Death Layer (The Depraved Club) (8 page)

Chapter Ten

Water is pouring over my face. It’s the first thing I feel
as I swim back to consciousness and almost drown. Am I underwater? No, it’s
giant, greasy raindrops—like only New York can make—splattering on every
exposed inch of me. A peal of thunder brings my eyelids fluttering open, and
the gray sky ripples into focus, a mixture of rainstorm and dawn.

For a moment I register nothing but the rain and its like
I’m a floating droplet myself, but then my body catches up with me and I go
from zero to excruciating pain in a single breath. My head is only inches away
from the metal rim of a dumpster and I’m spread like a starfish over piles of
garbage.

Guess it could have been worse: I could be dead. It could
have been the pavement instead of pillows of waste. Still, I wonder if I can
actually move. It always looked like a nice soft landing in the movies, falling
into a dumpster, but my decimated body bets to differ.

With a groan, I gingerly wiggle my toes and fingers. When
that goes well, I move my hands over my torso. There’s something sticky on my
side. Blood? I try to lift my head to have a look and feel a stabbing pain
shoot down my neck that makes me suck in my breath.

Fuck. That will take some getting used to. I carefully bring
my fingers near my face for inspection, but the sticky substance on them
doesn’t look like blood: it’s more like decomposing garbage.

Wonderful.

Now my fingers are free to massage my neck and scan my head.
Amazingly, I don’t feel any cracks or gashes. I draw on every scrap of stoicism
I can muster to bite back the pain and attempt to get up.

“Arg!”

It hurts, but I manage to rock myself to sitting and somehow
force myself to scramble over the side of the dumpster. Falling to the ground
of the alley, I tuck myself into fetal position in the corner between the
building the dumpster and succumb to misery.

Collecting myself at this juncture is one of the hardest
things I’ve ever done. I feel exactly like a person who is afraid of heights
and has just climbed down five stories on the outside of a building, fallen,
and landed in the trash.

Maybe I’m in shock. Maybe I’m really dead. Maybe that’s why
when I hear a motorcycle engine decelerating and coming to idle down the alley
I don’t bother moving to better cover. I wrap my arms around my torso and
shiver, like a kid who thinks they’re invisible if they shut their eyes.

The sound of male voices talking over the hum of the bike
goes on for what feels like a long time, and then I hold my breath as the
roaring engine fades into the distance.

The sky is lighter now. More people will be around soon. I
count to ten, make myself stand up. My vision is clouded with black fizzling
stars, but they clear up enough for me to see that it’s a dead-end alley full
of dumpsters and debris with only one opening to the street. I point myself
that direction, hope infusing my stumbling steps with speed.

I take a few dizzy strides before registering that there is
still a motorcycle parked in the mouth of the alley. A large man leans against
it, puffing cigarette smoke in a dark cloud around his silhouette. His back is
to me, displaying the Death Layer patch that covers the entire back of his
leather jacket.

My adrenaline spikes, reminding me I am not free yet. Biker
dude hasn’t seen me, though, so I still have a chance, but here I am frozen in
the middle of the alley like a deer in the headlights. Seconds stretch as I
weigh my options.

Ahead and to my left I see a pile of cardboard boxes jutting
out from the canyon of buildings. If I can make it behind those, I can keep my
eye on biker dude and wait it out without giving myself away.

I jerk my body towards the boxes, but in my stupor I have
completely forgotten about the damn ankle shackle and it grates loudly against
the cobblestone, sending sparks. The man’s head whips around as I dive for the
boxes and burrow myself under their musty weight, knowing that it’s too late.
He definitely heard and saw me.

“That you Blair?”

Blair? He must have been waiting for someone. He must think
I am his date. Fuck.

Sure enough, the heavy scruff of boots cautiously draws
closer to my hiding spot. There’s nothing to do but pull the boxes over me like
a shield. A damn useless shield, it turns out, because a moment later my fort
is slowly demolished.

“Quit farting around, I don’t have time for this shit.”

The voice sends fear spiraling down my legs and I burrow
deeper, searching for anything to use as a weapon. My hand lands on a piece of
PVC pipe just as the last box is yanked off of me. I swing the pipe into
something, I think his head, and hear a string of curses.

“Cut it out, give me the money!”

A big hand closes over my wrist and yanks me up past
standing until my toes are dangling off the ground. My blood pressure plummets
and my vision fogs but I can feel that I am pinned between the brick wall and
the equally unyielding body of my captor. The pipe is still gripped in my fist
but his fingers are closed over my wrist. It’s useless. He shakes my hand until
I drop it, the pressure of his arms and torso against me making it hard to
breathe.

I let out a guttural wail of defeat and frustration.

“Bane,” I groan. “You’re hurting me, damn it!”

He blinks at me, catching up.

“Red?” His voice is shocked, and it seems to take him a
minute to believe it’s really me underneath all the dirt and bruises. “Jesus,
what the fuck? You stink. How the hell did you get out here?” Reluctantly, he
lets me slide down the wall until my feet touch the ground. He steps back to
study me with the same swift intensity as last night, his arms around me like a
corral. “Why’d you try to brain me with that pipe? You know, for a nice girl
from Whole Foods, you’re really not very nice at all.”

Though his tone is flippant, Bane has turned his clinical
gaze to sweep the alley and I can tell the gears are whirring. He focuses on
the D.L. building and his eyes narrow, calculating.

“No way.”

He grabs my hands and turns the palms upward, inspecting the
raw skin and welts. When he looks back into my eyes, that light of curiosity
and pity is stronger. There’s something else there now, too. Respect, I think,
with a strong dose of skepticism.

“No way,” he repeats.

Bane inserts one of his thighs between mine and forces my leg
to the side, revealing the raw red friction burn.
“Ow!” I object. “You’re hurting me!”

“Well tough. You’re interrupting a deal.”

The feeling of him firmly holding my hands and his muscled
thigh between my legs makes me burn with mortification and something else. His
mouth is inches from mine, his hot breath too close for comfort. Those cool
eyes are relentless, promising to hold my gaze until I answer him.

“You shimmy down the fucking drainpipe, Red?”

Grudgingly, I give a stiff nod.

“Ow!” The sudden pop of a strained muscle makes me suck in
my breath and slump against the wall.

“Shit.” Bane curses. “Don’t worry, I didn’t need the money
anyway. Blaire’s easy to track down. I’d love to drop everything and—”

Letting my hands drop, Bane rubs his face wearily. I’d guess
he hasn’t slept, either. Muttering, he gives me a grumpy look and rips off his
leather jacket, revealing a snug black t-shirt. Before I can admire the fit it
comes right off too, and he startles me by rolling the soft cotton over my
head. His scent is heavy and clean, and my pulse jumps as he tugs his t-shirt
down over me with his jaw clenched. His fingers brush my bare hips as he pulls
the fabric down to cover them, and it sends a tingle between my legs.

“We better get out of here,” he rasps. “Come on.”

Shrugging his jacket back on over his now-bare shoulders, he
grabs me by the waist and slings me over his shoulder like backpack.

“No, don’t—don’t take me back there, Bane!”

“No choice.”

“No! Put me down!” I shout, kicking until my shackle whacks
him in the balls.

“Fuck! Fine.” He instantly drops me, letting me roll to the
ground none too gently. I’m muttering and rubbing my bum when he crosses his
arms and raises his eyebrows in challenge. “Let’s see you walk, then. Be my
guest.”

Glaring up at him from the cobblestones, I push up onto all
fours and negotiate my way upright. It takes an embarrassingly long time. My
blood pressure plummets again and I’m seeing all black. Determined not to
faint, I hold my breath and grit my teeth until my vision clears. Unsteady, I
shuffle in a small circle to balance.

Bane’s mouth is pressed in a line, one corner quirking up.
“You’re the pick of the litter, ain’t you? Pathetic.”

He sweeps me over his shoulder and marches out the alley.

“Bane—”

“Shut up.”

I give up. I’m exhausted and battered and defeated. Even
after a sleepless night, Bane could crush me with one hand tied behind his back
and a missing leg. There’s no point resisting.

I’ve lost.

Closing my eyes, I surrender to fatigue. The motion of
Bane’s solid body carrying me lulls me to sleep. But rest is snatched away when
Bane suddenly dumps me to the ground, back into reality. I slump into a ball in
a corner, aware only that it’s cold and my sore skin is against hard tile.

“No,” I moan, protesting as his hands grab the sides of my
shirt.

Sleep was so close.

“Arms up,” Bane grunts.

When I don’t move, he swears to himself under his breath and
reaches around my hips for the edge of his t-shirt, reversing the roll until it
bunches up around my uncooperative arms. Giving me another grumpy glare, Bane
haunches down to squat in front of me. I feel his fingers working under my sore
shoulder joints, but I am too tired to help or hinder. He draws me close to
him, resting my ribcage across his thighs as he works the t-shirt over my
shoulders and head with surprisingly gentle hands.

Now I’m just in my dirty bra and underwear again. Bane’s
hands tilt my ribcage back up and steer me until I am leaning against the wall,
facing him. He reaches for the straps of my bra and my breath becomes ragged as
I realize his intention: he’s going for naked. With a whimper, I draw my arms
across my body.

“Stop.”

He marks my reflex with a smirk. “Relax, Red,” he whispers.
His eyes trail down my shivering body. “Your new garbage perfume could turn any
dick into a limp rag.”

That irascible grin of his is back and I realize he’s
teasing me like Rachel would, or Blake. Or Mr. King. The thought stirs up mixed
feelings, a warring sense of longing and distrust.

“That’s what I was going for,” I retort huskily through my
haze of exhaustion and nerves. “Because your man-whore habits could turn any
lady boner into common sense.”

He blinks at me as if he’s not sure whether to slap me or
laugh. Rather than respond, he pushes up to his feet, twists a faucet and
stalks away, slamming a frosted glass door behind him.

A hot stream of water cascades over me and I yelp in
surprise.
“Shower,” Bane explains sardonically. “Soap is above you, unless you’d rather I
do it for you. You have ten seconds.”

I achingly scramble to obey as he trudges away. It’s the
first time I’ve been alone or clean since Mr. King dragged me to this hell, and
in spite of my depletion I find myself singing softly—perhaps there is a shred
of humanity left in me, after all. By the time I’ve lathered and rinsed
everything, I almost feel like a person. Just as I turn off the water, I see
Bane’s dark shape fill the frosted glass door and a threadbare towel is snapped
unceremoniously in my face.

“Towel,” he grunts before disappearing again.

Baffled by his caveman-like hospitality, I dry myself and
wrap my hair in the towel. It’s surprisingly clean, if old. As I slowly and
carefully make my way out of the shower, I am surprised to find a large white
t-shirt and boxer briefs folded on the sink waiting for me.

Dressed, I push the bathroom door open and find myself in
Bane’s utilitarian bedroom. He is sitting on the bed in gym shorts,
cross-legged and shirtless, eating Chinese food out of a takeout container.

“Where’d you learn to sing like that?” He asks. When I don’t
respond, Bane sighs and tosses a box at me that I barely manage to catch.
“Eat.”

His eyes follow me as I precariously lower myself to sit on
the floor as far away from the bed as possible. More urgent than my wariness
and attraction to Bane, though, is my growling stomach. I can’t remember the
last time I’ve eaten.

Peeling open the lid of the takeout container, I see that
it’s chicken fried rice. My stomach lets out a hungry rumble that can probably
be heard in the Empire State building. I’m about to dig in with my bare hands
when a plastic spoon and paper napkin launch across the room and smack into my
face.

“Ow!”

“Hey!” Bane’s voice is terse. “Manners!”

I don’t bother to shoot him a withering look. I am too
hungry and use the spoon to begin shoveling food into my mouth. For a few
blissful minutes, my entire world is chicken fried rice. The only thing that
interrupts my ravenous gorging is Bane’s low whistle.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “My mother would whip your ass for
eating like that. ‘How can you taste it if you eat so fast,’ she’d say. ‘Don’t
be an animal.’”

“Yeah well my mother would call the cops on you for
kidnapping, beating, and starving me.”

“Yo mama sounds lame.”

“Yo mama sounds mean.”

“Let’s not.” Bane grimaces. “And for the record, I didn’t do
any of that shit to you.”

I snort into the rice. “For the record, yeah you did.”

Bane’s chopsticks become pointers. “Let’s set this fucking
record straight, Red, not only because you are proving to be a monumental pain
in the ass, but because I think you just might be smarter than you look. You’re
obviously too smart for poor Coco, but for god’s sake don’t tell her I said so.
I’m gonna level with you here because I think your higher judgment will bring
you around to my way of seeing things.”