Death Layer (The Depraved Club) (21 page)

“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.