Death Layer (The Depraved Club)

by Celia Loren

  My throat has gone dry. “Smokey,” I croak.

  Can’t say I’m happy to see him; his huge body is blocking the exit, penning me in to the stairwell. I can only go back up, or down. And I don’t like the idea of being alone with him in an empty stairwell.

  “L-listen,” I stutter, “I was just looking for Bane–”

  “You don’t need to tell me where you were going, I can see it in your eyes. Getting frisky, looking for some big dick to stick in your ass. Bane isn’t enough for you, I know. You were looking for this.”

  He unhooks the top button on the fly of his jeans and I take a reflexive step back up a stair.

  “No, Smokey, I-I-I–”

  “I-I-I,” he cuts me off, mocking my brittle tone. “You talk too much, bunnyrabbit. We have some unfinished business, you and me.” Smokey’s fists close over my wrists and he pulls me back to his level and spins me around, slamming my belly and face into the hard cement wall. “Bane’s too soft on you, but I’m gonna work you over till you can’t walk.”

  “No, Smokey stop! Let go of me! Get off!”

  He’s got me pinned against the wall with his body and I can feel his hot breath tickling my ear. He smells of whiskey and cigarettes.

  “You’re just a bag of bones for a man to fuck.” Smokey’s voice is cruel. “That’s your job here, and I’m gonna fuck you this time good and hard.”

  “No! Let go! Let go of me! Help! Somebody help me!”

  When I thrash against him he pressures his torso into me, squeezing me, and I feel my ribs closing in. I can’t breathe.

  “Please, stop!” I gasp. “Help me! Help!”

  “Help me!” He throws his head back and shouts, laughing derisively. “Help me!”

  The sound of our voices echoes through the stairwell and dies.

  Smokey’s cold eyes return to me. “See? There’s nobody around, bunny. Who’s gonna help a little slut like you?”

  “That’s not what I am!”

  He spins me around so that my back is against the wall and my breasts and belly are smothered by Smokey’s abdomen. With one hand he fights down my clawing nails and with the other he slaps me across the face, hard. Gasping, I put a trembling hand to my mouth. When I pull it away, I see blood.

  “You are if I say you are, you feisty bitch,” Smokey laughs. “I say you’re a slut. You’re my slut now. Let’s see if that red hair of yours really is natural. Does the carpet match the drapes?”

  Smokey’s fingers are groping around my groin and lifting the skirt of the stupid lingerie Bane dressed me in today.

  “Stop!”

  I frantically try to push the cloth back down, but Smokey slams his body into mine and crushes me between him and the wall. The impact knocks the air out of me and makes my skull buzz. Just for the hell of it, he rips my body away from the wall and slams it back a second time until my bones are reverberating like a pinball.

  “Smokey, no. Stop, please!” I’m coughing up the words, my entire body shaking. “Help! Help me!”

  “The more you fight it the more I like it.”

  “No! Help me!” I scream.

  He slaps me across the face again and pushes his hand over my mouth, gagging me. I try to pry his fingers off but can’t. I bite down as hard as I can into his skin but his grip doesn’t let up, even when I taste blood. He’s too strong. Tears of rage and fear are streaming down my face as he fumbles with the rest of the buttons on his fly.

  This is it.

  Suddenly we’re sliding sideways to the floor. There’s nothing for me to grab for a hold and my arms aren’t free to break my fall onto the stairs. I land with a cry of pain as my head smacks the rim of a stair and I slide down the steps, bumping to a halt in a painful spread-eagle at the next landing. My legs are above me on the stairs and my body is twisted below like a broken pretzel.

  I’m so dazed from the fall that it takes me a second to realize that Smokey’s bodyweight hasn’t followed me down the stairs. He isn’t on top of me. He isn’t next to me.

  I let my body crumple in a painful ball for a minute. Rolling to my side, I use my arms to push up to sitting. Wooziness washes over me, and I have to grip the railing of the stairs to stay steady. Gradually I become aware of thumping and scuffling and cursing above me. Once the dizzy spell passes, I look up to the first floor.

  Two men are fighting, and I recognize Smokey and Bane. Smokey kicks Bane in the groin, sending him careening into the open door. While Bane tries to regain his balance, Smokey reaches into a holster and draws out a Glock.

  “Bane!”

  My voice is small but shrill and Bane locks his attention on the gun. He lunges forward just in time, punching at Smokey’s jaw and wrestling his gun hand off course just as he fires a shot. I scream and Bane roars.

  “Son of a bitch,” Bane shouts. “You’re dead!”

  Smokey’s unbuttoned pants have slipped down his thighs, and he stumbles. It’s just enough advantage, and Bane shoves Smokey to the ground. Straddling over Smokey’s chest, Bane punches at his gun hand until he finally loses his hold on the weapon.

  But Bane doesn’t stop there. His fists are flying, and both men are grunting with focus or pain. The ferocity of Bane’s blows makes me flinch.

  “Bane!”

  He can’t hear me over the thick low sounds of impact. The expression on his face is terrifying, a mask of cold and resolved judgment. Bane’s hitting so hard that blood is spattering on the walls around him.

  “Bane! You’ll kill him.”

  He is killing him, I realize. He means to.

  “Bane!”

  My god, I have to stop him, don’t I? Sure I think the world would be way better off without a slimy rapist bastard like Smokey…but murder?

  “Bane, don’t kill him!”

  I can’t let Bane commit a heinous crime for me. I can’t let him; I can’t owe him that. It’s too much.

  Using the railing as a guideline, I pull myself up and start to crawl and climb up the stairs one step at a time. All the time I hear the beating ahead of me. My jaw, neck and sacrum are throbbing and I’m pretty sure I at least sprained my ankle. Every movement hurts.

  “Bane! Stop! Please.”

  But he doesn’t stop. It takes me too long to crawl upstairs. I reach the first floor landing and am only an arm’s length away from the men. I have to look away from the sight of Smokey’s bloodied face, battered beyond recognition. Somewhere along the line, Smokey has stopped moving. It doesn’t look like he’s breathing. It doesn’t look like he’s alive.

  “Fuck.”

  The world slips out from under me as my stomach spasms and I force myself to look away from the gruesome sight. It’s the second violently dead body I’ve seen in two days…I’ve only been here two days, but I feel like I’ve aged ten years.

  Trying to regain my composure and my breath, I lean my forehead against the railing of the stairs. I stare at the dark swirl of the staircase disappearing below like the interior of a shell, curling in on itself in a Fibonacci spiral. How many stories deep is the Death Layer Motorcycle Club’s house of horror? The D.L. Club is down there somewhere, and the cold clinical holding area and the slaves. How deep does it go?

  Deep as hell.

  I’m in deep, deep shit. My stomach is still heaving even though it’s totally empty, and I’m full on hyperventilating now, clutching the railing for dear life.

  Bane seems to finally remember that I’m here. He stops punching Smokey’s body and sits back on his haunches, panting. He wipes his bloody hands on Smokey’s shirt and kneels, reaching over to me.

  Strong arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me into his lap, wrapping my trembling body in his. My head is tucked onto his chest and he’s resting his chin on the top of my head, his arms gathering my legs and shoulders against him in a ball. He’s warm and solid.

  “Shhh,” he whispers, rocking me. “You’re ok. It’s ok.” I feel his lips press into my hair. “You’re ok. You’re a crazy, suicidal, stubborn p
ain the ass. But you’re ok.”

  I take a shuddering breath and wipe my eyes, looking up at him. “It’s not ok,” I gulp. “Nothing is ok.”

  Our gazes lock and the dark fog lifts from his eyes. He sighs. “You should have listened to me, Red. Now look at this mess.”

  My belly goes cold. “Are you saying this is my fault?! You just killed Smokey, not me!”

  “God damn it, of course it’s your fault!”

  “What the fuck are you saying—that I asked for it? That I asked for this?”

  Bane’s face contorts. “I leave you alone for two seconds and—actually, you know what, I take it back. It is my fault for thinking you had enough of a brain to not go kamikaze again and make my life even more of a clusterfuck. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but this isn’t the Ritz Carlton here. You can’t just waltz past the front desk! There are fucking consequences!”

  “You’re right,” I say sarcastically. “Wow. Why didn’t I see it before? I should have just given up on the idea that I’m an actual human being and become your fucking property. I’ll just fold up my brain and self respect and just belong to you, how’s that?”

  “For fuck’s sake! You saw what they did to Jenny: that was no accident. It was a message. We’re next.” Bane glances at Smokey’s corpse. “Now, we’re definitely next.”

  Instinctively, I curl my fingers into Bane’s t-shirt, scared and small. My brain is whirling. “You didn’t have to kill him!”

  “I’ve killed for less.”

  We stare at each other and a shiver works down my spine. I believe him. In spite of myself, I realize I always believe him. If he says his club could kill us, he must mean it.

  I study his handsome, hardened face and feel what I felt before—that this man is capable of anything he sets his mind to. He’s intelligent, fast, and ruthless. He can be, in his own way, kind. He can certainly kill.

  How many has he killed?

  Bane is studying me too, and a smile quirks at the corner of Bane’s mouth. “You look like a drowned rat,” he says. “Can you walk?”

  With surprising speed, he stands to his feet and pulls me up beside him, supporting me. We try a few steps but my ankle can’t support my weight.

  “Figures,” Bane mutters, and again sweeps me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  That is how we arrive back at his room, nine flights later. Meat Grinder is still at the bed, now stitching up Jenny’s side. He doesn’t even bother looking up at us as Bane marches straight past him into the bathroom.

  Bane shuts and locks the bathroom door behind us, then sets me down on the sink. He reaches his arms around me to wash his hands and open the medicine cabinet. I watch his movements as he gets out a bottle of alcohol and cotton balls and dabs them over his cracked knuckles.

  “Motherfucker, that stings,” he hisses.

  He’s efficient and thorough, even more so once he turns to me. Starting with my banged ankle, he works up my legs and cleans up my scratches until he comes to my face. Our eyes meet briefly before his attention flickers to my cut lip. Anger clouds his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he grunts. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

  Startled by this, I don’t know what to say. That’s the first time he’s apologized to me, and he really means it. I just stare into those fathomless black-brown eyes, more curious than ever about this man. He cups my face in his hands and grimaces as he rubs the cotton over the cut on the side of my mouth.

  “Ah!” I gasp.

  “Right?” he mouths absently. “Stings like a motherfucker. There, good as new.”

  He tosses the used cotton in the trash and turns back to me. He’s standing between my legs and I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He cups his hands around my chin and his thumbs trace along my jaw line toward my lips. The rough touch of his calloused hands raises goose bumps all over my skin—those hands that have just beaten a man to death. Bane’s intense eyes are burning me alive.

  “Hey. Why haven’t you told me your name?” Bane’s voice is gruff and soft.

  I don’t know what I expected him to say right now, but that was not it. I bite my lip, fighting tears. “What?”

  He frowns at me. “Is it that you think if I don’t know your name, you’re not really here?”

  For fuck’s sake, he really can read my thoughts. It’s creepy.

  I nod slowly. “Something like that.”

  “I’m stuck here too,” he says. “You know my name. That’s not exactly fair.”

  I laugh at the ridiculousness of this logic and give him a wry look. “Fair? Really? That’s your argument?”

  His smile stretches until he has dimples. “Look, after Smokey, neither of our lives is worth a whole lot here. They’ll know it was me, and there will be a vote and a punishment, and I’ll be out of favor for good. That’s why we’ve got to be smart and we’ve got to plan and get out, together. I gotta get out, and I can’t leave you here alone. This is the time. New names, new papers, and a new life.”

  Heart hammering, I search his eyes.

  “You’re serious,” I realize. “You’ll actually help me escape?”

  The dimples deepen, maddeningly charming. “No, darlin’, I’m gonna save my own ass and throw you in for good luck.”

  The hope that rips through my guts is almost painful, and I can’t quite bring myself to trust it. “Why? Why me? Why not one of your girlfriends?”

  Bane’s eyes flash but his gaze is steady. “Jealous, Red?” I stare back, evenly. Bane laughs. “Shit. Let’s just say saving your life is becoming a little hobby of mine.”

  “I’m not fucking around. Answer me, why?”

  His smile and his hands drop and his face scrunches, almost pained. “How can you ask me that?” I frown, not sure what he means, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “Jesus. Fine. Just tell me, are you in or out?”

  Terrified my chance at escape will disappear, I almost shout, “In!”

  Bane nods but looks suddenly tired. “Alright. I’ve got a contact can make us new passports: help us start over. Might as well tell me your name before I change it.”

  His hands cup my chin again and I close my eyes against the rush of confused sensation. “Why does it matter?”

  “I want to say it.” His voice is a whisper. His thumbs slide away from my lips, down my throat to caress my collarbone. “I want to say your name when I touch you.”

  “Bane—”

  “I want to say your name so you know that I know that you’re a person, and that you don’t belong to me. Alright?”

  Stunned, I blink into his face. It’s strained with some kind of emotion. His hands slide over my shoulders, down my arms.

  “I want to say your name,” he says, “So that when I touch you, you know that I know I’m not just taking what’s mine.” His fingers close around my side ribs, framing my breasts. “You’re not like the others. And neither am I. When I touch you I’m asking you something, Red. Don’t you know that?”

  He leans closer, his breath rushing over my lips. I can smell his scent and see every coarse hair of his five o’clock shadow. My heart is pounding.

  “Answer my question, Red. You know what I’m asking.”

  I know exactly what he’s asking. I know what he wants. But I lie. I avert my eyes from his all-knowing gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bane.”

  His grip tightens on my ribs. “Yes you do. Tell me your name.”

  “No.”

  “Dammit, Red.”

  He shakes me until I have to grab onto his shoulders for steadiness. The shock of touching him, of feeling his hands gripping so firmly under my breasts, is like a fucking lightning bolt straight to my groin. But he’s being too rough, and I’m scared.

  “Please, don’t, Bane.”

  I can’t handle this right now. It’s too much, right after Smokey.

  As soon as my palms land pleadingly on Bane’s chest he freezes, catching himself. His eyes sear into mine, hungry an
d hurt, but then his expression softens.

  “Jesus,” he groans. “I’m sorry. You’re making me nuts, woman.” He leans his forehead against mine and sighs. “I’m sorry.” He pulls his face back and plants a long, warm kiss on my forehead. “I’m sorry.” His lips brush my cheek, silky and tender. “I’m sorry.”

  His mouth is moving toward mine. A new kind of fear grips me and with a gasp I turn my face away.

  “No.”

  It’s a tiny little word, but an important one—like a magic spell that reveals a person’s character. With Smokey, it didn’t work. With Bane, it stops time and cracks the space wide open between us. His body is still just as close to me as the moment before, his lips still resting against my deflecting cheek. But I feel him leave.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Slowly, he extracts his body from mine until he steps back from the sink, watching me, and I can see the desire on his face and in the bulge in his pants.

  I am confused, hungry and scared, shaken and aroused. I can’t move towards him, but I want to. A kiss still hangs in the air between us but neither of us reaches for it.

  Bane shakes his head. “It’s too bad,” he says. “I know you want me, too.”

  Just then, there’s a knock on the door.

  “Bane?” Meat Grinder’s voice is serious. “You’ve got some company out here.”

  Bane rubs his hands over his face and shouts back, “Yup, been expecting them!” He turns back to me with a grim expression. “Fucking consequences, Red.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bane and I are standing in the office where this all started for me: Jack Keller’s den in the underground D.L. Club. I can hear screams and moans from the drug, sex, and fighting dungeons just down the hall. The room is dense with sweat and suspense.

  Six patch-wearing officers of the Death Layer Motorcycle Club are sitting in smoking chairs or leaning against the absurd brocade wallpaper and bookshelves. Their faces are as serious as a heart attack, just the way Mr. King used to look at Skollz Corp board meetings. Only instead of smart phones, these guys all have guns.

  I’m shivering in spite of the high temperature. My lacy lingerie dress is torn and pathetic, but feels somehow appropriate. No one is paying much attention to me anyway, like I’m just another piece of furniture or something. Anyway, it’s not so much the exposure that has me shaking; it’s just plain old fear.