Page 4 of Depraved

He shrugged, utterly unfazed by the weapon that had been pointed at his face mere seconds ago. "You’re not trigger-happy enough for that?"

I holstered the Glock, my heart still racing from the surge of adrenaline. River's ability to move with absolute stealth never ceased to unnerve me. For a man of his size, it seemed to defy the laws of physics.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, bending to retrieve my fallen duffel bag. "I thought you were heading back to Spain for the month?”

According to Alex, there were a few ‘things’ he needed wrapped up at his main home in Madrid. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell, but I suspected it had something to do with his father.

River moved further into the room, his overbearing presence seeming to fill the entire space. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast half his face in shadow, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the hollow of his cheek.

"Change of plans. Spain can wait. I'm coming with you to San Diego."

I arched an eyebrow, studying him carefully. River wasn't the type to change plans on a whim. "And why's that?"

He took another step closer, close enough now that I could smell the faint scent of leather and sweat that clung to him. "Because I was the one who got tipped off about Gage. My contact spotted him. Said he was meeting with someone—a woman. Blonde, early thirties. They seemedintimate."

The words made my stomach roll, though I fought to keep my face impassive. Gage, meeting some mystery woman? My mind raced with possibilities, each one more infuriating than the last.

River's eye narrowed, catching the slight tension in my shoulders. "You okay with that?"

I snorted, turning away to busy myself with my bag. "Why wouldn't I be? Gage can fuck whoever he wants. I just want to put him down.”

The words came out harsher than I intended, betraying the turmoil churning inside me. I could feel River's gaze burning into my back as I zipped up the duffel bag with more force than necessary. I wasn’t accomplishing anything, just fidgeting, and he knew that.

I whirled around, fixing him with a glare. "What do you want me to say, River? That I'm jealous? That the thought of Gage with some other woman makes me want to claw her eyes out?" I laughed bitterly. "He's a lying, traitorous piece of shit. I don't give a fuck who he's screwing."

River held up his hands in a placating gesture, but the knowing look in his eye made me want to punch him. "I didn't say anything. Just making sure you've got your head on straight for this."

I snatched up my bag, shouldering past him towards the door. "My head's just fine. Now if you're done psychoanalyzing me, we've got a plane to catch."

Two hours later,the jet sliced through the night sky, its powerful engines humming softly as it carried us westward. The smell of leather and expensive cologne hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of whiskey.

I slouched in my seat, one foot propped up on the edge of the polished wood table in front of me. My headphones were cranked up to an almost painful volume, the pulsing beat of heavy metal drowning out my thoughts. A half-empty tumbler of whiskey dangled from my fingers, the amber liquid catching the light as I swirled it absently.

My eyes were fixed on the window, watching the moonlit landscape far below rush past in a blur. But I wasn't really seeing it. My mind was in San Diego, imagining all the ways I'd make Gage pay when I finally got my hands on him. And try as I might to ignore it, a small part of me kept picturing him with that mystery blonde, their heads bent close together in some cozy cafe.

I took another swig, relishing the burn as it slid down my throat. The alcohol had dulled the edges of my anger, leaving behind a hollow ache in my chest. I hated this feeling—this weakness. I wanted the rage back. Rage I could use. This? This just made me feel pathetic.

I drained the last of my whiskey, savoring the smoky burn. As I set the empty glass down, a shadow fell across the table. I looked up to see Sarge standing there, his broad shoulders blocking out the overhead light. Without a word, he slid into the seat across from me. His dark eyes roamed over my face, taking in the tension in my jaw, the slight furrow between my brows. I pulled off my headphones, letting them dangle around my neck.

"You look like shit," he said bluntly, reaching for the bottle.

I snorted. "Thanks. Always know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?"

He poured himself two fingers of whiskey, then topped off my glass without asking. It sloshed invitingly. "Someone's gotta keep that ego of yours in check."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't quite suppress an answering smile. This was familiar territory—the easy banter, the unspoken understanding. It was comforting, in a way.

Sarge took a sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving my face. In the dim cabin light, the planes and angles of his features were striking. The strong line of his jaw, covered in a salt-and-pepper beard. The slight crook in his nose from one too many fights. His long hair was well past his shoulders, pulled back into a low bun.

Across the aisle, Alex and River were deep in conversation, their heads bent close together. Always secrets with those two.

Sarge's dark eyes met mine over the rim of his glass. Something electric crackled in the air between us, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He set his drink down with a soft clink and stood, moving around the table towards me.

"Scoot over," he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly.

My pulse quickened as I shifted to make room. Sarge slid into the seat beside me, his solid warmth pressing against my side. The leather creaked softly as he settled in.

"You doing okay?" he asked quietly, his breath tickling my ear.

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