Read Death Layer (The Depraved Club) for Free Online

the front, stoically.
    “Gerard,” says Mr. King, “Will you increase the A/C in the
back for us please.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The sudden whoosh of cool air makes goose bumps flare over
my exposed arms.
    “Thank you,” I say, clutching my arms protectively around
myself.
    “You’re welcome,” Mr. King and Gerard chime at the same
time. They catch each other’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. I stifle a giggle.
    “Here are the documents you asked me to prepare,” I say,
pulling a folder out of my purse. “Can’t say that I understood them, but
they’re ready. Just as you specified.”
    “Fantastic.”
    Mr. King rifles through the papers, speed-reading the odd
gibberish he had asked me to type up. Gerard turns onto FDR drive and directs
us south. Finally Mr. King returns the papers to me. “Hold on to these. We’re
in for an interesting night, Miss Clark.”
    I smile and look out the window. It’s dorky, but living in
Manhattan I rarely ride in a car anymore and it feels like a treat. I watch the
dense lights of the city swirl past, reflected on the East River like
phosphorescence over ink.
    Suddenly Gerard takes an exit and gives some crazy taxi
drivers a run for their money, careening rapidly through a puzzle of streets
before swerving into a parking garage. I have no idea where in the city we are.
    “Whoa,” I say, clutching the door as we speed underground.
    Gerard is burning rubber like a drag racer around the
pillars of the parking structure, taking us deeper level after level. Finally,
he screeches to a stop in front of an industrial elevator door.
    There is a large man with a beard and a leather jacket
standing outside the elevator. Another man is sitting on a crate. Gerard pulls
the emergency brake and scrambles out of the car, trotting over to open the
door for us. He stands to the side, his gaze downcast.
    Dizzy from the speeding, I try to exit the car gracefully
but am a little shook up. Mr. King appears at my side and offers me a steadying
hand. I clutch it gratefully, smiling up at him. His eyes twinkle back.
    “Sorry about that, Miss Clark. We were running a bit late.”
    “No worries,” I say. I take a breath, pull my necklace back
around the right way and follow Mr. King to the elevator.
    The giant man gives us a nod and presses a button. “Hello
Mr. King,” he grunts. Something like a gun bulges at his side. “Long time no
see.”
    Mr. King nods but doesn’t look at him. “Bruno.”
    I look to Mr. King, uneasy, and he gives me a wink that says
everything is under control. Somewhat placated, I follow him into the elevator
and notice there is only one button: down. He presses it firmly and the
elevator lurches slowly into the depths of Manhattan, lights flickering.
    “I can see why this club is exclusive,” I say, trying to
break my tension with humor. “Who the hell can find it?”
    Mr. King smiles and links my arm around his, pulling me
nearer to his face. His eyes are clear and intense and I can smell his cologne.
Sensory overload.
    “Just stay close to me,” he murmurs. “Alright, Clark?”
    You bet, I think, nodding. I’m not going anywhere.
    The elevator deposits us on a narrow platform outside a
large sliding sheet metal door with the letters D.L. over the top and enormous
thugs guarding the door. Bouncers who make Bruno look like Orphan Annie give us
the once-over and make us put our hands against the door, patting us down. My
stomach churns as I feel the huge hands trace every curve of my body.
    “This seems extreme,” I object.
    Mr. King shakes his head. “Standard procedure here.”
    “We like a safe space to play,” says the taller bouncer,
leering at me.
    I grimace.
    The bouncers finish searching us and unfasten the large
metal chain barring the door, stepping to the side to give us access.
    Mr. King goes through, tugging me along, and I hear the
chain lock behind us. The doors open and my eyes and ears struggle to
acclimate. There’s hardly any light, and when