DEPRAVED

by J, Bella

  Everything was wrong.

  “I see you’re still where I left you.”

  I lolled my head down, annoyed by his sarcasm.

  He pulled the rope out of my mouth and down over my chin.

  I spat out some rope thread. “Yeah. I had so many fucking options but decided to sit right here and not move.”

  “Smart decision.”

  I looked up as Granite placed a bowl and a beer on the bedside table. “You forgot something.”

  He gave me a questioning glance.

  “You forgot the feeding tube.” My finger tapped on the armrest, and even with the unamused look on his face, I refused to break eye contact.

  After a few seconds of an intense stare-off between us, Granite grabbed a sheet off the bed and used it to cover the vomit on the floor. “I’ll get someone to clean that as soon as you’re done eating.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to eat with the stench of chocolate vomit stuck in my nose?”

  “Maybe you’ll think twice before you vomit next time.”

  “Maybe you’ll think twice before you come in here covered in blood.”

  He shot me a wicked grin, as if my being bothered by bloodstained clothing amused him. Psychopath.

  The mattress whined when he sat down. He took off his cut, placing it next to him, and reached for the bowl of food. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “I will not—” He shoved a spoonful of macaroni into my mouth. Immediately, I spat it out, but Granite just forced another spoon in my mouth—which I spluttered all over my lap, only to get my mouth stuffed with more food.

  “We can do this all day, Alyx. There’s a lot more where this came from.” He held up the bowl and grinned. “I got nothing but time, woman.”

  “You know, usually, when psychos kidnap women, they starve them. Not force-feed them.”

  He raised a dark brow. “Usually, when psychos kidnap women, starving them is a way of torture. In your case, it’s forcing you to eat.”

  “So, you admit you’re a psycho?”

  One corner of his mouth curled in a half-grin. “That’s one statement I’ll never argue, ballerina girl.” He held up the spoon. “Open wide.”

  I frowned. “Please tell me you’re not about to make airplane noises.”

  “No, but I’m about to shove this spoon down your throat.”

  With my lips sealed shut, I glared at him, weighing my options. The determined look in his eyes was enough to tell me this was a battle I wouldn’t win.

  Always choose your battles. The one thing my dad taught me—especially when it came to my mother. Choose the battles you know you can win. He knew all too well no battle with my mom was ever something you could win. God, sometimes I hated him for loving her so much that he would turn a blind eye to the kind of relationship she and I had.

  My gaze remained on Granite’s as I reluctantly opened my mouth, feeling like a fucking toddler forced to eat.

  He slipped the spoon of macaroni into my mouth and smiled. “There you go. Not so hard, is it?”

  The words “fuck” and “you” came to mind, but again—choose your battles wisely.

  After another bite of food, I looked at the tag on his cut which was still on the bed. The Blood Brothers tag caught my attention.

  “What does that mean?”

  Granite turned to where I was staring then looked back at me. “Shut up and eat.”

  I studied him while chewing. There was a burning curiosity, a need to find out more about him. Even though he had been nothing but cruel to me, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something more. Something I’d need to dig for if I wanted to find it.

  I swallowed the chewed mush of pasta and had to really concentrate on getting it down. The spoon was in front of my mouth as soon as I swallowed, but I turned my face away. “I’ll make you a deal.”

  Granite frowned. “You’re hardly in a position to make a deal here.”

  “True. You’ll probably sit there and force-feed me until I’ve eaten every last morsel of food. But since you know me so well, you’ll know I don’t need to shove a finger down my throat to make myself sick. All I need is a few gag reflexes, and all this food will end up next to the chocolate vomit on the floor.”

  Those forest green eyes narrowed, lacking any sign of amusement. “Don’t bargain with me, Alyx.”

  “Why not?”

  “Nothing good can come from making a bargain with the devil.”

  “Is that what you are? The devil?”

  “Look at those ropes tied around your arms, then you tell me.”

  Silence filled the void between us, our gazes locked. Through the fear and alarm I so desperately tried to control, there was a crackle of electricity in the air. It caressed my skin, sending waves of energy through my body. Maybe I was the Stockholm Syndrome type, after all.

  “For every mouthful of food I swallow, I get to ask a question.”

  He snorted. “This isn’t a show and tell.”

  My mouth remained closed when he held the spoon.

  “Open your mouth, Alyx.”

  I pressed my lips together in a clear show of defiance.

  An inscrutable expression appeared on his face, and it rattled me, making me lose the hold on my fear for a moment. But then he placed the spoon in back in the bowl. “Fine. But no personal questions.”

  I frowned. “That’s not fair.”

  He shot me a warning glare, which silenced me.

  “Ask me personal questions, and you’ll eat even if I don’t answer. That’s the deal.”

  “How about you get to ask me a question if I ask something you don’t want to answer?”

  He smirked. “Trust me. There’s nothing about you I don’t already know.”

  The look in his eyes—all hooded and dark—and the way his tongue lapped his lips made me shift in my seat. The crackle of electricity went up a thousand volts, and my body started to hum, clearly affected by him in a way that wasn’t suited for this situation. The stare he gave me was almost primal, feral, as if he was a hunter with his eyes on the prey he’d been waiting to devour. Me.

  I cleared my throat, painfully aware I had pushed this bargain as far as he would allow. “What does Blood Brothers stand for?”

  He glanced at his cut then back at me. “It’s a tag members get when they’ve killed for the club.”

  A shiver swept through me, my skin cold. From the blood on his clothes, I knew he was a killer, but seeing it proudly displayed on his cut kind of drove that fact home. The food that had already settled heavily in my stomach threatened to come back up, but I swallowed, closing my eyes as I willed it to stay down.

  “What’s the matter, ballerina girl? Didn’t expect that answer?”

  I couldn’t respond since I was struggling to not throw up.

  “I answered. So now you eat.”

  The spoon was in my face when I opened my eyes, and all I could do was pray to God that I could get through this. Granite was a little less cruel by only giving me a small bite of macaroni. But it still didn’t go down easily—not when I remembered Onyx had the same tag on his cut. Blood Brothers. Good God, was I surrounded by killers?

  Granite held out the spoon again. “Open your mouth.”

  I shook my head. “No. I get to ask a question first.”

  “Fine.” The spoon clattered against the bowl as he placed it back.

  “How many people have you killed?” My voice shook, and I regretted the question the second it left my mouth.

  “I lost count.” He answered it like it was the easiest question in the world. As if I had just asked him the answer to one plus one. No remorse. No regret. He showed nothing that gave me the impression he hated the fact that he was a killer.

  With the next bite, I didn’t show as much hesitance and didn’t chew as long either.

  “Who else has the tag?” The masochist in me wanted to know exactly how many fucking killers lived under this roof.

  “Ink, Dutch, and
Onyx.”

  “Who are Ink and Dutch?”

  “Ink is the club’s sergeant-at-arms. Crazy son of a bitch. He makes sure laws are upheld, and no one carries a firearm without him knowing about it. Dutch is the enforcer.”

  “Enforcer?”

  “You’re not playing by the rules, ballerina girl.” He held up the spoon, and I gagged a little thinking of swallowing more food. But I was desperate. They said knowledge was power, and I needed to make use of every opportunity I got in order to empower myself. It was the only way for me to fight back. So, I ate, my stomach complaining more and more after every mouthful I swallowed. My body wasn’t used to eating this much.

  I cringed as the last of the food slipped down my throat.

  There was an amused grin on his face as he watched me struggle. “Good girl. Now, to answer your question. In our case, the enforcer is lead security when it comes to protecting the president. He also helps the sergeant-at-arms to make sure members uphold our laws.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  He shot me a sly grin while reaching for the beer. “How do you think he ended up with the Blood Brothers tag?”

  I shuddered. Made total sense how those two got the killer badge in the club.

  “Ever drink beer before?”

  “You’re the one claiming to know me, so why don’t you tell me?”

  He leaned forward, and I could smell the overripe scent of the beer he held out to me. I’d only ever tasted beer once while at a party with Red. It was vile. The thought of drinking it made me feel lightheaded and sick. But the thought of ending up as nothing more than a number on his hit list had me opening my mouth as he brought the bottle to my lips.

  Beer spilled down the side of my face even though Granite poured slowly. When he pulled the bottle away, I was relieved since I was sure I had only been one mouthful away from hurling beer and macaroni in his face.

  The wetness of the beer remained on my mouth and chin, and he glanced at my lips before looking me in the eye. The moment lingered for a while, and with each passing second, his eyes darkened. There was a hunger, a desire in the depths of his irises—the golden specks masked with greed. Suddenly, I was hyperaware of how close he was, his warm breath skidding across my wet lips, causing me to shiver. My body prickled with more anticipation than fear.

  “Ask me, Alyx.”

  He didn’t back down. In fact, I was sure he was leaning closer, little by little, his earthy scent mixing with the overripe fruit flavor of the beer.

  His gaze dropped down to my mouth, and I sucked in a breath, closing my eyes when he touched his thumb against the corner of my lips. Softly, gently, as if I were glass, he wiped his fingers down my chin, his caress igniting a fire deep within me. My lips parted, and in that moment, I didn’t want him to stop touching me. Gone was the fear, replaced by desire, and it felt right in so many wrong ways. How could I desire his touch while fearing him?

  Lightly, his fingers traced along my jaw. “Ask me the one question you’re burning to ask me,” he whispered, and I imagined his low voice was what seduction sounded like. Dark. Tempting. Captivating. And utterly disarming.

  His thumb was on my lips again, and I opened my eyes to look straight into his. Deep down, I knew exactly which question he was referring to. It was a question I was too afraid to ask, but while I slowly lost myself in his gaze, something told me his answer might change everything.

  My lips parted while his thumb remained. “Why did you take me?”

  His finger dipped inside my mouth, and I exhaled sharply, air rushing past my lips in a huff.

  “Because you asked me to.” His palm flattened against my jaw, fingers softly caressing my skin, pushing my body toward an edge it had never even been close to. My eyes closed, and I relished the way his skin felt against mine. So many conflicting emotions, but only one dominant one. Desire.

  A whimper left me when his lips brushed my chin, his beard gently grazing against my flesh. “Every time you stared at me from your bedroom window, you asked me to take you.” With his hand against my cheek, he forced me to lean my head to the side. “You practically begged me to.”

  “That’s a lie.” It was a feeble attempt to fight him. My voice lacked conviction. It lacked strength because my body was slowly succumbing to his touch, only wanting more and more.

  “It’s not. You’ve waited for me all this time. Silently hoping I’d come for you. Well, now I have. And guess what?” The tip of his tongue dragged up my neck, and I tried to squirm in my seat, lust pooling between my legs. God, it felt dirty, the way my sex throbbed as he licked across my skin. It made me wonder what his tongue would feel like against my sensitive folds, licking, sucking, tasting.

  With rapid breaths, I whispered, “What?”

  His hand wrapped around the back of my neck, gripping my hair in his fist. Pulling my head back, he moved up, his lips brushing against my ear. “I’m not giving you back. Not until I’ve had my fill of you.”

  Abruptly, he let go of me, and I gasped, taking a deep breath. My body was still on fire, my skin sizzling with desire. Not even the threat in his last words could smother it.

  Granite straightened, looking down at me with hooded eyes. “I bet you regret making a bargain with the devil now, don’t you?”

  There were too many feelings, too many emotions for me to form a coherent thought. All I was capable of at that moment was staring back at him. I had lost control of my body. I had lost control of my thoughts. I had lost control of everything…all because of the way his touch corrupted me.

  “If I come back and find you’ve made yourself sick, I will force-feed you again. And this time there will be no deal.”

  I was still dazed, caught up in the moment, when I heard his heavy footsteps and the door.

  I sat there tied to a motherfucking chair, and I couldn’t wrap my head around what Granite had just said.

  Was I not part of a blackmailing scheme? Was I not here for ransom purposes? Did all of this have nothing to do with my father, but everything to do with…me?

  Not caring that my mind was still spinning, my body all riled up, fatigue started to set in. I was exhausted. The pain meds Neon gave me were wearing off, and my stomach felt like I had swallowed lead. As my body gradually stopped humming, my sex no longer throbbing, I could feel the aftereffect of eating too much. The gluten was poisoning me from the inside, and the carbs and calorie overload from the beer were making me feel horrid. The mac and chees alone was probably five hundred calories, not to mention the hundred and fifty calories with the beer. That was more calories than I had consumed during the last three days.

  After my body finally settled, the fire in my belly extinguished with his absence, my first reaction was to make myself sick, to purge myself of the poison in my stomach. But Granite’s threat rang like a warning bell in my head, which meant my body had to endure it. For anyone else, this would have seemed futile, meaningless, and practically not that bad. But for fifteen years, my mom controlled what I ate, how I ate, and when I ate. It only took a year or two for my body to adjust, to get accustomed to what I put in it. It had grown used to a calorie-controlled, no-fat diet. It wasn’t something I could control anymore. My body controlled it.

  My mother controlled it.

  I closed my eyes, willing my body to keep the food down. I didn’t have the strength to throw up again. And, frankly, my ribs and back still hurt from the last vomiting spell I had—which was still on the floor, covered with a sheet. God, I hoped someone would clean that shit up, or it would start smelling like a dumping site in here soon.

  I sighed and let my head hang back, staring up at the ceiling. What was happening to me? Why would I still want Granite after seeing what a wretched human being he really was? A kidnapper. A killer. Maybe he wasn’t the psycho in this equation. Maybe I was. It was the only explanation as to why I let myself lose control under his touch. If I was completely honest with myself, I probably wouldn’t have stopped him if he tried to go
further. In fact, if my legs weren’t tied to the goddamn chair, I would have tried to push my thighs together to get rid of the ache and the need to be touched there.

  A sudden cramp spread across my abdomen, and I groaned. It was too much food. Too much beer. My body was protesting. Why couldn’t it have acted up when Granite had his hands on me? At least then I’d be able to show him he was wrong. That me staring at him from my window wasn’t a silent plea to be taken.

  But then again…maybe it was.

  13

  Granite

  It wasn’t our usual spot. But this wasn’t our usual meeting. The PC was looking for his recently disappeared daughter and needed our help. In fact, he pleaded for our help. I had been working with this man for years, long before I became president. The man never sounded as helpless and pathetic as he did when he called this morning.

  We agreed to meet a few miles out of town, on a dirt road leading to what used to be a mountain area. No one came here during the day anymore. But at night it was the local hump yard where every goddamn teenager came to get laid.

  Ink nodded in the direction of an approaching SUV. “Incoming.”

  I got off my motorcycle, placing my lid on the seat. “Put on your best game faces, boys.” Both Ink and Dutch flanked me, and I lit a cigarette as the black SUV came to a stop a few feet from us, greeting us with a cloud of red dust as the wheels screeched across the dirt road.

  I inhaled deep, feeling the smoke cling to my throat and lungs before tossing the cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. “Here goes nothing.”

  Commissioner Green got out of the SUV with two of his bodyguards coming from around the car. “Granite.”

  “PC Green,” I greeted with a nod.

  “Tell me you know something. Tell me you know where my daughter is.”