Vulnerable (Barons of Sodom) (19 page)

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Read below for an excerpt from the next
book in The Depraved Club series “Circle of Death” by Colleen Masters and Celia
Loren – coming in September.

Prologue

Off the coast of
New England...

My slender
fingers tighten around the cold metal railing as the yacht skips over a tall,
surging wave. A spray of salt water dashes itself across my cheek as my long
black hair whips wildly in the wind. I’m standing right at the bow of this
luxurious vessel, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of dry land. The rocky
coastline disappeared from view in our wake after what felt like the blink of
an eye. This whole insane undertaking is unfolding more quickly than I ever
could have imagined. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be able to keep my head
above water and see my assignment through. But as I glance around at the open
waters of the Atlantic Ocean, I know one thing for certain:

There’s no
turning back now.

A loud burst of
music washes over the topside deck, followed by a chorus of tipsy giggles. I
glance over my shoulder as a trio of gorgeous young women stumble through a
swinging door and out into the open air, scattering my solitude to the salty
wind. Ah, well. If I wanted peace and quiet, I could have stayed back in Boston
like the good girl I’ve always been. Up until now, that is.

“Logan! What’re
you doing out here all alone?” asks one of the girls, a leggy blonde named
Brie. “The party’s just getting started below deck.”

“I’m saving up
my energy for the island,” I tell her, pretending not to mind when she sloshes
a bit of piña colada onto my black miniskirt.

“That’s fair,”
nods Ani, a pixie-like brunette who’s also decided to give the wild side a try.
“From what I’ve heard about The Club, you’re gonna need all the energy you can
muster. The guys there are supposed to be pretty ruthless.”

“Here’s hoping!”
crows the third girl, a petite redhead named Kari. “If I’m not completely spent
in an oversexed haze by the time morning rolls around, I’m asking for my money
back.”

“Kari, you’re so
bad!” Brie squeals, her blue eyes going wide as saucers. “I still can’t believe
you talked us into this.”

“Oh please,
Brie,” Kari laughs, rolling her eyes, “You’ve been going on about this place
for years, now.”

“Ever since we
were lowly little freshmen,” Ani grins, taking a long swig of her cocktail.
“Don’t tell me this isn’t the best graduation present of all time.”

“I know you’re
right,” Brie sighs, leaning unsteadily against the railing, “I guess I’m just a
little...nervous. It’s been nothing but preppy frat boys for me for the last
four years. This is going to be...quite the change of pace.”

“Scared you
won’t be able to handle a real man?” Ani teases.

“Maybe a
little,” Brie admits.

“Don’t worry,”
Kari says, looping an arm around her blonde friend’s waist, “We’ll all look out
for each other. We won’t let any of the big, bad bikers bite. Not too hard,
anyway.”

“I have to say,”
Ani remarks, swinging her gaze my way, “I was a little surprised when you asked
to come along tonight, Logan.”

“Yeah,” Kari agrees,
cocking her head at me, “You never seemed like much of a party girl in school.”

“What can I
say,” I shrug, smiling as gamely as I can, “People change, I guess.”

The girls accept
my vague answer and fall into giddy speculation about what the night has in
store for us. I hardly knew any of them while we were undergrads together in
Boston. But the second I caught wind of their plans to visit The Club as a
graduation treat, they became my most valuable of acquaintances. It’s not just
any pretty young thing who can get an invite to The Club, after all. A joy ride
on this yacht is damn near impossible to score, unless you know the right
people. Lucky for me, these three happen to be the exact right people. Talk
about alumni networking, huh?

“Oh my god,” Brie
breathes, nearly dropping her cocktail overboard, “There it is!”

I jerk my gaze
back toward the horizon and feel my heart lodge firmly in my throat. There in
the distance, a long strip of land rises up from the churning sea. In the
gathering twilight, the island looks unremarkable. A jagged shoreline gives way
to a thickly-forested rise. Just visible above the tree line is the imposing
watchtower of an old military base. From my research, I know that this fort
dates back to the days of the American Revolution. But this island is no place
for a history buff’s field trip these days, that’s for sure.

As the yacht
skims across the gray Atlantic waters toward the island, a low thudding sound
makes my ears prick up. The rhythm pulses more deafeningly with every passing
moment. I wonder, for a second, if we’re not experiencing engine trouble. But
when the crashing cacophony of hard rock sweeps in to complete the soundscape,
I realize that I’m hearing a heavy bass line raging from the shore of the
island. We hear the party before we see it, and I know this is my last chance
to bail—to let the other dozen girls go on ahead of me and scurry back to shore
with my tail between my legs.

But then I
think, for a second, about what I’d be running back to. A cramped two bedroom
apartment, unpaid bills, a fruitless job hunt, an ever-dwindling bank
account...I have to own up to the fact that I’ve got nothing to go back to.
Nothing at all to lose. There was a time when that thought would have saddened
me. But now, I realize that dwelling on my loneliness and fear won’t get me
anywhere. I have to face them head on. Face this place head on. Take action for
the first time in my life. And if I end up getting destroyed in the
process...Well, at least I will have lived through something.

A long, shrill
boat whistle cuts through the misty air as the yacht pulls up to a creaky dock
that leads onto the island. I stand rooted firmly to the deck as the full,
chaotic scene raging on the island comes into view, unfolding before my baffled
eyes.

At the center of
a large clearing in the woods, a massive bonfire roars, sending fierce flames
leaping and licking into the darkening night sky. Dozens of shadowy figures
writhe and swarm in the fire light, undulating to the heavy, pulsating music blaring
out across the water. Glass bottles catch the glow of the bonfire as they’re
raised to thirsty lips, and a score of smoldering cigarette tips light up in
the darkness like a swarm of devilish fireflies.

Lengths of bare
limbs and torsos glow and glisten in the red light of the fire. Men and women
are laid out across every surface in sight, having at each other without any
inhibitions. It’s a goddamn orgy—and we’re about to charge right into the
middle of it.

“I don’t know if
I can do this,” Brie whispers in a panic as we make our way out onto the flimsy
deck.

We join a
handful of other young women, huddled together before the intimidating scene
unfolding before us. Not a single one of us has cleared her early twenties.
Hell, some of us are barely eighteen. But there’s one thing we all have in
common: we’re here to spend a night among the toughest, most dangerous, sexiest
men we’re likely to ever meet.  Each of us made the decision to come here
of her own free will. We all have different motives for seeking this place
out—escape, adventure, curiosity. Me, I’m here in search of answers that have
long eluded me. Answers about my past that might just end up shaping my future.
And I’m not leaving until I’ve found them.

I feel the group
of girls tighten around me as the yacht pulls away, leaving us to face the
night on our own. As one, we turn our gaze toward the island, toward the place
we’ve only ever heard about in whispers and rumors. The place simply called The
Club. When I first heard of this one-of-a-kind spot, I wondered about it’s
nondescript name. But what I’m quickly coming to understand is that The Club
defies all other description. It has to be seen to be believed.

“Ladies!” calls
a booming voice from just beyond my field of vision.

The yellow glow
of a rusty lantern cuts through the darkness, illuminating the swaggering form
of the large man making his way toward our little pack. His wide, wily grin is
the first thing I notice. But it’s not just his teeth that are huge. Every bit
of his body seems to be super-sized, from his bulging biceps to this bushy
beard. He’s the closest thing to a giant I’ve ever seen up close. But something
tells me he’s not likely to be a giant of the “gentle” variety.

The towering man
looms over the group, a good foot taller than any of us, stilettos
notwithstanding. He wears his long hair pulled back into a ponytail, a
sleeveless leather vest over a white tank, and well-worn blue jeans. The steel
toes of his boots gleam even in the darkness. He surveys each of our eager,
upturned faces, nodding his approval.

“Good pickings
tonight,” he grins, rubbing a hand through his sandy blonde beard, “The guys
are going to be pretty fucking stoked about you lot.”

A nervous titter
runs through the group, but I can already feel the bodies around me beginning
to relax. Despite this man’s dangerous edge, there’s something strangely
comforting about his demeanor.

“My name’s
Titan,” he goes on, “I’m what you might call the welcoming committee. It’s my
job to make sure things at The Club run smoothly. Make sure everyone’s having a
good time. That’s what you girls are here for, isn’t it? A good time?”

“That’s right,”
pipes Kari.

“Uh-huh,” adds
Ani.

“Well, then
you’ve certainly come to the right place,” Titan assures us, spreading his
brawny arms wide, “I promise you, this will be a night you remember for the
rest of your lives. Now, why don’t you follow me, and we’ll get this party
started?”

We hurry to
follow Titan as he strides away, leading us toward the pulsing, pounding heart
of the party. As we make our way deeper into the thick woods, I see that the
very shadows are alive with orgiastic abandon. My jaw nearly hits the rocky
ground as I spot a naked woman pinned up against an ancient oak tree by her
muscled mate, their hips bucking wildly as their cries of ecstasy are swept up
by the rollicking music. I watch as Brie catches sight of the couple, all color
draining at once from her face. One thing’s becoming clearer by the moment—The
Club is no place for the faint of heart.

I feel the heat
of the bonfire before we’ve even stepped into the clearing. The crackling
flames sear through the summer air, sending a thick cloud of smoke rolling over
the treetops. Titan turns to face the group of us as we fan out along the fire
pit.

“Here you are girls,”
he roars above the cacophony of raised voices and blasting music, “Grab a
drunk, grab a joint, grab a guy, and have at!”

A cheer goes up
from the assembled pack of men and women all around us, all craning their necks
for a view of the new goods.

“Christ, do I
love me some fresh meat,” growls a tall, wolfish man from behind us. He slips
his arms around Kari’s slender waist, tugging her tightly against his ripped
body. “And you look tasty enough to devour, little girl.”

 “Do your
mommies and daddies know where you are tonight, little ones?” sneers a barrel
chested man with a wild mane, tucking a lock of Brie’s hair behind her ear.

“Be nice now,”
Titan cautions the circling men, “These girls are our guests tonight. Let’s
make them feel nice and welcome.”

At his command,
the swarm of bulky bikers and busty broads descends upon our group. I step out
of the way as girls are snatched up, left and right. I’m not here to get down
with just any biker boy, after all. I have my sights set much, much higher.

I scan the faces
around the roaring blaze, seeking out my target. But I don’t have to look for
long. There, across the fire, stands the very man I’ve come so far to find.

He presides over
the party like a god in his own right. His staggering body looms over the
raging fire, as if lending the blaze its heat. With thickly corded arms crossed
over his bare chest, he stands with feet firmly planted. Nothing on heaven or
earth could move this man an inch—that much is clear. Dark, inky lines snake
along his cut chest and shoulders, skirting down his arms in dizzying
configurations. But the most prominent tattoo stands out in sharp relief,
centered across his tanned pecs. In thick, scrawling letters, it reads:
“Diabolus”.

The Devil.

It’s all I can
do to drink in the sight of him, this towering man I’ve set my sights on. I’ve
been researching him for weeks, tracking down mug shots and newspaper
clippings, aquatinting myself with every aspect of his public life. But no
amount of research could have prepared me for the real thing.

His body looks
like it was cut from the smoothest marble, his every muscle stands out in
perfect definition. But you can tell, just from looking at him, that those
muscles weren’t sculpted during long hours at the gym. His is a body that’s
lived hard and tough for decades. For an entire lifetime. And oh, how it shows.

 He raises
a steel flask to his full, firm lips. I watch, transfixed, and slugs back his
liquor, his scruffy jaw sharp as a razor blade. His high cheekbones, straight
nose, and thick black stubble would make most models weep with envy, but
there’s no fussy vanity in this man’s face. He knows he’s gorgeous, powerful,
intimidating, but he doesn’t have to try to be any of those things. He just is.