Death Layer (The Depraved Club)

by Celia Loren

  I try to gasp the word, “Please,” but can’t make sound, can’t even cough.

  I feel my blouse come off in shreds. The fly to my jeans opens and I feel big fingers fumbling with the waistband.

  “Yup, she’s a natural alright,” someone laughs.

  “Let’s see,” Jack grunts. “Easy! Don’t kill her, jackass.”

  Air. Air. No air. The last thing I feel is the tug of my pants being removed as the darkness takes me under.

  My eyes crack open a notch and I look up, but the view makes me dizzy and confused. All I can see is a concrete floor disappearing under the rhythmic stride of large feet. I’m swinging like a doll, face-to-face with the backside of some beat-up leather pants.

  It takes me a minute to process that I’m slung over one of the giant bouncer’s shoulders and that we’re walking down a long, dark hallway. Jack and the other bouncer are behind us. I notice drains in the floor. Drains…for draining what? The place looks like a bunker or dormitory, utilitarian. There are no windows.

  I raise a limp arm to brush my swollen cheekbone, which hurts like hell, and then slide my hand up the length of my body, which I realize is not in any pain. Grimacing, my hand reaches my hips and I sigh in relief. Thank god, I’m still wearing my underwear. And bra. It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough to reduce my violent shaking to a subtler trembling.

  Don’t worry, Jack’s voice echoes in my head, we’ll save the touchy stuff for the Beast.

  Nope, I lied; the violent shaking is back. What the hell is the beast? As my carrier’s footsteps slow, I have a sinking feeling that I’m about to find out.

  I realize there is a small entourage around me: Jack, the bouncer carrying me, a couple of other guys. They’re all wearing heavy boots and guns. We grind to a stop outside a door at the end of the hallway, knock once, and then the bouncer dude kicks the door open because apparently that’s easier for him than using the knob or waiting for someone to open it.

  “Jesus Christ!” curses a voice from inside the room.

  We spill in like a tidal wave, crowding the darkness. It smells like sweat and sex and leather and man. Someone trips the switch and light stings my eyes. I squint. The bouncer swings me down off his shoulder but my legs are too wobbly to trust. Collapsing in a small puddle on the floor, I blink until I can take in the scene.

  There’s a man lying naked in bed—at least he was lying naked in bed until the ruckus roused him. Now he’s sitting half-up with a shotgun cradled over his forearm pointed our way. There’s an empty bottle of Jameson rolling between his legs.

  I do a double-take. He looks so much like Ryan Reynolds that I have trouble convincing myself that it’s not actually Ryan Reynolds. Shoot, after this evening anything seems possible. Why wouldn’t Ryan Reynolds be here? But this guy’s face and body are harder than a movie star’s, more dangerous. Dark tattoos blossom and twist all over his rippling forearms and torso, and down one leg.

  There are two women in bed on either side of him, also naked, their faces groggy.

  I have just enough time to zero in on the sight of his enormous, exposed cock before I feel hot shame rush to my face and pointedly avert my gaze. As soon as I do, I wish I hadn’t: I see Jack and company with their own guns drawn, faces full of menacing smirks.

  I’m in the middle of a fucking western or something. Only these aren’t cowboys.

  “Shit,” laughs the man in bed. A lazy and long-suffering smile relaxes his face as he groans, setting down his gun. “Doesn’t anyone just txt anymore?”

  “Conversation time, Bane.”

  “What the fuck you want, Jack? I was kind of occupied.”

  “I can see that. Party’s over.” Jack nods at his entourage and they all put away their guns. With a grin he acknowledges the women in bed. “Trinity, Coco, beat it.”

  The two women scramble to their feet, revealing tight gorgeous bodies and rumpled sex hair. Their gazes flit over me with something like hostility. They reach for their discarded clothes, but Bane has grabbed his gun again and caulks it, firing a shot into the ceiling and bathing us in a shower of plaster chips.

  A scream of panic escapes my lips and the women freeze. The other men whip out their guns again and everyone tenses.

  “Now hold up one minute!” Shouts Bane. His lazy smile is gone, a cold mask in its place. The change in demeanor is fast and startling. “Where’re your fucking manners, Jack? This is my room. I don’t care if you are the fucking club prez, Czar of Persia, or my mother may she rest in peace. The girls stay until I ask them to go. My room, my rules.”

  Jack’s eyes narrow to lethal slits. “You’re gonna want to pick your battles more carefully, brother,” he says. His voice is dangerously soft as he turns the barrel of his handgun toward the beautiful black woman’s chest. “Trinity, Coco, OUT! Now.”

  Long seconds draw out as the women look at the guns, at me, at Jack. He and Bane are having a staring contest—or pissing contest, hard to say.

  “Ladies,” Bane grunts eventually. “Guess we’re about finished for tonight. Classes resume tomorrow. Better scram.”

  A ruthless grin lifts the corner of Jack’s mouth, and the drawn guns are tucked away. There is total silence as the women nab their clothes, glaring at me. As they make for the door Jack grabs the black woman and licks her neck, resting his gun between her legs.

  “Wait for me outside, Trinity,” he orders with a leer.

  Bane’s expression clouds but he says nothing.

  With another dark look in my direction, the women hustle the fuck out. The door bounces shut behind them, and there’s a long pause as the men continue to stare each other down.

  After an interminable moment, Bane laughs to himself and shakes his head.

  “I’ve always said you were a cock block, Jack,” drawls Bane. He deliberately sets the shotgun down on the mattress beside him and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. All this time, he hasn’t bothered to cover his dick. He shifts in bed, stretching his hips out long and folding his arms nonchalantly behind his head. Try as I might, I can’t keep my eyes off of him. “Now,” he rumbles, “What the hell was so goddamn urgent?”

  “It’s time, Bane.” Jack’s hands are on his hips. “I’ve been more than patient with your conscientious objection bullshit. Yesterday’s vote made it official: we’re all in. The D.L. club is the MC’s main pipeline now. I want you beside me.”

  “Fuck, Jack,” Bane groaned. “That all? Look, I know I’m outvoted and I’m cooperating. I help you with the elimination matches. What more do you want?”

  “Harmony, that’s all. This transition has been bumpy for you and me, so I brought you a little peace offering. Some new property for you, all yours to test-drive, she’s untouched.”

  At that moment, it’s as if Bane notices me for the first time. His eyes snap onto me, sweep over my mostly naked body and bore into my horrified eyes with the precision and speed of a professional. Though the inspection only lasts a millisecond, I feel certain he hasn’t missed a single scrap of a detail about me: my new black eye, the uncontrollable shaking head to toe, and my sister’s borrowed pearl necklace that I am somehow still wearing.

  “Oh, no.” Bane jerks upright in bed, his laughter taking on an edge. He lights himself a cigarette. “No, no, no. No you don’t. What are you, fucking trolling college campuses now? Fuck, man! Did you just pluck her out of Whole Foods? She’s a fucking yuppie WASP and someone’s definitely gonna look for her. This is stupid.”

  “This is our business.”

  “No. D.L. is our business. I’ll fight the matches. That’s it. This is my line, Jack. I’m not crossing it.”

  Jack watches Bane nonchalantly blow a cloud of smoke into the air. A muscle ticks in his jaw. When he speaks his voice is measured. “You swore an oath to the club, Bane. This is the club’s business now. Get on board.”

  “Yeah, I swore an oath to the Death Layer MC.” Bane’s jaw sets and his eyes darken like he wants to murder someone. He snuffs his cigare
tte out on an ashtray with a vengeance. “That didn’t involve the sex trade. Your presidency doesn’t extend over my dick, Keller. I fuck who I want to fuck.”

  “You’re a member of this club. Get with the program, or the Beast is out.”

  This brings Bane to his feet and he is eye to eye with Jack, naked as the sun and every muscle clenched. “I don’t do slaves. End of story.”

  “Don’t think of her as a slave, more like property.”

  “I want no part of this.”

  “Are you trying to make me question your loyalty?”

  “I want no part of this, Jack. I’ve got strong feelings about this. You know that.”

  “Next time we sit down to talk about feelings with our teddy bears and mommies, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Jack snaps his fingers and the giant bouncers lift me to my feet and toss me on Bane’s bed. I land with a whimper and instinctively curl up into a ball, trembling violently. The sheets still smell of sex and booze—and man.

  “Jesus Christ,” Bane explodes, his voice dripping with venom. “What, you want me to rape her in front of you? Is that your new definition of brotherhood?”

  I feel a dip on the mattress and hands on my hair as my head is jerked up. Both my hands clutch at the arm that’s lifting me, scratching with my nails. I throw my weight in every direction I can think of.

  “No!” I cry, sobbing. “Please!”

  “Knock it off.” Bane hisses. He gives me a harsh shake, jarring my aching head. “Fuck, now I’m bleeding. Great.”

  Bane is kneeling beside me, displaying my face to the room. His hands are rough in my hair and the sinews of his forearms are achingly close. My body goes cold, then hot, as I realize that I am inches away from probably two hundred pounds of naked, powerful, seething testosterone.

  And there’s no possible escape.

  As he looks at me, his mouth flattens into a thin line. He doesn’t look at all pleased.

  “She’s just a kid,” Bane grunts. “Terrified. This make you hard, Jack, you sick son of a bitch? Huh?”

  Inevitably, my eyes flit back to his naked groin and I swallow, reddening. Taking a deep breath, I look up and meet his eyes. There’s a flash of something that passes between us, though I can’t say what. But neither of us looks away and he cocks his head to the side, studying me.

  Something lights in his eyes, a question? His mouth opens. He pulls me imperceptibly closer and frowns down at me, as if reconsidering, and I shudder to my very core.

  My body responds to his proximity in spite of my terror and fear, an explosion of heat radiating between my legs against my will. I can’t understand it—I am so turned on. More frightened than I have ever been, yes, but somehow aroused. I can feel his breath on the side of my face. He’s all muscle, cut and wiry. Instinct tells me he knows how to use every inch of that body of his. My heart is pounding so hard that I can hear it in my ears.

  Bane must be able to hear it too.

  Maybe that’s why he grimaces at me in disgust.

  “Call me old-fashioned, Jack,” he rumbles with finality, “But I like it consensual. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

  A confusingly toxic cocktail of relief, apprehension, adrenaline and rejection wash through me. I feel myself slump a little in Bane’s hold, completely exhausted. Deflated.

  Jack crosses his arms and shrugs. “You saying you don’t want her? Should I take her back downstairs to D.L.? She’s just the type our upper crust clientele would eat alive. Can’t let fresh pussy go to waste.”

  Bane sighs and pushes my head back down. I teeter onto my side, my face inches away from his thighs. I can’t seem to move, frozen with fear. He sits on his haunches beside me, raking a hand through his hair.

  “Shit!” Bane shouts.

  Jack grins.

  When Bane straightens again, an accusing finger is pointed at Jack. “She’s my property, I do want I want with her. That’s the deal, right? Club rules.”

  Jack nods slowly. “Long as she stays with the MC. No heroics, asshole.”

  “Up yours.” Bane’s lazy grin is back. “You win this one. I’ll keep her.” I stare up at him through my mess of hair, and catch his gaze as it flits over me. He licks his lips. “But I do what I want with her,” Bane asserts, “And no one else touches her. Got it?”

  Jack grunts. “Fair enough.”

  “Fine. Thanks so very much for the present, daddy. Now get the fuck out of my room.”

  As he ambles out, Jack winks at me. “Red, meet the Beast. Good luck.”

  There is a chorus of laughter from the men as they shuffle out the door. It sends a chill down my spine. Bane stands and slams the door behind them, and I get a view of his backside.

  He’s got a tight ass and muscled thighs that I’d admire under any normal circumstances, but it’s the hellish tattoo scrawled over his back that grabs my attention and sends a spiral of fear through my belly. “Death Layer” is scrawled in black ink across his shoulders, a huge flaming devil’s head and crossed guns image underneath. The letters “MC” are off to the side next to a black diamond with “1%” inside. Across his lower back are the words “New York City.”

  The gears click together in my brain, finally. I’ve seen Sons of Anarchy; this is a fucking biker gang. Sweet baby Jesus.

  “You had to get involved,” Bane is muttering to himself. He bangs his forehead lightly against the door. “Biker with the heart of gold. Dipshit. Jesus fucking Christ. Now I’m a fucking babysitter.”

  He turns, crosses his arms, and slides his eyes all over me. There’s something clinical and cold about the way he looks at me.

  “You got a name?” He demands. “Or shall I just call you Red too?”

  My heart is hammering again, this time in my throat. My bra and underwear do nothing to protect me from that all-seeing, assessing gaze of his. I can’t read his eyes.

  “Great,” he says, throwing his hands up in the air. “And she’s dumb as a post. What the hell am I gonna do with you? I don’t like useless pets.”

  He chuckles at that. The sound is startling and deep and sends a spike of sensation to my groin. My palms grow sweaty with confused panic, lust, and desperation.

  “Well miss, we don’t really have a choice here do we. Outmaneuvered. You’re stuck—I’m stuck. We might as well make this pleasant if we can. I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that.”

  Bane “the Beast” takes a step towards me.

  Oh fuck.

  What now? Unable to think, I scramble back toward the wall and feel my fingers close around something hard.

  It’s the shotgun.

  Chapter Seven

  Bane laughs at me. “Just what do you think you’re going to do with that?”

  In answer, I unlock the safety. It’s been like, never since I’ve shot a gun, but I’m willing to start now. I balance the barrel between my knees.

  Bane reads the message of my eyes loud and clear. “Don’t be fucking stupid,” he warns. “I just might change my mind about helping you.”

  “Helping me?!” The bitterness creeps into my voice against my will.

  “Whoa, it speaks.” He pretends to jump in surprise, and then leans against the door with a mocking laugh. “You know, a little gratitude wouldn’t kill you! I just saved your sorry bony ass from a fate worse than death, and possibly including death. I’m your fucking knight in shining armor. You’re welcome.”

  I glare at him. “Jury’s still out on that, thanks.” I bite out through chattering teeth.

  His muscles are like a coiled spring ready to pounce as his gaze flits over the business end of the gun. “That so?” A predatory grin curls on his lips. “What’s your plan, princess?”

  “I’ll shoot you if you come any closer.”

  “Doubt it. You don’t have the balls.”

  He thrusts his hips teasingly at me and I find myself staring at his cock again. Reddening, I blink away. He grins at me, obviously proud of himself. His casual ease and com
plete disregard for his own nakedness are jarring to my scrambled senses. My flaming cheeks are now uncomfortably hot, but I clutch the gun tighter. He grimaces.

  “You’re not thinking,” Bane continues. “If you shoot me, then you’re not my property anymore and I can’t be your babysitter, can I? They’ll pass you off to someone else, someone who maybe isn’t as much of a gentleman as I am. Maybe someone like Jack.”

  He registers my shudder and nods.

  “Now I know you only just met Mr. Keller,” Bane elaborates, “But you maybe picked up on the fact that our boy Jack doesn’t share my scruples about human trafficking. Or consensual sex.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face and hands. I’m just one large blob of adrenaline with a speeding heart rate.

  “Gee,” I manage, “You’re a regular feminist aren’t you?”

  Bane squints at me, eyes glittering. “Let me break it down to small parts so you can understand, princess. Without me you’ll wind up smack dab in the middle of the D.L. club chained to a fence or inside a cage with a one-way door. Is that what you want? Red?”

  A long silence stretches out. The reality of my predicament is starting to sink in, as well as the fact that I’ve got nothing but some biker’s account of himself and his world to cling to for safety. He said he wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole. He said he doesn’t do slaves.

  Yet here I am.

  So…why the hell should I believe him?

  “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he grunts, as if answering my thoughts. “Not the worst deal for you but fuck if I’m pleased.”

  Something about the menacing way he says that coupled with the small step he takes in my direction freaks me out enough that my trigger finger twitches ever so slightly.

  It’s enough. There’s a popping sound and I scream, but for some reason the shotgun doesn’t actually fire. Bane dives at me, swearing, his body slamming me backward and crashing my bones into the hard mattress.

  “No!” I wail, thrashing.

  “Fucking moron!” He bellows.

  He’s on top of me, his naked skin pressed against mine, and he wrestles me until we are both sweating and breathless. I am pinned to the bed, completely prone beneath him.