Death Layer (The Depraved Club)

by Celia Loren

  “Holy crap...” I breathe, my memory jogged by Elliot’s enthusiasm, “Holy crap, I’ve heard people talking about this at my school.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Elliot nods, “Most of the girls who head out to The Club are college-aged. Mostly affluent types from the better schools, looking to slum it hard. I bet you even know a few girls who have already been out there.”

  A dozen overheard whispers flit through my memory. Snatches of conversation traded between girlfriends in-between classes and in the back rows of lecture halls. I never paid much attention when girls would go on about their wild weekends at The Club. But the more I think about it, the more their stories seem to match up with Elliot’s description of this biker haven.

  “If you could get yourself to that island,” Elliot says earnestly, “See for yourself what goes on there, just imagine the kind of story you could write. It would be the first of its kind, and you’re exactly the person to write it.”

  “You really want me to take this assignment?” I ask, swallowing hard. “I’m not exactly what you would call...wild, or—”

  “But that’s perfect. I wouldn’t want to send in an actual party girl, just someone who can play the role” Elliot insists. “I want you to infiltrate The Club, and the Circle of Death MC. I want you to introduce our readers to the whole outlaw biker culture. But more importantly, I want you to target one man in particular. The president of the Circle of Death: Devlin Vile.”

  Devlin Vile. The name blazes through my mind like a lick of flame. A shudder trickles down my spine, vertebra by vertebra, as I imagine what this man must be like. What he must be capable of.

  “He’s the youngest club president on record, just shy of thirty,” Elliot goes on, “Came up from absolutely nothing. And the best part is, he’s the sexiest motherfucker you’re likely to ever lay eyes on.”

  “That seems like a bit of an overstate...” I trail off as Elliot pulls up a full-body picture of our proposed target on her computer screen.

  I’m surprised my jaw doesn’t hit Elliot’s desk. Holy shit. She was not exaggerating. The man is the picture is tall, built, and utterly gorgeous. His dark, brooding features are just as sharply cut as his every defined muscle. His towering form is perfectly balanced, and every inch of skin from his neck down seems to be inked with intricate tattoos. He’s the epitome of the sexy bad boy. Unlike any man I’ve ever met in my life.

  “This is the guy you want me to...investigate, then?” I say slowly.

  “That’s right,” Elliot says, “You bring me a story about Devlin Vile’s sexy, illicit, depraved lifestyle, and you’ve got yourself a job. Not to mention a 50K starting bonus.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard that correctly,” I start. “Did you say—?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars, yes,” Elliot confirms, amused by my gobsmacked expression.

  I try and fail to wrap my head around the very idea fifty thousand dollars. That amount of money would be game changing for me. Life changing. I could clear myself of student loans forever with a single assignment. The prospect of being debt free so soon after graduating is enough to make my mouth water.

  But even if there weren’t a small fortune to be had for writing this story, I knew the second Elliot brought up the Circle of Death that I was going to end up taking it. As betrayed and hurt as I still feel by my sister’s desertion, I can’t pass up this opportunity to find her again. The possibility of seeing her again would have given me more than enough reason to take the job. And as my eyes dart back to the picture of Devlin Vile, smoldering on Elliot’s computer screen...Well, it seems all of a sudden that this decision is a no-brainer.

  “So what do you say, Logan?” Elliot asks, “Can I count you in?”

  “Could I just...have a day to think about it?” I ask nervously, “It’s a pretty big decision for me, you know?”

  “Of course,” she smiles, “Sleep on it, think it over, and get back to me as soon as you can. All right?”

  She rises from her desk and extends her hand to me. I pull myself to standing and clasp hands with her. I can feel, in this moment, that my whole could be about to change. But the question is, am I really ready for it?

  ***

  I can see my mother’s nose wrinkling the moment I set foot into the restaurant. There was no time for me to go home and change before meeting my parents for lunch. They made a reservation at a swanky Italian joint in one of Boston’s more upscale neighborhoods, and I couldn’t very well say no. They’re in town for a couple of days to see me receive my supposedly “useless” diploma, which means they’ll be expecting me to spend every spare moment showing them around Boston. I really do love my parents, don’t get me wrong. But shepherding them around the city while my mother nitpicks everything and my dad zones out is not exactly my idea of a good time.

  “I don’t know why you insist on dressing like one of those Brooklyn hippies all the time,” my mother says in way of greeting.

  “Hello to you too, Mom,” I smile tightly, sinking into the free chair at their table. “Hello there, Dad.”

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” he says amiably, giving my hand an squeeze. That’s about as affectionate we ever get in our family, truth be told. We’re not exactly the hugging sort.

  “Are you wearing jeans?” Mom asks, aghast. She looks around the restaurant, checking to see if we’ve getting the stink eye from any other diners on account of my casual attire.

  “I’m sure they won’t kick us out because of my poor taste,” I drawl, plucking up a menu and burying my nose in the wine list.

  “I hope you’re right,” Mom sighs, taking a prim sip of her sparkling water.

  “So, Logan. Are you excited for your graduation?” my father asks, smiling at me warmly. His rounded, friendly face, bespectacled eyes, and open expression put me at ease, just as they always have.

  “I’m excited to be graduated,” I allow, “It’ll be nice to finally be out in the real world.”

  “Have you found some kind of job, then?” my mother asks, downright surprised.

  “Well. I’ve received a pretty interesting offer,” I begin.

  “Interesting...” my mother echoes suspiciously, “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “On the contrary,” I reply, “It could be very good. I was just at the interview before I came to meet you. Which explains my less-than-fancy outfit, actually. I wanted to blend in the company’s aesthetic.”

  “Oh no...” my mother groans, “You’re not going to be one of those hackers, are you? Like in House of Cards? I saw that episode where they were are sitting around some dreadful office in bean bag chairs—”

  “I’m pretty sure those were bloggers, Mom,” I correct her, “And no, that’s not exactly what I’d be doing. The job I was called in for is more journalistic.”

  “Journalism!” my dad exclaims happily, “That sounds great!”

  “I’ve read that it’s a dying field,” Mom grumbles, “But do go on.”

  “Well, the place I interviewed was a publication called FootSoldier. It’s an outlet run by Advance Media.”

  “Oh, I think I’ve heard of them,” my dad nods.

  “I’m sure you have,” I reply, encouraged by his enthusiasm. “They have tons of different magazines, papers, online publications, all across the spectrum. But FootSolider is all about investigative journalism, focused on politics, culture and lifestyle. The editor is willing to let me take a crack at my first assignment right off the bat.”

  “If it requires occupying any parks or what have you, I think you should turn it down,” my mom nods sagely.

  “It doesn’t, I assure you,” I go on. “But it is definitely unlike anything I’ve ever taken on before. And if I do a good job with this first story, I’ll be officially hired. There’s a pretty big bonus attached to this first assignment, too.”

  “That’s great!” my dad says, “How big are we talking?”

  I hesitate before responding, unsure of what my parents�
� reaction might be. “It’s...uh...fifty thousand dollars.”

  A heavy moment of silence falls upon us like a slab of cement. My parents stare at me, baffled by the figure I’ve just spit out. But it only takes a second before my mom recovers.

  “Logan,” she says sternly, “That kind of money doesn’t just fall out of the sky like that. There’s no way this is a legitimate opportunity.”

  “I have to agree with your mother here,” my dad says earnestly. “It sounds like you might be falling prey to some kind of hoax, Logan.”

  “It’s not a hoax,” I say, annoyed by their condescending tone. “Do you really think I’m naive enough to get wrapped up in some kind of scam—?”

  “Well, of course you are!” my mother laughs, “You have no experience dealing with the real world, Logan. You don’t know what people are capable of. And how eager most people are to take advantage of a young, desperate girl like yourself.”

  “So now I’m desperate and an idiot?” I ask testily. “I thought you two would be happy for me. Jobs like this aren’t exactly dime-a-dozen.”

  “We’re just worried, Logan,” my father says, “We’d rather you take a job that came with a bit less risk, is all. You know, it’s not to late to start thinking about graduate school for next year, honey.”

  “You could take the year to apply, live at home with us, and get yourself on track for a real career,” my mom says. “Enough of this high-stakes blogging nonsense.”

  “This job offer you’ve been given...It just doesn’t sound right to us,” my dad goes on, “It sounds like those people are just trying to take you for a ride.”

  “You just don’t have the life experience to be able to see it,” my mom remarks, signaling for the waiter to refill her water glass. “Take it from us, dear.”

  I can practically feel the steam pouring out of my ears as I look back and forth between my parents, smiling serenely at me from across the table.

  “I don’t have the life experience?” I say slowly, my voice filled with outrage. “I’ve been taking care of myself for years. Ever since I started school. Or have you forgotten that I’ve been putting myself through college on my own?”

  “It was your choice not to study something practical,” my mom says. “You know we would have paid the way if you’d gone for math, or science—”

  “But I didn’t. I chose to study the thing I’m actually passionate about. Are you familiar with the term, passionate?” I fume.

  “Don’t take that tone with me, Logan,” my mother warns.

  “Don’t talk to me as though I’m a petulant child,” I shoot back.

  “Then stop acting like one,” she all but hisses, “And keep your voice down. We’re in public, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Why don’t we all just take a breath and order some lunch, OK?” my dad puts in, trying to play the peacekeeper. “Let us treat you to a nice meal, Logan.”

  “Sorry Dad,” I say firmly. “I seem to have lost my appetite. Besides, I wouldn’t want to go on mooching off your generosity. I think I’d better just leave you to it.”

  “You’re overreacting, Logan,” my mom sighs, “But if you must go blow off some steam, then by all means do so. We’ll see you at the ceremony tomorrow.”

  “Actually Mom, I don’t think I’ll be attending the graduation ceremony,” I say, rising to my feet. “But you two are welcome to go and have a good time.”

  “Why are you doing this?” my mom hisses. “Why can’t you just show us a little bit of respect, Logan?”

  “Because you can’t seem to show me any in return,” I say sadly. “Maybe, once I’ve shown you that I can take care of myself and do what I love, you’ll start to see what I’m made of. But honestly, Mom, I’m not holding my breath. Enjoy your lunch.”

  I turn away from my parents and hurry away from their table. The last thing I want is for them to see the disappointed, frustrated tears that stream down my cheeks. Nothing I’ve done has ever been good enough for them, but I honestly thought that this job might finally be the thing to impress them. Maybe even convince them that I’m as determined and intelligent as they always hoped I would be. I guess that was just more empty, wishful thinking.

  Boston is absolutely packed with happy families in the midst of graduation festivities. I pick my way through the boisterous, smiling groups as I walk back to my apartment, unable to hold back my tears. I’d give anything to have a whole, supportive, loving family. A group that always had my back, no matter what. Maybe Juliet had the right idea, seeking one out somewhere else.

  By the time I finally make it back to my apartment, I feel like I’ve been hit by a wrecking ball. Emma is out gallivanting with her artsy friends for the afternoon, so the apartment is totally empty. I glance around at the threadbare space, listening to the muffled city sounds filtering through the walls. I don’t think I’ve ever left this lonely in my life. With no one around to see me, I sink onto the dusty hardwood floor and have the good, honest cry that’s been building up for longer than I care to admit.

  I don’t know how much time goes by before I feel like I can solider on. By my tears have been of the restorative type, it would seem. By the time I rise shakily to my feet once more, I’ve come to a decision. I’m not going to let doubt or uncertainty hold me back any longer. So what if I don’t have a support system holding me up? That’s not going to stop me from stepping out onto the high wire any longer...no matter how risky and downright insane that might be.

  With steely determination, I sit myself down in front of my laptop and compose a new email to Elliot Simmons.

  Hi Elliot,

  It was really wonderful meeting you this afternoon. I’m so thrilled that you called me in discuss a position at FootSoldier. I know I told you that I’d like the day to think about your offer, but a few hours have been plenty. I’d be happy to accept my first assignment—the story we discussed this morning—and will begin working on it immediately. Thank you again for giving me this incredible opportunity. You won’t regret it, I promise you.

  Sincerely,

  Logan Farrah

  I’ve only just hit send and stood up from my desk when a response from Elliot comes whizzing into my inbox.

  Logan,

  Fantastic news. Glad to have you with us. Go ahead and start your preliminary research at once. You’ll have all the resources you need from FootSoldier along the way, that I can assure you. You’re going to do a great job—let me know if you have any questions.

  Cheers,

  E.S.

  You’re going to do a great job. I read those words over and over again. Encouragement is such an unfamiliar concept to me that it almost feels like a foreign language. But no more moping about that. I’ve got work to do.

  I spend the rest of the evening combing through my classmates’ social media pages, university forums, and obscure chatrooms, searching for ways into The Club. It’s surprisingly easy to figure out which of my college acquaintances have been there before. In no time, I stumble upon a Facebook exchange between a few well-off girls who lived in my freshman year dorm. Their ringleader, a girl named Kari, seems hell-bent on visiting The Club, and is trying to talk her friends Ani and Brie into coming along. Bingo.