Page 3 of Depraved

The taller one smirked and waved to another guy to open the gate for me. "Welcome back, Miss Cortez."

I eased the car through, gravel crunching under the tires as I made my way up the long, winding driveway. The sprawling adobe-style mansion loomed ahead, warm light spilling from a few windows. Most of the house was dark—it was nearly 3 AM after all.

I pulled into my usual spot in the circular driveway and cut the engine. For a moment, I sat in silence, listening to the tick of the cooling engine and the chirp of crickets in the surrounding desert. My body ached from the long drive, and exhaustion tugged at my soul.

I dragged myself out of the car, muscles protesting after hours behind the wheel. The cool night air raised goosebumps on my skin as I made my way up the stone steps to the massive oak front door. It swung open silently at my touch—the security system recognizing my biometrics.

The foyer was dimly lit, the crystal chandelier overhead casting soft shadows across the polished marble floor. My boots echoed in the cavernous space as I headed for the sweeping staircase. A gnawing ache had settled in my chest, urging me to check on Raul before I left again.

I paused outside his bedroom door, listening. A rhythmic beeping filtered through the thick wood—the heart monitor that had become a constant companion these past months. Beneath it, I could hear the rasp of labored breathing.

Easing the door open, I slipped inside. The room was bathed in a soft amber glow from the bedside lamp. Medical equipment crowded around the massive four-poster bed, a tangle of wires and tubes connecting to the frail figure lying motionless beneath the covers.

Raul's face was gaunt, cheekbones sharp beneath papery skin. Dark shadows bruised the hollows beneath his eyes. His silver hair, once thick and lustrous, now lay lank against the pillow. An oxygen mask covered the lower half of his face, fogging with each shallow breath.

I approached Raul's bedside, my throat tight as I took in his frail form. The man who had been like a father to me, who had molded me into the deadly force I was today, now looked so small and vulnerable. His chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths, each one seeming to take more effort than the last.

As I stood there, watching him sleep, a violent coughing fit suddenly wracked his body. His eyes flew open, wild and unfocused as he gasped for air. I quickly grabbed the glass of water from his nightstand, gently lifting his head to help him drink.

"Easy, old man," I murmured, supporting him as the coughs subsided. "I've got you."

Raul's eyes finally focused on me, a hint of his old sharpness returning. "Layla," he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. "You're back."

I nodded, carefully easing him back against the pillows. "Just for a bit. We've got a lead on Gage. I'm heading out to San Diego in a few hours."

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "Good girl. Make him pay."

Another coughing fit seized him, this one worse than before. I held him steady as his body shook, feeling helpless in the face of his suffering. When it finally passed, he slumped back, utterly spent.

“I will, Boss. I fucking will.”

CHAPTER 2

Layla

Ileft Raul's room with a heavy heart, silently making my way down the darkened hallway to my own. As I pushed open the heavy oak door, the familiar scent of leather and suntan lotion greeted me. My sanctuary.

Flicking on the lights, I headed straight for the walk-in closet. I pulled out a duffel bag and tossed it onto the bed. Time to gear up. Samantha was perched in her usual spot in the center of my bed, and stood as I laid my bags next to her. I picked her up and gave her tiny kisses all over her little kitty face. I hated leaving her for so long, but she was spoiled by the staff here, so I didn’t feel too bad.

I selected weapons and gear from the arsenal hidden behind a false wall panel. My custom Glock 19, lovingly modified for accuracy and fitted with a suppressor, went in first. Next came my trusty Ka-Bar combat knife, wickedly sharp and perfectly balanced. Better to have and not need than need and not have.

Clothing was next—all black, form-fitting, and practical. Cargo pants with plenty of pockets. Moisture-wicking long-sleeve shirt. Sturdy tactical boots. A lightweight kevlar vest,because I wasn't stupid. But I also packed several sexy as hell dresses and my favorite heels, because why the fuck not?

As I carefully packed each item, my mind raced with possibilities. Where exactly in San Diego was Gage? Who was he meeting with? How long had he been there? The questions swirled, fueling my need to finally track down that lying bastard.

I zipped up the duffel bag, double-checking that I had everything I needed. My fingers lingered on the cool metal of my Glock, tracing the custom engraving along the slide. The same words that were tattooed along my spine:It stops hurting when you’re dead inside.This gun had seen me through some of my darkest moments. It felt like an old friend, familiar and comforting in my hand.

Moving to the dresser, I pulled out a few more essentials—extra ammo, a burner phone, fake IDs. You never knew what might come in handy on a hunt like this. I tucked a wad of cash into my toiletry bag, in a new box of tampons. Money talked, and I planned on doing a lot oftalkingin San Diego.

As I packed, my mind wandered to Gage. What would I do when I finally found him? The rage still burned hot in my veins, demanding retribution. But underneath it all, there was a tiny flicker of something else. Something I refused to acknowledge. I shook my head, banishing those traitorous thoughts. Gage was the enemy now. Nothing more.

I hefted the duffel bag onto my shoulder, doing one final sweep of the room. That's when I heard it. The faintest whisper of movement behind me, so quiet I almost missed it. But years of training had honed my senses to a razor's edge.

In one fluid motion, I dropped the bag and whirled around, my Glock already in hand and aimed at the source of the sound. My finger rested lightly on the trigger, ready to fire in an instant.

But it wasn't an intruder or assassin standing there in the shadows. It was River, silent as always. His good eye gleamedin the dim light, the other hidden behind the patch he wore sometimes. It made him look like a sexy tatted up pirate. A slight smirk played at the corners of his mouth, clearly amused at having caught me off guard.

"Jesus fuck, River," I hissed, lowering the gun. "Make some goddamn noise next time before I put a bullet between your eyes."

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