Page 37 of Depraved

A long stretch of silence filled the room. There were no noises from above. No footsteps creaking floorboards, no voices. It told me we were deeper underground than just a normal basement. Probably a large building then. Somewhere made of concrete.

After about a half an hour of silence River said, "I was ten when they took me. Snatched right off the street in broad daylight. No one even noticed."

I met his eye, something ugly curling in my stomach as I pictured it. I didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want him to clam up and stop talking. Mostly because I was a nosy bitch, but also because… I cared.

I fuckingcared.

Damnit, when the hell did that happen?

"They kept us in cages at first. Like animals. I remember the smell—sweat and fear and desperation. The older kids tried to comfort the younger ones, but we all knew what was coming."

He paused, swallowing hard. "The first time they sold me, I fought. Kicked and screamed and bit. Didn't do any good. They just drugged me, kept me docile."

I felt sick, imagining River—fierce, protective River—reduced to a sex toy for old pricks. But I kept silent, not wanting to interrupt.

"After a while, you learn to disconnect. To go somewhere else in your head while they use your body. But sometimes they'd bring in other captives and force us to..." His voice cut off. "Those were the worst fucking nights."

River's hands clenched into fists, the muscles in his arms straining against the cuffs. "I lost track of how many times I was sold. How many 'masters' I had. Politicians, celebrities, wealthy businessmen. Doesn't matter how respectable they seem in public. Behind closed doors, they're all monsters."

"When I hit my teens, they started ordering me to work out. Wanted to keep the merchandise in top shape. Make sure the buyers got their money's worth." He shifted slightly, the muscles in his arms rippling beneath his shirt. "At first, I hated it. Felt like I was just making myself more appealing for those sick fucks. But then I realized that this was my chance. My opportunity to get strong, to prepare myself for the day I'd finally leave."

River's lips curled into a grim smile. "I threw myself into it. The guards thought I was just being obedient, trying to increase my value. They had no idea I was turning myself into a weapon." He paused, his eye meeting mine. "There was this one guard—Marcos. He was different from the others. Didn't look at us like we were less than human. He'd slip us extra food sometimes,or painkillers after a rough night. We started talking during his night shifts, and I guess he saw something in me."

"Marcos had been a boxer before he got mixed up with the wrong crowd. He started training me in secret—teaching me how to throw a proper punch.” River's voice grew softer, almost wistful. "He taught me more than just how to fight. He showed me what it meant to be a man. We'd talk for hours during those night shifts, about life, philosophy, the world, politics and how to play the game. He became the closest thing to a father I'd ever known."

"Over time, I got stronger, faster. Marcos pushed me hard, but always with a purpose. He'd say,'One day, kid, you'll have your chance. And when that day comes, make em squeal.’"

"Eventually, my 'master' started noticing the change in me. He saw potential, not just as a plaything, but as a weapon. That's when the real training began."

"They brought in ex-military guys, mercenaries. Taught me how to kill with my bare hands, how to use any object as a weapon. I learned to shoot, to fight with knives, to move silently in the dark. They turned me into a living, breathing instrument of death."

"The first time they sent me out on a job, I was nineteen. Some rival of my 'master' needed to be dealt with. That's when I saw him for the first time. Alex. He was younger then, of course. All lean muscle and cocky fucking swagger. I watched him from the shadows for hours, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Carlos had pissed off the wrong people, and my master wanted it paid in his son’s blood."

He paused, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "When I finally made my move, it was like a dance. We were evenly matched. Sarge taught him to fight like a monster, and he was almost a better shot than I was. His fighting stylewas wild, unpredictable. It was the first time I ever felt like I was matched.”

I smiled, imagining it as I said, “You let him go, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question, because I already knew the answer.

He nodded. “It’s how I lost sight in my eye. The master found out and I was punished for days, beaten until I thought I was going to die. I prayed for it, actually. They carved me up and bled me nearly dry. Took my sight and made sure I’d never disobey orders again.”

Fuck.

CHAPTER 13

Gage

The soft buzz of my phone cut through the tense silence. I fished it out of my pocket, frowning at the unknown number. Against my better judgment, I answered. "Warren," I barked, my whole body suddenly on edge.

"Gage, it's Tate." The familiar voice sent a jolt through me. Tate, my old buddy. One of seven men I used to trust with my fucking life. Men who changed after my undercover work started. Men who wouldn’t even look me in the eye since Leon and Charlie were killed.

"Listen carefully. You've got three minutes to clear out of that cabin before all hell breaks loose. I can't say more, but if you don't want to get caught up in this shitstorm, you need to move. Now."

The line went dead before I could respond. For a split second, I froze, my mind struggling to process the warning. Then training kicked in, and I was moving.

"Sarge!" I bellowed, already sprinting towards the front door. "Get to Layla! Now!"

The shattering of glass punctuated my words, followed by a series of dull thuds.Smoke grenades, my mind supplied as acrid fumes began to fill the air through the open kitchen window.

I burst out onto the porch, my eyes scanning the darkness frantically. The truck where I'd last seen Layla was rocking violently, shadowy figures swarming around it. My heart leapt into my throat as I realized what was happening.

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