Page 2 of Depraved

Fantasizing…my stranger in the dark.

His weekly visits were one of my father’s many secrets. A well-respected police commissioner’s reputation would be ruined if the public knew about his ties with one of New York’s most notorious motorcycle gangs.

I never could figure out what kind of business my dad would have with these men. But while I stared from my window at the man in the shadows, I didn’t really care. The way my heart kept racing, my stomach filled with a kind of excitement I’d never felt before, I knew I had grown addicted to it. The thrill of watching him, studying him…desiring him.

He never looked around when he walked up to the front door. Under the dim light that came from the porch, I could make out the contour of his face and the shadow of his beard. But everything about him screamed business. Determination. Danger. Every step he took was calculated, confident, and undeniably dominant.

He was the alpha, the leader—even I could see that.

The weekly visits usually lasted about an hour, maybe less. And I would wait by the window with so much expectation from the prospect of catching another glimpse of him, because this was the exciting part. The part where he left. It was the part I loved the most.

The front door would open, and first I’d see their shadows falling on the well-manicured lawn and cobble walkway. I would lean to the side of the window, my heart thumping erratically inside my chest…waiting…anticipating.

Then he would appear, his back toward me. The cut he wore told me who he was, a member of the American Street Kings—a wicked skull with the American flag proudly displayed on the leather. It was beautiful and threatening at the same time.

He’d reach his Harley, and I would straighten, my heart wanting to crawl out of my throat. My stomach would turn into a thousand knots within a split second as I watched him throw his cigarette to the ground, pressing on the little yellow coal with his boot. He would turn his head, glancing over his shoulder in my direction. Then, finally, the moment I had been waiting for ever since I heard the roar of their motorcycles coming down our driveway.

The moment when he turned around and looked right at me. I swallowed hard, equal parts excitement and fear running rampant inside me, but I refused to look away because it was all there. It was there, in his eyes. I could see it all the way from the second floor. The promise. The vow…the warning.

He would come for me. One day. Whether I wanted him to or not.

CHAPTER TWO

ALYX

Two years later

The bandages around my toes irritated me. One would think I’d be used to Band-Aids and bleeding feet after years of dancing. But judging by the throbbing pain at the tips of my toes and how I fidgeted with the bandages, obviously not.

I was only two weeks into my second year at Juilliard, and already the vigorous training was taking its toll. Hours and hours of grueling practice, the need for perfection fueling me to move past the point of pain, yet I still didn’t feel like I was able to accomplish anything.

The ache in my back made me lean over, rubbing my palm up and down my side. The bright neon lights shining in the reception area wasn’t helping the migraine that was starting to develop just above my eyes.

The sound of beads belting together drew my attention to the man emerging from the back of the studio, Red shortly on his heel.

“Make sure to keep that wrapping on for a few hours.” She opened the door and held it as the man with the wrapped forearm walked out with nothing but a nod.

“You’re welcome.” She closed the door behind him. “Asshole.”

I smiled. “Another friendly customer?”

She flipped her dyed, ruby red hair over her shoulder, and I caught sight of the row of earrings she had pierced all around her earlobe. “He’s not the friendliest, but at least he’s a regular. Comes here every month to get more ink done.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s thank you enough.”

With a half-smile, I slipped my shoes back on my feet and got up, grabbing my bag. “You’re the best artist in town, Red. He’d be dumb to get work done by anyone else.”

She nudged me with her elbow. “You’re just saying that because the best artist in town also happens to be your best friend for how long now?” She feigned a look of thought. “Seven years?”

“Six.”

“Nah.” She waved it off. “Who’s counting?” She placed her arm around my shoulder. “Have you decided what you want?”

I nodded.

Her face lit up. “And? What is it?”

I paused. “Do you promise not to ask questions?”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been nagging your ass to get a tattoo for the last seven years⁠—”