Death Layer (The Depraved Club) (16 page)

I process this quickly and point to Blair, comprehension
dawning. “You’re cousins?”

“Yup.” She pops another bubble with her gum, grinning.
“Blair Davies, forger extraordinaire. I got all the good genes and brains, as
you can see. All that was left for loser here was brute strength.”

“Right,” Bane smirks. “Which is how I just earned us both an
early retirement, and don’t you forget it. Fight money, Red. Good old-fashioned
bets on a boxing match. Isn’t it beautiful?” Bane rises to his feet, patting
the leather satchel filled with cash as he slings it over his shoulder. He
glares at Blair. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I’m smiling, a bit dumbfounded. “You guys look nothing
alike.”

“That’s cuz Bane’s ugly,” Blair says, sticking out her
tongue and laughing.

Bane rolls his eyes. “It’s cuz your Mom’s ugly.”

Blair kicks him again, prompting a moment of horseplay.
Clearly they never got over being seven. It ends when Blair kicks Bane sharply
on the shinbone.

“Ow!”

“Shh!” I say, noticing that the guy behind the counter is
staring. “Wait, though. Isn’t going to your Dad’s a little obvious? I mean,
isn’t that the first place they’ll look?”

“Nah, Bane’s Daddy don’t exist on paper,” Blair says
cryptically. “At least not on real paper. He’s off the grid. No birth
certificate, no nothing. Not even on Bane’s birth certificate.”

I frown. “How is that possible?” Neither answer me.
“Seriously, how? Is he, like, a pirate? Does he have a time machine and he’s
here from the past? How do you not have an ID?”

Bane and Blair exchange a look that says ‘it’s not worth
it,’ and Bane checks his watch.

“Yeah, well, I’ll explain later.” Bane grunts. “I hate to
bust up this little family reunion, but Blair’s got to get her ass moving and
make those IDs. Stat! And you and I have some loose ends to tie up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Blair waves her hand. “Piece of cake. Just, I
need a passport photo of your lady friend. Stand right there, sweetie.”

She moves me in front of a section of white wall and holds
up her iPhone. “Smile real pretty. One, two, three.” She peers at her screen
and wrinkles her nose. “It looks just awful enough to be real, no offense.”

She holds it up for me to see and I laugh. There are dark
circles under my eyes from the fading bruises and my coppery hair is a mess,
flowing in all directions like Medusa. It looks uncannily like my real passport
photo.

“You have a talent,” I tell Blair.

“Yup,” she says. “Ok, that’s all I need from you creeps,
I’ll touch this photo up a bit to get rid of the bruises so it doesn’t look
like we took the picture today. The rest is up to butthead here.” She elbows
Bane as she walks past him. “Tell Crisp hi for me!”

“Wait,” Bane calls, halting Blair from her fast track to the
door. “Birth certificate too, for her.”
“Uh-huh. Okay.” Blair gives us a knowing wink and turns to leave.

“Hey!” Bane’s voice halts her at the door. “I may not see
you again, cuz. C’mere.”

Frowning, Blair turns back and wraps her arms quickly and
firmly around Bane’s shoulders, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Sure you will,” she says. “Christmas in Cornwall! We’ll
cook a goose and eat figgy pudding and have high tea at Buckingham Palace with
Sherlock Holmes and Jane Austen. Of course you’ll see me again, loser. You two
behave yourselves on the run.”

With that, Blair saunters out of the Laundromat and
disappears down the street toward her motorcycle. Bane waves as she zips away,
then turns and takes my hand. The warm pressure of his fingers over mine gives
me some courage in the face of all this insanity. Fake papers. Running for our
lives.

There’s only one glaring problem we haven’t addressed.

“You said loose ends,” I venture, peering up at Bane. “Do
you mean what I think you mean?”

Bane’s face goes stony. “You have to tell me what Jack has
on you,” he grumbles. “How he’s been holding you at Death Layer. And then we
have to make it go away. We have twenty-four hours to fix it.” He checks his
watch. “Fuck. Make that eighteen hours.”

I feel the blood drain from my face, remembering the
psychopathic seriousness on Mr. King’s face when he promised he’d shoot Rachel
if I escaped. Until this point, I had been so focused on just getting the fuck
out of the Death Layer compound that I had pushed the thought of dealing with
his threat out of my mind.

With escape in front of me as a real possibility, I realize
I have to face the man that sold me out, tossed me into trafficking, and ruined
my life in the first place: the man with the piercing blue eyes and missing
soul: Mr. King, CEO of Skollz Corp.

“You need to tell me what it is, Ava,” Bane says. “What’s
Jack got on you?”

I shake my head slowly, knowing that there’s only one way to
deal with a psychopath like Mr. King, only one language he’ll understand:
violence. As long as he’s alive, Rachel isn’t safe. Taking a deep breath, I
meet Bane’s searching eyes.

“Jack’s got nothing on me, Bane.” I say evenly. “It’s
someone else. Someone powerful. The one who brought me to D.L. and gave me to
Jack.”

Bane’s face takes on that cold, lethal resolve I have seen
too many times. “Who is this bastard?”

I stare at this fierce man who has already saved me three
times. He is capable of anything. I see it in the set of his jaw and the
straightness of his posture that he’s made up his mind. His eyes burn into me,
thrilling and terrifying me with his intensity. He’s gone killer again.

Only this time I feel I can actually join him over the edge,
past the law and fear; I can, and I will, become just as fierce as the Beast.

I will do it for Rachel.

Chapter Eighteen

It is very late, probably around four in the morning, and I
am exhausted. The spiked dog collar I am wearing is tight, but that’s not the
real reason my breath is shallow and hurried; I’m working against my fight or
flight instincts, adrenaline pumping.

I am standing in what is now officially my least favorite
place in the world.

The D. L. Club.

I am dressed in only a bra and underwear and chains, my uniform
from my first day here at Death Layer. God willing, this will be the last time
I see these fetid walls, hear these orgiastic screams, or smell this stench of
blood. Soon the D. L. Club will soon just be a bad memory, and I’ll have the
rest of my life to blot it out.

Bane broke into Jack’s office earlier and used his computer
to email Mr. King, requesting an urgent meeting. Mr. King was advised to show
up on time—five minutes from now. The simple deception will lead to his swift
demise. Our plan is very basic, but there are still a million things that could
go wrong.

Like any one of the Death Layer MC guys stopping us.

Things around here are winding down, so we are banking on
everyone being too wasted and bleary eyed to bother with us. Bane is behind me,
leading me through the MC members’ entrance.

Judge Jefferson seems to know something is up, though Bane
hasn’t confided our plans, and when he saw us he crossed the room to talk up a
pair of bouncers near the door, distracting their attention away from us.
 

The thunderous trance music and the chaos of the crowd flood
my ears and almost instantly give me a headache, but Bane’s big rough hand is
on my shoulder to steer me through. He’s relentless, guiding me past the
fighting ring. Both of us pointedly avoid looking at the ring or the orgiastic
faces tuned on it, and I am warmed to know that Bane is just as disgusted by it
as I am.

There aren’t a lot of patrons in the club tonight, just a
few groups of them warming seats in the bleachers and ordering cocktails from
naked slaves. I recognize one slave as Amy, the blue-eyed girl who tried to
help me escape on my first night. Bane notices her too, and I see him grit his
teeth as one of the well-dressed Wall Street-types grabs her and starts to
force her head towards the fly of his pants.

Without even thinking, I open my mouth to shout her name and
take a step towards her. But Bane jerks me back against him, a hand covering my
mouth.

“Keep moving,” he orders me. “We can’t help her right now.
There’s nothing we can do.”

My heart sinks—not wanting to believe that he’s right—but he
is. There’s nothing an entire SWAT team could do right now to help her, unless
they were willing to go kamikaze and trade their lives for hers. There are
bouncers lining the walls holding whips and wearing guns, not to mention that
Jack and his friends have to be somewhere close by.

“Fuck,” I whisper, frustrated.

The odds are against us. We’re god knows how deep in the
Death Layer building. It’s going to be all we can do to get
ourselves
out of here. Silently, I vow to myself that I will do something—anything—to
help Amy. Every Amy.

Once I’m free.

Bane walks me behind the bleachers, past the red-lit room
filled with drug couches and naked female assistants, and aims our strides for
that first chain-link fenced hall near the entrance from the parking garage.
Here, women sex slaves are chained to the fence for sex, and a couple of
adolescent-looking boys. My stomach churns looking at them, wondering what they
were like as children, as people, before they were trapped and brought here.

Bane steers me to an open spot, away from the sight of the
other patrons chained slaves, and uses his fingers to lift my chin and point my
gaze away from the horror in front of me.

“Right here, Ava,” he whispers. “Look at me. Focus.” I do,
meeting his eyes. “Just stick to the plan, baby,” Bane says. “Trust me.”

I nod, adrenaline beginning to pump. “I trust you.”

“Good.”

He kisses me deeply, pulling a pair of handcuffs out of his
pocket. Lacing his fingers through mine, he gently raises my arms overhead.
With terrifying speed, he locks the cuffs around my wrists and through the
wire. I can’t help a small whimper of fear. I try to smile at him, let him know
I can be brave.

“You’re awful quick with those handcuffs,” I tease, my voice
shaking a little. “I just might guess you’ve done this before.”

Bane half-winces, half-smirks at me. “Different
circumstances. But yeah, I know my way around some bondage.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Focus.”

“I am! Isn’t a basic bondage tutorial part of the plan?”

I grin wryly up at him, and he cups my face. “That’s my
brave girl.”

He leans in, his lips brushing against my neck in a warm,
tender kiss. I close my eyes, savoring the sensation of his mouth on my skin
and his huge muscular body protecting me like a shield against the craziness
around us. I am helpless against his touch, against the cuffs. He kisses along
my jaw, his touch light as a feather.

Anyone passing us would think we were just another prostitute
and customer utilizing the joys of the sex fence.

“Remember,” Bane murmurs in my ear. “Signal the second he
walks in the door.”

The reminder brings me back to reality. I nod, forcing my
eyes open into slits.

“Be careful, baby.” I whisper.

It’s hard to say how long we wait. The only measure of time
in this hallway is the groaning and grunting and moaning of the people around
us. Every time the big metal door slides open I crane my neck to see if I
recognize the faces of the approaching patrons. And every time, it’s not him.

Until it is.

I feel angry chills prickle all over my skull the second Mr.
King’s red hair floats into the frame of my vision, only a few yards away. It
all rushes back in my memory with a sick feeling, from the chemistry I imagined
between us at Skollz Corp to the utter shock and helplessness I felt when he
left me here to rot.

It seems decades ago, but it’s only been four days since the
last time I’ve seen Mr. King’s face. It was Friday when Mr. King brought me
here. It must be Monday evening now. He’d be leaving for Australia tomorrow for
the business trip I was supposed to be on, another life ago. In those four
brief days, that face of his that I once thought handsome has twisted in my
brain, revealed to be the face of the devil himself.

Mr. King is walking briskly with the same look of intense
focus that he wore Friday. I’m staring, open-mouthed, wanting to rip his
infuriatingly calm face off and ask him why he’s done this to me. The heat of
fury and rage that’s lived in my bones since Mr. King abandoned me flares until
I think I might explode.

“That’s him.” I urgently tap Bane’s foot with mine, our
pre-arranged signal, and he straightens to glance surreptitiously over his
shoulder.

A muscle in Bane’s jaw twitches. His eyes narrow. “Ready?”

We’ve gone over the steps a hundred times, but now that it’s
game time I’m unbearably nervous, like a new recruit going to their first
battle. It’s a simple one, two, three attack: bump him, catch him, and kill
him. But it’s my first murder, my first revenge, and I’m jittery as fuck. Mr.
King is only a couple yards away now, walking down the hallway like a groom in
a kinky wedding gone way wrong, barely noticing the people chained to the fence
around him.

I nod and take a deep breath. Mr. King is an arm’s length
away.

“Ready.” I say to Bane. “Now.”

Bane rolls off of me, his massive chest slamming into Mr.
King’s shoulder and knocking the surprised executive off-balance. Lightning
fast, Bane’s hand suctions onto Mr. King’s shoulder, steadying him.

“Oh, excuse me, man,” Bane grumbles in a perfect imitation
of drunken slurring. “So sorry. Didn’t see you. Want a turn? Here, you take
her.”

Mr. King grimaces at Bane in distaste and tries to brush the
bigger man’s hand away, but Bane’s grip is too tight.

“No, no,” says Mr. King with a fake polite smile. “That’s
fine, don’t worry about it.”

Bane’s apologizing like a groveling puppy. “Seriously, I’m
sorry. Here, have a turn.”

“No, no.”

“I insist.”

Bane’s got a head’s height advantage and easily bulldozes
Mr. King toward the edge of the aisle until the smaller man stumbles right into
my spot on the wall. Bane gives him a rough shove and suddenly we are nose to
nose. Mr. King thumps awkwardly against me, his hips jutting into my belly.

Fast as lightning, I raise my legs and wrap them around his
hips like a vice. I can’t help but sneer a little as I smile at him, a cold
strong feeling overwhelming my insides.

“Good evening, Vincent.”

It’s not until I link my ankles behind his back and squeeze
him to me that Mr. King even bothers looking in my face, his blue eyes foggy
with annoyance and confusion. It takes a second, but suddenly his eyes clear
and recognition dawns. He shakes his head at me and laughs harshly, bewildered.

“Miss Clark,” he breathes, fascinated. “My god, they’ve put
you down
here
?”

“Oh Vincent, please, call me Ava. I think we’re on a first
name basis now.”

“Are we?” His lips are caught halfway between a grimace and
a smile, his brows knit in perplexity. He clearly has no clue what the hell to
say to me, so I take the lead.

“You ruined my life,” I whisper. “Tossed me into human
trafficking, threatened to kill my sister. Right now I can feel your tiny cock
between my legs, and I’m about to be the last thing you see in your twisted,
sadistic, sad little life. So, really, please, call me Ava. No need for Miss
Clark. We’re way fucking past that.”

“I’ve always admired your spirit. Ava.” He chuckles,
glancing down at my legs wrapped around his hips. He brings his well-manicured
hands up to my thighs and rubs them slowly toward my crotch in a lecherous
gesture that makes my skin crawl. “And I am sorry about what happened. But
there’s no way out of this for you, so I will disregard your empty threat.”

I just smile at him. Though my heart is pounding and I want
desperately to vomit all over him, I hold it together.
I trust Bane
, I
think to myself.
I trust Bane
…

Mr. King licks his lips. “Although now that we’re here in
this position together,” he says, “I have to admit I have pictured your legs
wrapped around me a couple of times. Since you’re chained to a fence and have
no real say in the matter, I might as well indulge in a little fantasy of
mine.”

The angry heat in my bones switches to ice.

“What a coincidence,” I laugh. “I was just about to act out
a little fantasy of
mine
.”

He frowns, puzzled.

“Yeah, it’s definitely not the same fantasy,” I admit. “In
mine, you die.”

Behind Mr. King, I see Bane move quietly into position. He’s
standing directly behind Mr. King, feet planted, his face neutral. Bane reaches
with his left hand to a knife that I know is sheathed in the waistband of his
jeans.

“This isn’t what I wanted Vincent, but this is not a game,”
I say, parroting back his words to me when he handed me over to Jack. “I wish I
could say I forgive you for what you’ve done to me, or at least tried to do,
but I’m not there yet. Maybe with counseling, who knows? But I’m sure as hell
not giving you any more chances to hurt me, my sister, or anyone else. You’re
done. Your little game of playing god and destroying people ends tonight.
Goodbye, Vincent.”

With a movement so swift and sudden that even I barely see
it, Bane’s arm swings around, plunging the blade of the knife into Mr. King’s
ribcage and burying it up to the hilt. Mr. King gargles, stunned, his eyes
harried and frozen on me as if I can explain. And then Bane twists he knife,
sealing Mr. King’s fate. I feel it echo through Mr. King’s body as he twitches
and his weight sags a little into my legs.

“Clark,” he croaks, twitching. “You…bitch.”

“That’s no way to address a lady,” Bane whispers in his ear.

Vincent’s iceberg eyes bulge and his face contorts. He’s
gasping like a fish when he reels forward into me, clutching at my shoulders.
His nails dig into my skin painfully, as if he’s clinging onto his very life.
But it’s useless. Those eyes, once so invulnerable and cold, are widening in
shock as the blood and the seconds drain out of him.

“Clark…”

He convulses, careening into me, and slumps.

Dead.

Bane is right behind him, and he wraps an arm under Mr. King’s
armpits to hold him steady while with his other hand he deftly unlocks my
handcuffs. I bring my arms down gratefully, rubbing circulation back into them.
My heart is thundering in my ears, and I can feel Mr. King’s sticky blood
spilling over my belly. Even with Bane’s help, Mr. King’s deadweight is getting
to be too much for me.

“Hurry,” I whisper.

“Lift his arms,” Bane grunts.

I raise one of Vincent’s wrists, locking it in the cuffs,
and then the other. Now he is suspended like a hunk of meat in a butcher’s
shop, a macabre addition to the horrible D.L. Club’s entry hall. With any luck,
no one will even notice him until the club closes. That’s how we leave the
great and powerful Mr. Vincent King, another casualty of the hell he helped to
build.

Just like we planned, Bane and I turn and walk away as
casually as possible. We slink through the crowd toward the MC members’
elevator. Judge Jefferson is still there, talking to the bouncer. When he sees
us coming, he shifts his stance to block the bouncer’s eye line so we can slip
past. Judge Jefferson gives me a wink over the shoulder of the oblivious
bouncer as I slip past.

As the elevator doors close behind us, Bane takes my hands
in his. It’s then that I realize I’m shaking. He pulls me in to him and holds
me tight against his body. I can feel his heart beating through the muscles of
his chest, and am somehow soothed by the powerful feel and sound of him. He
rests his chin on the crown of my head, and I can feel his soft breath against
my hair. I may be trembling against him like a leaf, but he’s my rock.