Page 68 of Property of Necro
Grinning at the crazy man, I pat his chest. “Always eat weed, Coffin. Always eat the weed.”
More pink blots Coffin’s cheeks, but his lipsslit into the brightest smile. “If it makes you happy and keeps you with us, then I’ll be high every goddamn day. But first, I’ve got more shit to show you.”
“Worse than all this?” I flick my gaze down the hill, then behind him to the workshop.
He nods. “Yeah. My sweet, sexy whore. Far worse.”
Fuck.
Knowing I must go through with it, I slap my palms onto Coffin’s massive pecs. “Umm. Okay, bitch. I guess let’s do it.”
Grinning, too fucking handsome for his own good, the hot biker releases my chin and swats my ass. “Atta girl.”
I am so screwed.
Wish me luck. I’m gonna need it.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Coffin holdsmy hand like we’re a couple out for a sweet mid-afternoon stroll as we return to the church. We enter through the same back door, and he escorts me through a series of dark hallways to the stairs Necro brought me down yesterday. We end up in the jail area, where the cells are now filled with mostly men and a single woman.
I wonder if Coffin will kill her or if she’s here for some other reason.
Two big, naked guys push their hairy, overlapping bellies against the cell bars and reach out, trying to touch me with their thick, sausage fingers.
“Come here, little bitch,” the one with a giant swastika tattooed across his chest snarls, banging his big frame against the steel.
A tiny squeak eeks out of me when his fingers get too close for comfort. I drop Coffin’s hand to hide behind him as he strolls down the hallway without a care in the world. Just past the cells, a club brother stands watch by the steel doors and chin lifts at Coffin as we draw closer.
“Stay here, Sweet Cheeks,” Coffin commands before he up and leaves me with the shirtless brother. I’ve seen this one a few times before. Creature. I think that’s his name. He’s tall and bulky, with thick hair on his head and some of the nicest chest hair I’ve ever seen. Half of his face is scarred like a bear mauled him, and I don’t think that eye works anymore. If it wasn't rude, I’d ask what happened, but it’s none of my business.
Coffin turns back the way we came and pulls a knife from his boot. The same one he used to reopen my C. He spins and points it at Creature, who’s busy leaning a shoulder against the concrete wall next to a random button. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he barks.
Huffing at Coffin’s dramatics, Creature lifts both hands, palms up. “I’m just doin’ my job, brother. The lady’s safe with me. Let me know when you want me to push this.” He nods toward the button, which piques my interest even further. I wonder if it unlocks the cells. Or maybe it’s sleeping gas. The options are endless.
Coffin swings the tip of his blade my way as one of the big dudes starts to heckle him. “Don’t scream. Don’t run. Don’t puke,” he orders, staring straight into my soul. “Did you get that?”
Yes. Duh.
“Don’t scream. Don’t run. Don’t puke,” I repeat, wanting to ask why, but I know I can’t. He gave an order I’m supposed to follow. So, I will. I’ll behave. Rot told me to, and Coffin hasn’t given me a reason not to listen, at least not in the last hour or so.
The blond monster flashes me a demonic grin, blows me a kiss, then turns to the hairy heckler and stabs theknife through the bars straight into the man’s gut. Smooth like butter. To the hilt.
The big guy’s mouth opens and closes in shock, his eyes rounding in fear. Fresh piss rolls down the inside of his leg.
“You don’t try to touch what’s mine,” the biker snarls so low I barely hear him before he extracts the blade and ruthlessly stabs the man. Blood pours onto the floor at their feet, coating the top of Coffin’s boots. He reaches in and grips the back of the man’s neck, shoves his face against the bars, and drives his knife up through the prisoner’s chin, through his tongue, into the roof of his mouth, and beyond. When Coffin yanks it out, crimson rushes like a waterfall from his gaping mouth.
I watch every moment in awe. There’s no other word for it. Coffin’s raw power, his zero hesitation, is… beautiful.
And kind of hot.
No.
A lot hot.
This should bother me. Some part of my brain knows I should want to scream, run, or even puke. Perhaps it’s living months in a church filled with human bones and men who don’t apologize for their nature that has led me to accept what is, not what’s normal or humane. I’ve lived in the ugly underbelly of this world for years, as a captive to my uncle and my husband, and working jobs for the club.
