Death Layer (The Depraved Club)

by Celia Loren

  I’m freefalling.

  Chapter Ten

  Water is pouring over my face. It’s the first thing I feel as I swim back to consciousness and almost drown. Am I underwater? No, it’s giant, greasy raindrops—like only New York can make—splattering on every exposed inch of me. A peal of thunder brings my eyelids fluttering open, and the gray sky ripples into focus, a mixture of rainstorm and dawn.

  For a moment I register nothing but the rain and its like I’m a floating droplet myself, but then my body catches up with me and I go from zero to excruciating pain in a single breath. My head is only inches away from the metal rim of a dumpster and I’m spread like a starfish over piles of garbage.

  Guess it could have been worse: I could be dead. It could have been the pavement instead of pillows of waste. Still, I wonder if I can actually move. It always looked like a nice soft landing in the movies, falling into a dumpster, but my decimated body bets to differ.

  With a groan, I gingerly wiggle my toes and fingers. When that goes well, I move my hands over my torso. There’s something sticky on my side. Blood? I try to lift my head to have a look and feel a stabbing pain shoot down my neck that makes me suck in my breath.

  Fuck. That will take some getting used to. I carefully bring my fingers near my face for inspection, but the sticky substance on them doesn’t look like blood: it’s more like decomposing garbage.

  Wonderful.

  Now my fingers are free to massage my neck and scan my head. Amazingly, I don’t feel any cracks or gashes. I draw on every scrap of stoicism I can muster to bite back the pain and attempt to get up.

  “Arg!”

  It hurts, but I manage to rock myself to sitting and somehow force myself to scramble over the side of the dumpster. Falling to the ground of the alley, I tuck myself into fetal position in the corner between the building the dumpster and succumb to misery.

  Collecting myself at this juncture is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I feel exactly like a person who is afraid of heights and has just climbed down five stories on the outside of a building, fallen, and landed in the trash.

  Maybe I’m in shock. Maybe I’m really dead. Maybe that’s why when I hear a motorcycle engine decelerating and coming to idle down the alley I don’t bother moving to better cover. I wrap my arms around my torso and shiver, like a kid who thinks they’re invisible if they shut their eyes.

  The sound of male voices talking over the hum of the bike goes on for what feels like a long time, and then I hold my breath as the roaring engine fades into the distance.

  The sky is lighter now. More people will be around soon. I count to ten, make myself stand up. My vision is clouded with black fizzling stars, but they clear up enough for me to see that it’s a dead-end alley full of dumpsters and debris with only one opening to the street. I point myself that direction, hope infusing my stumbling steps with speed.

  I take a few dizzy strides before registering that there is still a motorcycle parked in the mouth of the alley. A large man leans against it, puffing cigarette smoke in a dark cloud around his silhouette. His back is to me, displaying the Death Layer patch that covers the entire back of his leather jacket.

  My adrenaline spikes, reminding me I am not free yet. Biker dude hasn’t seen me, though, so I still have a chance, but here I am frozen in the middle of the alley like a deer in the headlights. Seconds stretch as I weigh my options.

  Ahead and to my left I see a pile of cardboard boxes jutting out from the canyon of buildings. If I can make it behind those, I can keep my eye on biker dude and wait it out without giving myself away.

  I jerk my body towards the boxes, but in my stupor I have completely forgotten about the damn ankle shackle and it grates loudly against the cobblestone, sending sparks. The man’s head whips around as I dive for the boxes and burrow myself under their musty weight, knowing that it’s too late. He definitely heard and saw me.

  “That you Blair?”

  Blair? He must have been waiting for someone. He must think I am his date. Fuck.

  Sure enough, the heavy scruff of boots cautiously draws closer to my hiding spot. There’s nothing to do but pull the boxes over me like a shield. A damn useless shield, it turns out, because a moment later my fort is slowly demolished.

  “Quit farting around, I don’t have time for this shit.”

  The voice sends fear spiraling down my legs and I burrow deeper, searching for anything to use as a weapon. My hand lands on a piece of PVC pipe just as the last box is yanked off of me. I swing the pipe into something, I think his head, and hear a string of curses.

  “Cut it out, give me the money!”

  A big hand closes over my wrist and yanks me up past standing until my toes are dangling off the ground. My blood pressure plummets and my vision fogs but I can feel that I am pinned between the brick wall and the equally unyielding body of my captor. The pipe is still gripped in my fist but his fingers are closed over my wrist. It’s useless. He shakes my hand until I drop it, the pressure of his arms and torso against me making it hard to breathe.

  I let out a guttural wail of defeat and frustration.

  “Bane,” I groan. “You’re hurting me, damn it!”

  He blinks at me, catching up.

  “Red?” His voice is shocked, and it seems to take him a minute to believe it’s really me underneath all the dirt and bruises. “Jesus, what the fuck? You stink. How the hell did you get out here?” Reluctantly, he lets me slide down the wall until my feet touch the ground. He steps back to study me with the same swift intensity as last night, his arms around me like a corral. “Why’d you try to brain me with that pipe? You know, for a nice girl from Whole Foods, you’re really not very nice at all.”

  Though his tone is flippant, Bane has turned his clinical gaze to sweep the alley and I can tell the gears are whirring. He focuses on the D.L. building and his eyes narrow, calculating.

  “No way.”

  He grabs my hands and turns the palms upward, inspecting the raw skin and welts. When he looks back into my eyes, that light of curiosity and pity is stronger. There’s something else there now, too. Respect, I think, with a strong dose of skepticism.

  “No way,” he repeats.

  Bane inserts one of his thighs between mine and forces my leg to the side, revealing the raw red friction burn.

  “Ow!” I object. “You’re hurting me!”

  “Well tough. You’re interrupting a deal.”

  The feeling of him firmly holding my hands and his muscled thigh between my legs makes me burn with mortification and something else. His mouth is inches from mine, his hot breath too close for comfort. Those cool eyes are relentless, promising to hold my gaze until I answer him.

  “You shimmy down the fucking drainpipe, Red?”

  Grudgingly, I give a stiff nod.

  “Ow!” The sudden pop of a strained muscle makes me suck in my breath and slump against the wall.

  “Shit.” Bane curses. “Don’t worry, I didn’t need the money anyway. Blaire’s easy to track down. I’d love to drop everything and—”

  Letting my hands drop, Bane rubs his face wearily. I’d guess he hasn’t slept, either. Muttering, he gives me a grumpy look and rips off his leather jacket, revealing a snug black t-shirt. Before I can admire the fit it comes right off too, and he startles me by rolling the soft cotton over my head. His scent is heavy and clean, and my pulse jumps as he tugs his t-shirt down over me with his jaw clenched. His fingers brush my bare hips as he pulls the fabric down to cover them, and it sends a tingle between my legs.

  “We better get out of here,” he rasps. “Come on.”

  Shrugging his jacket back on over his now-bare shoulders, he grabs me by the waist and slings me over his shoulder like backpack.

  “No, don’t—don’t take me back there, Bane!”

  “No choice.”

  “No! Put me down!” I shout, kicking until my shackle whacks him in the balls.

  “Fuck! Fine.” He instantly drops m
e, letting me roll to the ground none too gently. I’m muttering and rubbing my bum when he crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows in challenge. “Let’s see you walk, then. Be my guest.”

  Glaring up at him from the cobblestones, I push up onto all fours and negotiate my way upright. It takes an embarrassingly long time. My blood pressure plummets again and I’m seeing all black. Determined not to faint, I hold my breath and grit my teeth until my vision clears. Unsteady, I shuffle in a small circle to balance.

  Bane’s mouth is pressed in a line, one corner quirking up. “You’re the pick of the litter, ain’t you? Pathetic.”

  He sweeps me over his shoulder and marches out the alley.

  “Bane—”

  “Shut up.”

  I give up. I’m exhausted and battered and defeated. Even after a sleepless night, Bane could crush me with one hand tied behind his back and a missing leg. There’s no point resisting.

  I’ve lost.

  Closing my eyes, I surrender to fatigue. The motion of Bane’s solid body carrying me lulls me to sleep. But rest is snatched away when Bane suddenly dumps me to the ground, back into reality. I slump into a ball in a corner, aware only that it’s cold and my sore skin is against hard tile.

  “No,” I moan, protesting as his hands grab the sides of my shirt.

  Sleep was so close.

  “Arms up,” Bane grunts.

  When I don’t move, he swears to himself under his breath and reaches around my hips for the edge of his t-shirt, reversing the roll until it bunches up around my uncooperative arms. Giving me another grumpy glare, Bane haunches down to squat in front of me. I feel his fingers working under my sore shoulder joints, but I am too tired to help or hinder. He draws me close to him, resting my ribcage across his thighs as he works the t-shirt over my shoulders and head with surprisingly gentle hands.

  Now I’m just in my dirty bra and underwear again. Bane’s hands tilt my ribcage back up and steer me until I am leaning against the wall, facing him. He reaches for the straps of my bra and my breath becomes ragged as I realize his intention: he’s going for naked. With a whimper, I draw my arms across my body.

  “Stop.”

  He marks my reflex with a smirk. “Relax, Red,” he whispers. His eyes trail down my shivering body. “Your new garbage perfume could turn any dick into a limp rag.”

  That irascible grin of his is back and I realize he’s teasing me like Rachel would, or Blake. Or Mr. King. The thought stirs up mixed feelings, a warring sense of longing and distrust.

  “That’s what I was going for,” I retort huskily through my haze of exhaustion and nerves. “Because your man-whore habits could turn any lady boner into common sense.”

  He blinks at me as if he’s not sure whether to slap me or laugh. Rather than respond, he pushes up to his feet, twists a faucet and stalks away, slamming a frosted glass door behind him.

  A hot stream of water cascades over me and I yelp in surprise.

  “Shower,” Bane explains sardonically. “Soap is above you, unless you’d rather I do it for you. You have ten seconds.”

  I achingly scramble to obey as he trudges away. It’s the first time I’ve been alone or clean since Mr. King dragged me to this hell, and in spite of my depletion I find myself singing softly—perhaps there is a shred of humanity left in me, after all. By the time I’ve lathered and rinsed everything, I almost feel like a person. Just as I turn off the water, I see Bane’s dark shape fill the frosted glass door and a threadbare towel is snapped unceremoniously in my face.

  “Towel,” he grunts before disappearing again.

  Baffled by his caveman-like hospitality, I dry myself and wrap my hair in the towel. It’s surprisingly clean, if old. As I slowly and carefully make my way out of the shower, I am surprised to find a large white t-shirt and boxer briefs folded on the sink waiting for me.

  Dressed, I push the bathroom door open and find myself in Bane’s utilitarian bedroom. He is sitting on the bed in gym shorts, cross-legged and shirtless, eating Chinese food out of a takeout container.

  “Where’d you learn to sing like that?” He asks. When I don’t respond, Bane sighs and tosses a box at me that I barely manage to catch. “Eat.”

  His eyes follow me as I precariously lower myself to sit on the floor as far away from the bed as possible. More urgent than my wariness and attraction to Bane, though, is my growling stomach. I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten.

  Peeling open the lid of the takeout container, I see that it’s chicken fried rice. My stomach lets out a hungry rumble that can probably be heard in the Empire State building. I’m about to dig in with my bare hands when a plastic spoon and paper napkin launch across the room and smack into my face.

  “Ow!”

  “Hey!” Bane’s voice is terse. “Manners!”

  I don’t bother to shoot him a withering look. I am too hungry and use the spoon to begin shoveling food into my mouth. For a few blissful minutes, my entire world is chicken fried rice. The only thing that interrupts my ravenous gorging is Bane’s low whistle.

  “Jesus,” he mutters. “My mother would whip your ass for eating like that. ‘How can you taste it if you eat so fast,’ she’d say. ‘Don’t be an animal.’”

  “Yeah well my mother would call the cops on you for kidnapping, beating, and starving me.”

  “Yo mama sounds lame.”

  “Yo mama sounds mean.”

  “Let’s not.” Bane grimaces. “And for the record, I didn’t do any of that shit to you.”

  I snort into the rice. “For the record, yeah you did.”

  Bane’s chopsticks become pointers. “Let’s set this fucking record straight, Red, not only because you are proving to be a monumental pain in the ass, but because I think you just might be smarter than you look. You’re obviously too smart for poor Coco, but for god’s sake don’t tell her I said so. I’m gonna level with you here because I think your higher judgment will bring you around to my way of seeing things.”

  “I’ll never be your property.”

  He laughs. “See, now, I admire your balls, but you’re misguided. Listen to me, I’m only going to say this once.” Bane sets down his tray of chow-mein and levels those calculating eyes on me, suddenly serious. “You keep this up, we’ll both be dead within the week. Yeah, both of us. Dead. D-E-A-D dead. I need you to chill the fuck out, and you need me to protect you. See? We need each other right now. I don’t like it, but that’s how it is. I scratch your back, you scratch my…well…whatever you don’t mind scratching.”

  That boyish grin almost makes me smile in spite of my disgust. But I crush the impulse and say with boiling calm, “Please let me go, Bane.”

  Bane’s grin fades and he slowly shakes his head. “No can do. Look, I don’t know what they have on you, but I am assuming that they covered their asses somehow before tossing you in here, am I correct? Some kind of threat, what’ll happen if you run away?”

  I blanch, suddenly remembering Mr. King’s threat to kill Rachel.

  “That’s a yes,” Bane interprets. I’m beginning to wonder if he can read minds. “Trust me, Red, they mean it. They’ll do it.”

  Trust. That’s one thing I certainly can’t do.

  Bane takes another bite of chow-mein, chewing it thoughtfully before continuing with his mouth full. “They’ll do it no matter what, sure as the sun shines. Death, rape, blackmail. They stand to loose too much if just one girl slips away. It’s a whole business for them, one I never wanted to be a part of, but hey, we don’t always get what we want right? Even if you did get away, they’d find a way to do whatever they promised and more. I promise you.”

  He swallows, holding my gaze with his intensity. His voice drops about an octave. “And if you succeeded in escaping, it would reflect on me. Make them suspect I helped you. Then I’m a traitor. Then I’m dead. They’d love to have an excuse for me to be dead, Red. You’re their latest little attempt to trip me up, a baited hook. They want me to let you go. They want fo
r us to fuck up and give them a reason to come after us. Hard as it may be to believe, I’m not Mr. Popular around here right now. Shocking, I know.”

  Bane chuckles at his own self-assessment, and then allows the merriment to drain from his face. Something haggard and hunted lies under the jokes. I can see that he means it, and in spite of myself I feel a pang of sympathy for him.

  “So you see,” he concludes, “I don’t want you here. But I sure as hell can’t let you go.”

  Frustrated with myself for believing him, I let my head fall in my hands. “It’s not fair.”

  He’s the one who decided to join a biker gang. If being in a gang isn’t all puppies and rainbows, it’s his own damn fault for making a bad choice. Why should I pay the price? Me, I didn’t have a choice. But I can see that it doesn’t matter: we’re both here anyway.

  “Come here,” he says, patting the covers next to him.

  My body seizes up. No way am I getting on that bed.

  He sighs. “I’m fucking tired, Red. I wanna sleep and you’re a flight risk. So you’ll just have to sleep with me.”

  My blood drains and then rushes back into my face and I shake my head vehemently.

  He narrows his eyes and lunges over to me. “Jesus Christ, I already told you, I’m not gonna rape you. I get plenty of pussy the traditional way.”

  His fists close around my shoulders and slide me up the wall until I am standing. His nostrils are flared in anger and his breathing is a little heavy with the effort from lifting me. One of his brawny arms darts around my waist and presses my body to his like a rag doll, my curves conforming to him naturally through the thin fabric of his borrowed clothes. He easily carries me to the bed and tosses me down, grabbing my shackled ankle as I bounce on the mattress.

  He fishes in his pocket for a key and unlocks the cuffs. Of course he carries a handcuff key in his pocket. Because. Why wouldn’t he?

  I gasp in relief as my ankle falls free, but the relief is short-lived. Bane stretches his body over me and grabs one of my wrists, forcing it into the shackle. Reaching over my head, his bare muscles ripple in my face as he strings the chain around the headboard and then snaps my other wrist captive.