Page 10 of Depraved

Dutch nodded then gestured toward the door. “You sure about this?”

I studied him for a few seconds. “If you have doubts, you should have brought it up at church.”

“I’m not doubting anything.”

“Good.”

“I’m just wondering what’s else is going on in that head of yours.” He gave me a knowing look, as if he could see straight through me. I hated it. If someone had the correct formula to figure me out, it would be Dutch. Fucker knew me better than I knew myself sometimes.

With my gaze pinned on him, I took a step forward. “Believe me, if you had to know what’s going on in my head, you’d be certifiable.”

A smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. “That, I know.”

I stepped back and dropped my cigarette before stomping on it. “Did you tie up loose ends?”

Dutch placed his hands in his jean pockets. “We found one of them in the car, still breathing. For some reason, Ink wanted to bring him here, see if he can make him talk.”

“There ain’t nothing the prospect can say that we don’t already know.”

He shrugged. “Tell that to Ink. Fucker is bat-shit crazy, man.”

“Best fucking sergeant-at-arms we could ask for.”

Dutch laughed and lit a cigarette. “If everything goes according to plan, we should get a phone call by morning.”

“Let’s hope everything does go according to plan.”

“Yeah. Everyone is anxious to get the ball rolling and finally nail those Python fuckers.” I placed my hands on his shoulders. “Now go shave your fucking head. Your hair color is starting to show.” I shot him a cocky grin before turning around, heading back to the room.

“I’m thinking about growing it,” he called after me. “Seems like red hair is becoming a trend these days.”

“Wishful thinking, fucker.” I chuckled as I closed the door.

Dutch and I had been friends for as long as I could remember. Both our grandfathers had been founders of the club. Being the same age, Dutch and I always hung out—even before we became members of the American Street Kings.

Poor fuck had red hair, hence the reason he shaved it. There was a time when everyone tried to convince him to grow his hair and join the Redhead Days Festival in the Netherlands, but the bastard refused. All the teasing about the festival eventually landed him his club name, Dutch, the club enforcer. To his family, he was Gabriel Carter. Fucker seemed all calm and shit, but I’d seen him lose his cool while holding a knife. Even I had to keep the gall down after watching him slice a man’s guts out as if it was nothing but a raw piece of meat. But I knew the cause of his anger that erupted every now and then. I shared that same anger, the same regret. It was something that would never go away.

I walked over to the bed, my shit-kicker boots hardly making a sound as I moved across the hardwood floor.

Everything had to go according to plan. I’d waited too goddamn long for this. We had planned this entire operation for weeks, discussing it endlessly at church. But what the rest of the club didn’t know was I had planned this for years.

Alyx stirred, soft little moans slipping from her lips. I stared down at her, my gaze raking over every contour of her face, every feature illuminated under the moonlight. Flawless, pale skin. Almond shaped eyes with a natural lift at the corners. And her lips? Beautiful, and plump in the center with a perfect cupid’s bow.

She shifted, her body moving over the newly bought sheets. Gently, I placed the back of my hand against her cheek. Warm. Soft. Begging to be touched and corrupted.

Soon.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALYX

Another migraine. God, I hated waking up with a head that felt like it had been hit against a concrete wall a million times.

I tried to stretch, my body aching in places it never had before. That was when I felt the rope around my wrists, and like a fucking wrecking ball, the horrible memories came crashing against my skull.

Men grabbing me…

Pulling my hair…