Page 79 of Property of Necro
A horrified screamburns my throat as warm, penny-scented blood rains down my hair, my face, my shirt, and into my lap. It pools on the floor beneath me. Slick. Gross. Desperate to see, I frantically wipe at my face, but the mask gets in the way. I want to tear it off, but I know I shouldn’t. Not with the live feed.
Is that blood on my lips?
Rubbing them together, the taste seeps into my mouth, and I gag, spitting what I can onto the floor.
This can’t be happening.
The scent of carnage suffuses the air as I yank my shirt up and wipe what I can from my eyes. By some miracle, I find a spot not soiled.
I blink a million times…and finally, the world focuses as my heart thunders like a thousand horses in my chest.
The squelch of mutilating flesh fills the air.
Gripping my stomach, I swallow down my need to retch.
Necro’s on the man.
The man who dripped precum on my face.
I’m pretty sure he’s dead as Necro straddles his hips with his back facing me.
Is that a severed dick on the floor?
I scramble to stand and slip a dozen times on blood not of my own as I use the wall to gain purchase and find Necro brutalizing the corpse of what used to be the skinhead.
His eyeballs are gone. Plucked out and tossed against the wall, leaving little dots of gore where they must have collided.
Necro’s scarred back rises and falls as he savagely tears into the man’s chest with what looks to be a knife.
Where did that come from?
I step around them, not wanting to disturb his… whatever this is.
Wait. He’s carving into the flesh, not tearing.
The wordM.Y.spans the man’s pecs. Below it, Necro carves the letters S.O.U.
Pausing the blade, gripped crudely in his fist, Necro looks up and locks those intense blue-white eyes on mine. He nods to the man whose throat he slashed. That must be why there’s such a mess. It’s half severed from his body. That takes a lot of force—a lot of anger.
He sets the knife on the center of the man’s chest and lifts his hands like he wants to say something, then drops them just as quickly, realizing I can’t understand him. His brow furrows, and he looks down. Shaking his head, he picks up the knife, and my gut sinks.
He’s sad.
I can feel it.
I don’t know how, but I do.
Necro’s thick shoulders hunch forward as he cuts away at the man’s stomach with less fervor.
Needing him to know that I can understand him, that I see him, and that I appreciate him standing up for me, I step closer and cautiously lay my hand on Necro’s shoulder, knowing he hates to be touched.
He jerks in surprise, and I tug my hand away, not wanting to offend him.
“I can understand you,” I whisper, meeting his gaze as he looks up at me again. Cautious. On edge. With a quirk of his brow, like he doesn’t get what I’m saying.
To show him what I mean, I give him a little piece of myself that I never share with anyone, and sign,I understand you.
His eyes widen, soft and innocent like a child’s—adorably hopeful. Stabbing the blade into the man’s cheek, he replies,You sign?
