Page 69 of Property of Necro
How many times did I wish I could watch these sick fucks die? To see life fade from their eyes.
Sure, some of them did, thanks to my help. Watching it, though, has never been a thing.
As the man falls to his knees and collapses onto the dirt floor, I’m pleased, far more than I should be. Excited goosebumps pebble across my flesh.
Coffin spits on the corpse and turns to Creature. He nods just once, and the scarred brother slaps the button.
The other fat guy, gripping the bars of his cell, howls as what must be an electrical current ripples through the steel. Falling onto his ass, he stares down at his raw hands.
“Let this be a reminder to all you motherfuckers,” Coffin booms, spinning in a circle between the cells, waving his bloodied knife in the air like a conductor. “This is your final resting place. You won’t be visiting the pearly gates. You won’t have a happily ever after. This is the end of the line. You will be tortured. You will scream. You will die a horrible death, and I will love every fuckin’ second of it. As will my brothers.” He bows at the end of his speech, then turns and strides straight for me.
Gripping my chin with his bloodied fingers, he tips my head back and crashes his lips to mine. A surprised moan slips from my mouth into his as our tongues duel. Coffin shoves me against a steel door, hooks my leg over his hip, and forces me to climb him like a tree until I’m clinging to him like a monkey. Settling my pussy against his trapped erection, we make out like teenagers, not caring who watches. It’s hot. It’s heavy. It’s the best time I’ve had in ages.
A familiar laugh fills the air. “Get a room.”
Growling in frustration, Coffin tears his mouth from mine and whips his head toward our spectator as I struggle to catch my breath.
“Fuck off, Rot,” he seethes.
The dark-haired menace tips his head to the side, wearing a Cheshire grin. “I mean, that’s a lot of tongue action for a man who doesn’t like kissing,” he taunts, waggling his brows.
“Is she ours?” Coffin throws back.
Rot’s eyes round to the size of Mars. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Then I can shove my tongue down her throat anytime I want, right?”
“Uh.” Rot flicks his gaze to me, swallows hard, then blinks as if breaking out of a spell before swinging his attention back to Coffin. “Ye-yeah,” he sputters.
“Then shut the fuck up.”
“Right.” Rot slowly bobs his head up and down. “Yeah. Okay. You… Yep. Do that. Keep doin’ that. I’ll be here when you’re done.” He hooks his thumb toward the office door and backs away like a not-so-stealthy cartoon, his jaw damn near hanging to the floor.
The moment lost, Coffin grumbles a string of expletives and pecks me soundly on the lips before he returns me to the floor.
“Fuckin’ Rot,” he grumbles to himself and offers me his still-bloody hand to hold. I hesitate, and he looks down, just now realizing the mess he’s made. Coffin shakes his head, then looks at my face, where he must find more blood.
“Goddammit.” Thrusting his fingers through his hair, his biceps flex with the movement, giving me a perfect show. He jerks his chin at Rot’s open doorway. “Go. I’ll be back. I gotta. Ya know.” He rakes his gaze down his blood-speckled chest and abs, all the way to his dirty boots. “I’ll bring you fresh clothes and…” He pauses, frowning deeper with every passing second before blowing a harsh breath. “Do you maybe want…” Pausing again, Coffin shakes his head and mutters something I can’t make out before he steps away, having made up his mind. “I’ll be back. Just stay with Rot. K?” he grumbles.
Not knowing what to say, I nod. It’s short and awkward, but it must be good enough because Coffin spins on his heel and splits without a backward glance.
When I turn, I find Rot in the doorway, shoulder leaning against the jamb, staring at me with the silliest cartoon hearts in his eyes. “You broke him.” He smirks.
“I did no such thing,” I comment as I slip past him into his office.
“Coffin doesn’t kiss women.”
“Well, he kissed me.”
I can shove my tongue down her throat anytime I want.
I shiver at the memory.
He sure can.
Anytime he wants.
Rot rushes up behind me. I squeal with laughter as he scoops me into his arms and plops me on the edge of his rusty desk. It groans under my weight as he claims his chair and rolls it closer. Opening a drawer in his desk, he pulls out a package of manly-scented body wipes and tosses them into my lap before grabbing my feet, taking off my Crocs, tossing them onto the floor, and massaging my heels.
