Death Layer (The Depraved Club)

by Celia Loren

  “That’s a good dog,” I grunt, shifting my hold. She curls into me instinctively, whimpering. It breaks my heart. “Alright, let’s go!”

  I glance over at Bane, whose borrowed Glock is pointed at Jack again, and back up out of the room. As soon as I’m in the hallway I turn tail and retrace my steps down the hall toward the elevator, my adrenaline provoked tunnel vision begins to fade and hysteria threatens to overwhelm me.

  At the elevator bank I use the wall to prop up the dog so I can free a hand to smash the call button. As I do, I see Bane backing into the hallway with his gun still pointed back at the bikers in the room. He’s got mad skills at walking backwards in a hurry.

  “Elevator open Red?” he calls.

  “No,” I shout back, but then the bell dings and the door slides open. “Yes!”

  “Get in, move to the side, and hold the door for me.”

  I obey, and hear the sound of his footsteps pounding down the hall. He ducks and rolls into the elevator like he thinks he’s James Bond or something. I stare at him in a heap on the floor. Nothing happens for a moment except that we blink at each other.

  “I thought you were in the same gang!” I cry. “Don’t you guys ever have normal conversations without drawing guns on each other?”

  “Yeah we’re in the same fucking gang,” Bane shouts back, “But I told you, it’s complicated! Shut the door!” I hear more footsteps running down the hall. “Hurry up!”

  “Shit,” I curse, struggling not to drop the dog and find the button. “Shit!”

  “Shut the door shut the door shut the door!” Bane shouts.

  There’s the boom of a gunshot and a metallic ping. Horrified, I look at a new hole in the elevator wall and let out a righteous scream.

  “God damn it, out of the way,” Bane hollers. He jumps to his feet, knocking me to the side, and slams the palm of his hand on the door close button, firing blindly out of the elevator until the door finally slides shut.

  As the elevator lifts, he flutters his lips in relief and turns to me to take the dog from my arms. “It’s okay,” he coos, “it’s okay girl.”

  “They just shot at me!” I scream, punching the wall. “Your fucking gangster friends shot at me because of you and your big mouth! And all you can think about is the dog?”

  “I was talking to both of you,” he says. “You’re both girls!”

  Furious, I raise my hands to pull out my hair or his eyes or something, but I catch a look at Bane’s face and see that shit-eating grin again. Even Jenny seems to be smiling. In spite of myself, laughter bubbles through. Maybe it’s stress laughing. Or hysteria. I don’t know. Whatever it is, it completely breaks me down until I’m snorting and bent double and Bane is laughing too.

  “You bastard,” I grunt.

  Bane’s smirking and laughing at me, so I shove his arm playfully. Just like I’d shove Blake or Ava. I catch the intimacy of the gesture and abruptly halt. Bane is not my friend. He’s not my family. Why am I suddenly feeling and acting like he might be? My smile freezes and I step back away from him into the far corner of the elevator. The walls seem to be shrinking in on me.

  “Hey, whoa, easy girl,” Bane says. “What’s going on? I’m talking to you now, Red. Still with me? Don’t flip out on me now. The bullet missed everybody. You’re ok, ok? I can only carry one wounded woman at a time. I need you to be ok.”

  I lean my forehead against the cool metal and force myself to breathe nice and slow. “No, yeah, I’m fine.”

  Too fine, I want to add. Getting too comfortable. Getting too used to being Bane’s new pet and going on little adventures in the Death Layer building together. One happy, twisted, fucked up little family.

  By the time we’re safely locked and bolted back inside Bane’s studio suite, I can tell he’s worried sick about the dog. I spread a towel over the bed and he lays her out on top to inspect her wounds.

  “Fuck,” he murmurs. “Hang in there, Jenny.” He whips a cell phone out of his pocket and shoots out a text message. “I’m going to have to take her in to see someone,” he explains. “I’d bring you, but you know, flight risk.”

  My heart leaps to my throat. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

  I’m not sure if I’m terrified or relieved at the prospect. If Bane leaves me alone, surely I can figure out a way to escape. My eyes are darting around the room just thinking of it—maybe the narrow window in the bathroom, maybe I can run down the stairwell again? Maybe I can find that shotgun of his and shoot my way out.

  On the other hand, if Bane leaves I’d be alone in this awful place. What if someone found me by myself, unprotected? I know Bane’s saved me from rape once. While that’s not enough to make me trust him, exactly, it still makes him the closest thing I have to an ally. His voice plays through my head from that first night: I’m the best fucking thing that could have happened to you. I’m still not convinced that’s true, but it could have been worse.

  Much worse.

  “Hmm, you’re right. Leaving you alone is not gonna work.” Bane straightens and frames my hips with his hands, squaring me to face him. He probes me with his eyes, then chuckles and shakes his head. “Nope, I don’t trust you either. What a team.”

  Fuck. Can he read my fucking mind?

  Bane gives me a little shove so that I stumble onto the bed next to the dog. The cell phone is in his hands again and he’s texting up a storm. “I’ll have him come here.”

  I watch him put away the phone and stare at his dog with lonely, angry eyes. Something stirs in me, pity maybe. A man who loves a dog that much can’t be all bad.

  “Is it true?” I ask. “What you said to Jack back there, I mean. That the club’s against you because you disagree with dogfights and human trafficking for D.L., and Jack’s trying to force you into it? Manipulating you?”

  He cocks an eyebrow at me and sweeps his gaze over my body wryly. “What gave that away?”

  I flush. Obviously, I am a pawn in Jack’s game. Bane’s been telling me this all along. “Good point.”

  Bane’s grin grows mirthless and bleak. “But you believe me now, is that it?”

  We stare at each other for along, heavy moment. A smile plays over Bane’s lips when I can’t immediately deny it. He rubs his hands over his face and suddenly looks very tired.

  “How many times have you seen me talk to a brother without it turning violent, Red?”

  I shake my head slowly, comprehending. “Not once.”

  Bane nods. “I’ve been in troublesome waters since the D.L. Club opened last winter. It made me uneasy from the start, catering to rich pricks with perverted appetites. Not to mention the people behind all of it…” He stares off blankly for a moment. “Real fucked up people, with big reach.” He continues, “I felt like it was a slippery slope and turns out I was right. I don’t like the sex trade any day, and definitely not when its workforce is not of the volunteer variety.”

  I scoff. “Is it ever anyone’s choice?”

  Bane shrugs. “In this city?” He winces. “New York is a fucking hub for global human trafficking. I sure didn’t want to step in that quicksand, so I spoke up. Told Jack and the officers I’d keep running the schedule for the boxing ring Death Layer partners with uptown. That’s fine with me, just grown men beating each other to a pulp for money. Got no moral objection to that. Damn noble sport, clean business. Straight up, old-fashioned gambling—nothing fairer in life.”

  I shake my head in disagreement, but Bane only smirks.

  “It seemed like they’d let me, too,” he sighs, “Until a month ago when Jack said he wanted to make the D.L. Club downstairs the club’s sole business endeavor. Turns out the rich perverts love it and it’s a fucking cash cow beyond even Keller’s wildest dreams. So the club voted. That vote was the beginning of the end for me; I was the only nay besides Judge Jefferson, but he’s easy to control. Now I’m persona non-grata. ”

  He slumps down heavily on the bed next to me, and Jenny nuzzles into his side. He
checks his watch and frowns. “Vet better get here soon.”

  “Why?” I ask, curious in spite of myself. “Why did you vote nay?”

  “Why?” He sounds indignant and props himself up on his elbow. “What do you mean why? Why do you think? You’ve got a fucking brain haven’t you?”

  “I mean, I think human trafficking is fundamentally evil,” I say carefully, “But I don’t know what a gangster’s objection might be.”

  “I’m a member of a motorcycle club,” he grunts. “A fucking biker, Red. Not a gangster. But you’re insinuating that since you think I am a soulless thug, I therefore can’t possibly have a conscience, right?”

  “Well, yeah.” I’m not letting up here. “You do lots of things a normal person would say are wrong. Shooting bullets at people. Threesomes with women you call your “property”. Whatever you were doing in the alley this morning. Illegal gambling, you just said. Holding me prisoner.”

  Bane grits his teeth. “You’re oversimplifying things.”

  “It seems pretty simple to me.”

  He pushes to his feet and paces. “It started out good, you know? It didn’t used to be like this. We used to stand for something, Red: strength, freedom, community, and independence from a broken system. Just the stuff any young guy wants. Yeah easy money and sex too, sure, and why the hell not, you know? You only live once.”

  “And a gang is the best choice?”

  He laughs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, princess. We don’t all get scholarships to fucking Yale.”

  “Michigan!” The angry correction is out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Bane is studying me with a raised eyebrow. “It’s a public university.”

  “I’m sure it is.” Bane rubs his face wearily. “Look, Death Layer was great before Jack jumped into all this fucked up slave market shit. It’s supposed to be about freedom, Red, don’t you see? But now we’re suddenly selling people. How does that make sense?”

  “It doesn’t,” I agree quietly.

  Bane’s staring at me, his face strained. He licks his lips. “My sister was kidnapped,” he admits. “Alice. She was fourteen. I was sixteen. We never found her. Beautiful young girl, I always figured she must have ended up in some hellhole like this, raped and used until she...”

  His voice catches and he suddenly stops moving, gathering himself.

  My mouth is dry and it’s hard to find words. “I’m…I’m sorry, Bane.”

  He shakes his head and raises bleak eyes to mine. “Part of the reason I joined the Death Layer MC in the first place was so I’d be strong,” Bane explains, his voice husky with emotion. “So no one could mess with me and mine again. Things started changing but they used to just let me do other things. I’m Road Captain, so I was traveling lots of the time anyway. But now Jack’s leaning and leaning on me. I think only one of us will live through it.”

  Bane shakes his head at me sadly. “You’re just the cherry on top, Red. Wrong place, wrong time. I didn’t want this, I don’t like collateral damage.”

  “Well, too bad,” I murmur, “Because here I am.”

  “Here you are.” His haunted eyes are searching me, this time with some urgency. He takes my shoulders in his hands and leans his head down close to mine. “Tell you what, Red. I’ve got a plan. I’ve got a windfall coming, soon as I can actually track down Blair. I’m getting fake papers. Immigrating. My Dad’s from Canada, he’s got a cottage in Nova Scotia where I can hole up in and start over fresh. Why don’t I take you along? You don’t belong here. I can get you out.”

  A moment passes and I dream about what it might be like to run away with this man, to leave it all behind and start over in a new place—and then I remember my life, my friends, my sister Rachel…

  Suspicion grips me. “Why would you help me, after all the stuff you told me about the club and how they’ll kill us both?” I ask. “What’s in it for you?”

  “I’m just a fucking hero, I guess.”

  He’s gripping me close and I can see his pulse moving in his neck, smell his scent, and almost taste the dangerous softness of his lips. A muscle ticks in his jaw and his fingers dig deeper into the meat of my arm like claws. He looks like a beast, wild and frightening. He looks like he could eat me alive.

  And I might just enjoy it.

  A buzzing siren goes off, but it takes me a minute to realize it’s Bane’s ringtone and snap out of our staring contest.

  “Fuck,” he grunts, “It’s the vet.”

  Thank god. One more minute staring into those fathomless cold eyes and I don’t know what would have happened. Bane moves away to answer the call and give directions, and I slump onto the bed next to Jenny, my head in my hands. I’ve got to find a way out. Tonight.

  Before I succumb to the beast.

  Chapter Twelve

  The “vet” is nothing like Dr. Doolittle.

  “Hey Meat Grinder,” Bane says, clapping the vet on the shoulder and ushering him in the room. “Thanks for coming.”

  Meat Grinder is a mountain of muscles just like the D.L. Club bouncers downstairs, and he’s wearing the Death Layer Motorcycle Club patch stretched taut over his back on a ratty denim vest. Instead of New York City, the bottom rocker says New Jersey. He’s covered in tattoos with giant earplugs and a purple lip plug. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a lip plug before, definitely not a purple lip plug on a biker who also moonlights as a veterinarian. I can’t help but stare, and his enormous black eyes sweep over me.

  “What are you looking at?” He grunts.

  “N-nothing,” I stutter.

  Ignoring me, the two men move to the bed to examine Jenny, whose whimpering is growing faint. Meat Grinder’s fingers work carefully over the almost-severed paw and gashes. Bane is whispering baby talk and scratching behind Jenny’s ears. He acts like he loves that dog as much as I love my sister.

  After a tense and thorough perusal, Meat Grinder’s face is grim.

  “It’s bad, Beast,” he says.

  Bane’s forehead is perspiring and I’ve never seen the look on his face before—pleading, vulnerable. “Can you save her, Meat? Work your magic?”

  Meat doesn’t answer the question, but lifts a black briefcase on the bed and clicks it open. Inside are lots of sharp, pokey-looking metal things, bottles of drugs, and a saw. He pulls out a syringe and fills it with something clear.

  “Get me some hot water,” Meat grumbles.

  Bane frowns. “Like, tap hot or boiling hot?”

  “Boiling, man. Boiling.” Meat shoots Bane an eye roll and stabs the needle into Jenny’s haunches. She doesn’t even flinch. “She’ll be out in sixty seconds and then I’m gonna take off this paw.”

  My stomach turns. Poor dog…

  Even Bane looks a little green. “Fuck,” he groans. “Well ok, you’re the pro, whatever you say. Just don’t let her die on me. Anything else you need?” Meat shakes his head. “I’ll be right back,” Bane promises.

  Bane bolts out the door without a second glance.

  In his haste to help Jenny, Bane leaves the door swinging open, and I quickly stick out my foot out like a wedge to stop it from clicking closed again. Listening, I hear Bane’s boots clunking down the hall until they fade into the stairwell.

  Oh my god, here I am alone with an open door. This might be my last chance to bail on Death Layer Motorcycle Club.

  Biting my lip, I watch Meat Grinder working over the dog. His big hands are surprisingly steady and light as they wash up Jenny’s wounds. He’s absorbed in his task and has completely forgotten my presence in the room. Hell, why should he notice me or care? For all he knows I’m just some moony, lovesick sweetbutt following Bane around like Coco or Trinity or Tink.

  Just go, Ava.

  I only hesitate for a second. Resolved, I duck quietly out of Bane’s bedroom door, close it softly behind me, and walk casually down the hall towards the stairwell.

  Keeping my pace normal, I check over my shoulder. Meat Grinder hasn’t noticed that I
left, and no one else is around. It’s still biker playtime, and all the Death Layer members and groupies are probably busy being nefarious, watching the fights at the D.L. Club underground or drag racing their Harleys on FDR drive or whatever the fuck it is bikers do at night. I don’t know what they do. All I know is I’ve got to go.

  I head down to the familiar window on the fifth floor. I push with all my strength against the lip of the window, but it doesn’t budge. I even slam my palms against the glass, but it’s solid. There’s nothing close by to use to break it, and the edges are nailed down.

  “Shit,” I hiss.

  Stifling my rising urge to scream, I lean my forehead against the window ledge to think of my options. If Bane went to the bar for hot water, I probably only have ten minutes before he returns and realizes I’ve flown the coop. I should keep moving downstairs, further away from him. There has to be another window in the stairwell, or at the very least a ground floor exit—a door from the street. Bikers and sweetbutts are free to come and go in the building. If I play it cool and no one recognizes me, I can slip right out too.

  I sprint down the stairs, letting my momentum build as flight after flight passes by windowless. Just as I jump onto the ground floor landing, the door swings open from the front room and clips me on the chin. I’m running so fast that I can’t even stop myself to avoid the collision.

  “Fuck,” I screech, surprised. Velocity and pain fling me to the side until I slam into the cement blocks of the stairwell wall.

  “Whoa, who’s that?” asks a gravelly voice.

  Groaning, I jerk my head up to see who it is, knowing that this can’t be good for my chances.

  It’s not.

  A familiar face is leering down at me coldly. “Well if it isn’t Bane’s personal playboy bunny.” His eyes trail briefly over me, then up the stairs. “How’d you get off your leash? Don’t you know it’s unhealthy for property to get this close to the front door?”