Page 90 of Property of Necro

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A detached haze descends as I work on autopilot. Fucking and coming. Bleeding her.

Her shrieks don’t penetrate.

The carnal pleasure doesn’t exist.

I am nothing.

I feel nothing.

When I lay her on the floor and carve through Tiffany’s abdomen, blood seeps down her sides and into the dirt and…

No pleasure.

No joy.

No relief.

Nothing.

When Necro offers me a jar from Rot, and I drop her still-warm organ inside the liquid, it splashes over the edge and soaks into the dirt floor.

Nothing.

A low growl emanates from within my chest as I finish the deed and wait for her to die.

It doesn’t take long.

Lying naked on the cell floor, Tiffany twitches one last time as her eyes glaze over, staring at the ceiling, rimmed in red from all the crying… and… nothing.

Dropping to the ground, I rest my bare back against the bars, knees bent, and I rub my face, not giving a fuck my hands are coated in blood and… nothing.

I am nothing.

And it’s all Necro’s fucking fault.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

Till,one of my sisters, pushes a Shirley Temple across the sleek bar top. A little umbrella twirls in the liquid—a purple one—my favorite color.

“What are you up to today?” she asks.

Cupping my hands around the cool sides of my drink, I shrug.

What am I up to?

Nothing really. Except sitting here at Dark’s Delicacies, the bar/chocolate shop I live under, in the sisters’ apartment, where I lie low between jobs.

It’s been three weeks since Dark took me from them.

Three weeks of pants, people, and sunshine.

Three weeks back in the real world.

Ick.

I hate every second of it.

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