Death Layer (The Depraved Club) (17 page)

“We did the right thing Ava,” he murmurs. “That was the only
way out. Kill or be killed.”

“I know.”

He holds me close as the floors zoom past, and I find myself
chuckling against him.

“What?” He asks.

“Only in the D.L. Club could a half-naked woman covered in
blood draw no attention.”

He scoffs. “Fast shower for you, and then let’s blow this
popsicle stand.”

When the elevator doors open, we practically sprint to his
room. Bane double-checks everything in the backpack he has packed for us while
I speed-shower, scrubbing and scrubbing with soap but feeling like Lady
Macbeth; that damn spot just won’t ever come out.

I’ve now killed a man. Along with Mr. King, I’ve killed Old
Ava for good. Now, the only way to go is forward, and I know exactly who to
hitch my wagon to.

When I step out of the shower, I see that Bane has laid out
some clothes for me on the bathroom sink. It’s a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a
leather jacket, underwear, a bra, and boots. It’s cohesive, shades of navy and
gold, and all the correct size. As I shrug it on, I let out an involuntary sigh
of relief. God, it feels amazing to wear real clothes in my own size. It’s been
for-fucking-ever!

When I join Bane in the bedroom, he doesn’t even have to glance
up to know my question. He’s zipping up the backpack and stroking behind
Jenny’s ears.

“A going-away present from Blair,” he explains. “She
wouldn’t stop giving me shit for dressing you in my underwear. And yeah, it’s
totally creepy that she can guess everyone’s size. She’s always been like
that.”

I smile, as ready as I’ll ever be. “Shall we?”

“Let’s rock and roll.” Bane stands to his feet. I take the
backpack filled with cash and supplies from him, and he also hands me his
Remington. Then he turns to the pit-bull. “OK, Jenny. You’re not gonna like
this, but you’re coming too.”

He squats down beside the dog, who hasn’t moved much in the
day since Meat Grinder’s emergency surgery. She’s got a fresh bandage on her
side and chest, and her stumped leg is wrapped snug in clean linen. Bane scoops
her into his arms and gives her a little kiss between the ears that makes my
heart feel stupid squishy and like a bursting gusher candy.

A devastatingly charismatic, dimpled smile flashes across
his face. “Alright. Got my redhead and my pit bull. Just one more girl to go.”

I roll my eyes, knowing he means his motorcycle. “Oh my god,
are you always this cheesy?”

“Only after I kill the bad guys.”

It’s only half funny, half disturbing, but I still laugh
with him. He’s holding the door open with his foot and I hop up to my tiptoes
to kiss his lips before I pass him into the hall, smiling into his handsome,
hard face.

“Guess I’ll keep you anyway,” I murmur.

He kisses me back, hungrily, and his eyes twinkle down at
me. “Let’s get the hell out of here, Red. Vamanos!”

I follow him out the door, swinging on the backpack, tucking
his Remington through the shoulder straps the way I used to carry my yoga mat.
Life
sure changes
.

We make it down the stairwell and to the ground floor with
no problems, but Bane leads me through the basement exit. A security guard is
playing Candy Crush Saga on his iPhone and blinks up at us.

“Dog needs a vet,” Bane explains. “Gonna drive her uptown.”

The security guard nods and waves us out. Bane maintains a
steady, normal pace as we stroll around the block to where he left his Harley
parked. When we get next to it, I stare at the tiny black seat.

“So…how’s this gonna work?” I ask skeptically.
 “Watch and learn, babycakes.”

Still holding the dog, Bane swings a leg over the Harley and
eases himself down on the seat. Once he’s balanced, he carefully turns Jenny so
she is facing forward. She’s pretty much sitting on his lap, her paws carefully
poised on the muscled body of the bike, his arms wrapped around her to hold the
handlebars. I can’t help but laugh at the sight of them perched together on a
Harley.
“I can’t decide if that’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, or the most
badass thing I’ve ever seen,” I confess.

Bane nods emphatically. “It’s both.”

He turns the key in the ignition and the Harley roars to
life with the signature sound of the engine, sending a thrill of excitement
through my blood. Bane reaches a hand behind him to pat the few square inches
left over on the seat.

“There’s room for one more!” He shouts over the engine.

“You sure? Because you and the dog look pretty cozy without
me!”

Bane glowers at me playfully. “Stop being a pain in the ass
and get your ass as close as possible to mine and keep it there!”

Laughing, I do.

Our errand to the famous Penn Station post office at 34
^th
street is the work of a moment. Bane pinches my ass as I jump off the idling
motorcycle. I squeak in surprise before darting up the steps to the post
office, stealing a glance at Bane as he balances the bike alongside the empty
early morning curb with Jenny on his lap.

I push through the rotating doors into the post office’s
24-hour lobby, my footsteps echoing off the immense pillars like a worshipper
in a cathedral. I am the only soul in the beautiful building, and I feel a pang
of admiration for its beauty as well as a twisting sense of goodbye. This is
one of the most New York City spots, an iconic room, and it will be one of my
last ports of call before leaving forever.

I find the PO Box, twist the key. Inside the box is a manila
envelope containing my new identity. With trembling, excited fingers I quickly
rifle through.

Rachel Kent’s fake United States passport, New York Driver’s
license, and birth certificate are inside. Their details are incredible, to my
untrained eye seeming completely legit. I shake my head, amused, when I notice
the pretend new hometown Blair has chosen for me: Greenwich, Connecticut.
Evidently she thinks I look rich. Oh, the irony.

I pull another envelope out of my pocket, this one rumpled
and secret. Bane doesn’t know about it. It’s a letter, hastily scrawled, with
no return address. I brush my fingertips over the name of the addressee: Rachel
Clark, 5 East 125
^th
Street Apt. 5R, New York, New York.

“Love you, sis,” I whisper to it. “I hope I see you again
soon.”

The letter is brief and vague, just enough to tell her that
I am alive, that I got tangled up with dangerous people but have done my best
to break free. That none of them knows my real name, and so she should be safe
from them as long as she doesn’t dig too deep into my disappearance. I ask her
to tell Mom and Dad that I am ok. I tell her I am in with a wild, rough, and
yet trustworthy man, the one who saved my life. I ask her to forgive me for not
being able to see her before I go. I promise her that I will do everything I
can to let her know I am ok, from time to time. I say goodbye.

It’s silly, I know, but I give the envelope a kiss before I
drop it in the mailbox.

Chapter Nineteen

Clutching my new identity papers like a good-luck charm, I
race down the steps to the street and back to Bane. It must be about five a.m.
now, and the slow bake of a summer sunrise is beginning to flicker in the east,
sending shots of electric blue and hints of orange through the deep purple
night sky. It’s a breathtaking backdrop for the sight of that powerful, foxy
man waiting for me. He gives me a lop-sided grin that makes heat swirl through
my body. I drink in the sight of him, with the lights of the city and the
white-lit outline of the Empire State Building behind.

“All good?” He says over the hum of the Harley engine.

“Yup! Thanks for my new name,” I reply.

He winks. “That’s just the start, baby. I’ll give you a
newer one, soon.”

I grin and climb on behind him, heart racing. As I wrap my
arms around Bane, I feel my eyes fill with emotion.
Goodbye, New York.
Goodbye, Old Ava. Goodbye, old life.

Hello, unknown.

Bane revs the engine and we accelerate through the empty
streets, the warm morning breeze caressing our faces as we weave toward the
Chelsea Piers. It’s a quiet, beautiful sight as the moored yachts sway gently
in the current, glowing gold in the first glimmers of dawn. Bane drives us
straight onto the dock to the very end where a charter yacht is waiting, its
engines quietly humming and bubbling into the Hudson.

There’s a man with long hair and a denim shirt doing
something with a rope in the back of the boat. He glances up at us and waves.

“Friends of Blair,” he shouts.

“Friends of Blair,” Bane returns.

The man points at the motorcycle. “She coming aboard?”

“Sure is!” Bane shouts.

The man’s eyes flicker, but he only shrugs. “Kill the engine
and walk it on.” He points to a narrow plank balanced between the pier and the
boat, and I guess that’s going to be our gangway.

“He’s kidding,” I grunt.

“Alright.” Bane says, twisting the key to shut down the
ignition. “Get off.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I repeat.

Bane steps beside me, and gently lifts Jenny from her perch
and hands her to me to hold. “Wait here, I’ll come back to help you both.”

“Oh god,” I grunt under her weight. “You’re kidding.”

He’s not. The Harley’s tires are almost as wide as the
plank, and I find it hard to breathe as I watch Bane teeter and sweat slowly up
the ramp. The longhaired boatman is watching too, grinning with interest and
mouthing instructions and advice. Bane’s about eight feet above the black
water, and god knows how deep it is or what’s under the surface.

Heights. Why is it always heights?

“Be careful!” I shout.

I realize the buzzing sound I am hearing isn’t in my brain;
it’s real. I turn around, curious, to see what’s making the noise. And then I
almost pass the fuck out.

Another Harley is zipping down the road toward the dock.

“Bane,” I moan, my chest tightening, “Looks like we have
company.”

He glances up the pier and curses. “Shit.”

The longhaired boatman’s body goes rigid. “There’s a third
passenger?”

“No,” Bane grunts.

I squint into the distance. “Who knows we’re here? Blair?”

Bane shakes his head. “That’s not Blair. Whoever it is,
they’re sure as hell not invited. Better get yourself ready to speed us out of
here in a hurry, man.”

The boatman nods. “Ok. I’ll be at the wheel. Climb aboard.”

The boatman disappears below deck, leaving Bane to finish
his precarious balancing act and me to panic on the dock. The newcomer is
getting closer. As the rider turns onto the start of the dock, I recognize the
build and the silver hair peeking from below the helmet: Jack Keller.

“Bane,” I squeal, “It’s Jack. Hurry!”

“Motherfucker,” Bane growls. “How the hell did he find us?
Ava, hang on.”

It’s awful: Bane’s stuck on the plank with his motorcycle,
and if he rushes he risks falling into the Hudson. He tries to speed up his
steps but his process along the plank is too slow. It’s clear that Jack will
converge on us before Bane makes it to the boat.

Mind whirling, I suddenly remember the Remington on my back.

“Sorry Jenny,” I whisper, easing her down to the ground. She
rests right where I lay her at my feet, licking her chops and gazing trustingly
up at me as if to assure me that she knows I have the situation under control.
“Don’t be so sure,” I mutter to her. I swing the backpack down, freeing the
long barrel of the shotgun from the straps, and check the chamber.

It’s empty. No bullets.

“Shit,” I whisper.

Digging into the front and side pockets of the backpack, I
come up empty. The roar of the Harley is almost on top of me when I finally
find a box of bullets in the main pocket and shakily depress the button to
unlock the shelf for ammo. I’ve seen Bane do it before, but it still hurts my
fingers and my pride as I fail the first two tries to fit in a shell. The third
time, two slide in, and just as I am about to load another a terrible sound
stops me in my tracks.

“Well, well, well, Red,” Jack’s voice ripples over the
waterfront. “Going on a cruise, are you? You forgot to say goodbye. Nobody
move!”

I freeze, pins and needles chilling over my flesh. Jack’s
pulled up his Harley just a few yards away, and though I can’t see his steel
gray eyes in the dark I can see the city lights reflecting off the barrel of
his pistol, aimed at Bane.

“Glad to see you liked the property I gave you Bane,” Jack
says, nodding at me. “But I didn’t mean you could take her and run.”

Unarmed, Bane has no choice but to halt, standing on the plank
over the water, his hands locked on the handlebars of his bike. He glances at
me, and I see the tension in his face. Fuck. We’re definitely caught with our
pants down. For a few tense seconds, there is no sound but the hum of the boat
engines and the pounding of my heartbeat.

Jack dismounts his bike and begins a cautious walk toward
us, his mean clenched teeth coming into view. That’s how close he is.

“You forgot—the only way to leave the Club is in a body bag,
Beast.” I hear the sound of Jack cocking his gun and momentarily hold my
breath. “If you really want out that bad, I’m happy to help you.”

“That why you followed me alone, Keller? Didn’t bring any of
your posse I see.” Jack spits over his shoulder, his lip curling. “So you could
murder me without answering the club? You must be pissing your sadistic self
with excitement.”

“Forget the club,” Jack barks. “This is between you and me,
Bane. You’ve stood in my way, been a thorn in my goddamn side. And now you’ve
made it easy for me, turned your back on the club. Far as I’m concerned that
makes you free game.”

“Wrong,” Bane growls. “You are always on the wrong side of
wrong, Keller. Someday you’ll burn in hell for it.”

Jack pauses, spreading his legs and taking aim at Bane. “Not
today.”

“No!” I scream, jerking the Remington up into my hands and
shooting. It’s a reflex; I don’t even know how it happens, how I aim or fire.
I’ve certainly never done it before, and couldn’t tell anyone the steps
involved. It happens purely out of need. But it happens, the boom splitting the
morning air as the recoil forces me a step back.

“Jesus,” I murmur, dazed. With thundering heart and
unfocused eyes, I blink towards the end of the barrel, tracing the trajectory
of the bullet.

And see Jack on the ground, groaning. He’s clutching his
thigh, moaning in real pain.

“Jesus,” Bane breathes. He jolts himself out his shock and
quicksteps himself back to task, walking the bike forward on the platform
toward the boat.

Jack sits himself up. “You fucking bitch!” He hisses. One
hand clutching the meat of his quadriceps, Jack gropes the other for his
dropped gun. “I’ll get you for that.”

Oh god. I’m losing my nerve. Trembling, I re-aim at Jack,
but hesitate. If I shoot again, I might kill him. I don’t want to kill
him…there’s been too much killing.
Kill or be killed
, Bane said, and I
know he’s right, I know it’s Jack or me, but I just don’t know if I can do it
again. My hands are trembling so much that I drop the weapon just as Jack’s
fingers close around his gun.

“No!” Bane shouts.

Shoving his Harley sideways off the narrow ramp, he half
sprints, half-dives off the plank and into me, knocking me to the ground and
out of the line of fire. As he collides with me he pulls our bodies to the
ground in a roll, simultaneously recovering the Remington. When our momentum
comes to a stop, Bane is on his belly and the gun is tucked readily against his
shoulder. He aims and fires, shooting Jack in the arm, causing the gun to fly
out of Jack’s hand. Jack screams and falls back, writhing in pain but not dead.

“Come on, Red, run!” I grab the backpack as Bane pulls me to
my feet, pushing me ahead of him onto the ramp while he pauses to scoop up
Jenny. He follows me, the wood wobbling beneath our feet as we sprint into the
boat.

Once on board, Bane pushes the ramp off the boat until it
clatters off the side of the dock and splashes down. It tumbles into the water,
bubbling slowly under the black surface just like Bane’s Harley. The handlebars
are just disappearing under the brackish foam.

“Bane, your bike!” I realize.

“Too late,” he mutters, screwing his head around to glare at
the front of the boat. “Drive! Drive!”

“You got it!” shouts the boatman.

The boatman, who I’d forgotten about, throttles the engine
and deftly guides the boat away from the Pier. I look back over my shoulder at
the retreating sight of Chelsea Piers, Bane’s motorcycle submerging into the
Hudson, Jack Keller writhing in pain on the dock.

“Holy shit,” I pant. “That was close. Your bike, Bane, I am
so sorry. You lost your Pearl.”

Bane slumps against the hull, sighing. Jenny licks his face
and he laughs. “Yeah, shit happens,” he chuckles. “I can always get a new
bike.” He reaches to scratch Jenny’s ears, his eyes piercing into mine. “But
where would I find another Rachel Kent?”

Heart hammering, I let myself sink down to sit beside him,
fitting my side under his arm. My heart swells, the crazy emotions and
adrenaline of the last few days breaking over me in an overwhelming sure. Bane
strokes my cheek.

“What do you say we change things up when we get to Canada?
Get us back on the right side of the law?”

My smile is probably glowing in the dark. “Yes.”

“That’s my brave girl.” His lips close over mine, full of
promise, as the black Atlantic waters cover our tracks away from Manhattan
Island.