave off the correct pronunciation and pick something easier to say. “Wombs. You collect wombs.”
“I do.” He nods along, agreeing, his tone oddly calm. Soothing. “But her eyeballs will go in Necro’s office, and her uterus will remain here.”
“That. Still. Doesn’t. Answer. My. Question.” I clap between words, so maybe it will sink in. Why? Why? Why? Seeing me naked isn’t a legitimate reason. We’re both women. The brothers have seen me naked. All of them. They watched the piercings, the initiation. They still have eyeballs in their skulls.
Make it, make sense.
Ugh!
“I already answered it. She saw you naked, so I’m going to cut out her eyes.”
Oh. I give up.
“While she’s alive,” I guess, staring at him like he’s lost all his marbles, which he has. They all have.Weall have.
He nods. Just once. A simple, strong dip of his chin. “Of course.”
“That’s sick.”
“Yep. I’m a sick man,” he concurs.
“Wh…” I clear my throat. “Why will they go in Necro’s office?” I ask, when I know I shouldn’t, and rub my hands up and down my bare arms to stave off the sudden chill. It dawns on me that I’m shut in a room with a murderer. There is nobody else around to save me should things go sideways.
“Because you’re his,” Coffin replies, looking directly at me. No inflection. No gotcha.
“I’m… what?” I squeak, eyes flying wide.
“Keep up, Sola...” Coffin snaps his fingers in front of my face. “His. You’re his. Part of this club. You belong here.”
You belong here.
His strange admission bounces around in my skull like a Ping-Pong ball.
“I…I…this is a lot. You’re murdering Tiffany...” Trailing off, I glance at her card again to focus on something tangible. I find the reason he’s ending her life there, in basic typeface—Slept with her ten-year-old nephew for money.
Ah. That makes sense. The same thing happened to Coffin, and now he’s exacting revenge for the kids like him. Each of the women who died at his hand had a similar backstory—harming kids from trafficking to far worse.
Warmth blooms in my middle at his… thoughtfulness.
Oh. No.
No.
No.
No.
I’m not doing this.
Swooning over a murderer is not on my bucket list.
I don’t belong here.
