Smolder: Trojans MC (2 page)

The man in the footage was so gorgeous that Shayla was glad Anthony had the first few lines of the story. She was too focused on the dark, rugged face of the kitten-saving biker to do anything else but stare as he picked up the kitten and zoomed away on his bike. Though the video was of less than stellar quality, it was plain that the biker had tattoos creeping up his neck and peeking out from his sleeves. And his actions? Well, they spoke for themselves.

Except they didn’t really speak for themselves, because soon the camera was on her again and she was meant to being doing the speaking.

Shayla’s eyes snapped to the teleprompter. “This report follows on the heels of a string of violent incidences involving biker gangs in Templeton and the surrounding area,” she said. “I think we can all agree that this sight is a refreshing one, and is undeniably heartwarming. If you or anyone you know has more information about the man or the kitten, please let us know by phone, text, or tweet.” Shayla smiled and prepared for the camera to pan to Anthony.

Amy jumped into Shayla’s view, gesturing toward the teleprompter. Shayla’s eyes dipped back down.

“We have a breaking development on this story,” she said, trying not to smile at the ridiculous notion of a breaking development on a small town piece about a rescued kitten. Was it going to be revealed that the kitten itself had been a part of the gang violence?

“It appears that the owner of the kitten has seen our show, and has called in. I have Jacklin on the phone right now. Hello, Jacklin.”

Shayla was nervous now. She would have to respond organically to a phone call. What if she messed up? She kept her smile plastered on her face, though inside she was a shivering mess of nerves.

“Hi.”

Jacklin was clearly a child. A shy child, at that.

“Can you tell me why you’re calling today?”

Shayla tried to keep her voice as kind and gentle as she could muster, not wanting the girl to freeze up.

“That kitten is my kitten.” Shayla heard words of encouragement in the background. “I wanted to call in so that the guy who has him could return him. So he’d know where to go.”

Shayla smiled at the girl’s shy words. “That’s very smart of you, Jacklin. We’ll do our best to find your little kitten for you, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Amy waved at her to continue with the teleprompter, but Anthony took over instead.

“If you are the person who found the kitten, or you know who did, please call the station so we can reunite the pet with its owner,” he said, flashing his bright smile.

Shayla glanced over at him, confused as to why he’d cut her off, to see his fists clenched in a tight ball on the desk in front of him. Was the camera seeing that? What the hell was his problem?

When they cut for commercial, Anthony’s knuckles were practically white.

“What was that about?” Shayla asked.

He ignored her, jumping off of the stage to the refreshment table. Shayla followed him with her gaze as Amy hustled over and began hurriedly talking. Meg came over to adjust Shayla’s makeup.

“Is it normal for him to just take over?” Shayla asked in a hushed voice.

Meg shrugged. “I dunno,” she said, wiping under Shayla’s eyes with a sponge. “I just do the makeup.”

And, until today, Shayla had just done the fetching—but she’d always kept a keen eye on those around her. That being said, Shayla did want to be reporter. Watching things like a hawk came with the territory. She’d never seen Anthony up close during a broadcast, though. Usually she would be relegated to the green room, where she’d let the special guests know when they were due to go on and which way to walk.

Though, to be honest, it didn’t surprise her that the Anthony was more of a jerk than she’d previously thought. She only hoped that he wouldn’t swoop down on her like that for the rest of the broadcast. She’d been on fire so far, but something like that would definitely put her off her game.

Anthony sat back down right before rolling, not even glancing at Shayla. She rolled her eyes just before the camera began to film, but plastered on a smile as thick as her makeup just in time.

And then it was time to hop up the career ladder.

Huh. So little Achilles actually belonged to someone. That wasn’t something Luke had anticipated. He was definitely a little upset that he wouldn’t get to keep the little guy, but that didn’t mean he’d keep him away from the little girl who owned him. She sounded adorable.

Luke hadn’t realized his first time being on the news would be as a kitten rescuer. He’d always figured it would be something gang related. And why would he think anything else? The guys were going to have a field day with this one when they found out, but Luke didn’t really care. He hadn’t earned the respect of his gang and the fear of his enemies by giving a shit about appearing manly at all time. The way he saw it, if he couldn’t be assured of himself while holding a kitten, then how could he stand in front of a group of guys with rough pasts and scars to prove it and still command their respect?

He hadn’t counted on having to give up his new friend so soon though. Bummer. He looked down at Achilles, who was doing his best impression of a snowflake—paws splayed out, white fluff everywhere. Luke smiled. He would’ve like to have had a biker cat, but he could hardly zip off upstate to sort out a dispute or head off on a trip at the drop of a hat when he had to worry about getting a cat sitter.

Luke picked up the little fluff ball and stood up, placing Achilles back down on the couch behind him. He ran a hand through his hair, noting that it was starting to come in at the sides so he’d have to get it buzzed soon. He liked it long on the top and short on the sides. The ladies like it too.

Speaking of ladies.

Luke stepped into his bedroom, admiring the naked girl sprawled across his bed. The light from the hallway illuminated just a portion of her. To his pleasure, that portion included one fleshy mound, topped with a puffy pink nipple that he was already thinking about sticking back between his teeth.

But he had a kitten to return. And anyway, she’d been a goddamn harpy in the sack. All shrill screams and teeth, in all the worst ways a person could imagine. When she was sleeping was the only time he still found her desirable.

Luke flicked on the light, and the girl stirred. What the hell was her name again? Monica? Harmony?

“Hey,” he called when she didn’t immediately open her eyes. “Time to go.”

She lazily blinked her eyes open and rubbed them, sitting up with her hands splayed behind her. “What time is it?”

Luke shrugged. “Probably ten-thirty.”

“I shouldn’t even be in bed yet,” she complained. “Never mind waking up from it.”

Luke gritted his teeth. He didn’t like when people argued with him. “Well you shouldn’t have drank so goddamn much. I have somewhere to be, though, so you need to leave.”

She stretched and he raked his eyes across her chest. Her eyes caught his, and he knew that it had been the desired effect. But though his eyes had looked, his cock did not stir. She was pissing him off now; not a color he wore well.

“You sure you don’t want to go again?”

Luke pretty certain that she was trying to sound husky and sexy, but the effect was more or less the same as his bike when it backfired. He shook his head and fixed her with a mirthless grin.

“I’m good.”

The girl pouted and got out of bed. He left as she started putting clothes on, unwilling to subject himself to the reverse striptease she likely would have put on for him. Was it Barbara? Angelica?

He needed to start getting them name tags. Then again, it hardly mattered when he would never see her again. And if he did, he’d probably already have another girl on his arm and he doubted she’d approach. It was almost comical to him, however, that he had memorized whole stanzas of
The Iliad
and yet he couldn’t remember a bike groupie’s name.

Luke picked up Achilles from the couch, where the kitten was still trying to sleep. Did this cat sleep just all the time? He gave him a hard glare. “Is that why those dogs nearly got their teeth in ya? Too lazy to move?”

The kitten blinked at him and let out a tiny meow.

“That’s what I thought.”

Luke gave Achilles a good-natured rub on the head. Footsteps from behind him announced the girl’s approach, but he kept his back to her in the hopes that she’d just fucking leave already. Instead, she snaked her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his t-shirt.

“I left my number on the nightstand,” she cooed.

Luke rolled his eyes. He could have sworn Achilles rolled his eyes too.

“Whatever, babe. Was nice meeting you.”

He wouldn’t bother lying to her and saying that he’d see her again soon or talk to her again ever. Luke was a straight up kind of guy, which most girls couldn’t handle about him. In the case of this one, it was more a matter of her being either too willfully blind or stupid to understand his obvious dismissal of her, rather than her just taking it in stride.

Her arms unwrapped from his middle and her footsteps echoed down the hall to the front door. Then she was out, and the door slammed closed behind her.

Luke smirked at Achilles. “Women. Am I right?”

Achilles mewled again, and Luke gave him another pat.

“Time to get you home.”

He grabbed his jacket from where he’d thrown it across the tall chair on his way in the room. He placed Achilles down on the couch while he slid the jacket on, then picked up the runt and briefly considered putting him in his pocket. Deciding that wouldn’t be very pleasant, he tucked him in the front of his jacket—just the way he’d done after he first rescued him.

Outside, the clear sky twinkled with the few stars that were able to make it through the glare of the city lights. Templeton wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, but it was populated enough that Luke had to drive miles out onto the ridge that overlooked the town to get any kind of good view of the stars.

That wasn’t to say Luke didn’t like the city. He loved feeling the city’s pulse throb around him day and night. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night without the sounds of passing traffic and distant sirens to take his mind down a few notches. Being in the quiet made him uncomfortable, though he’d never admit that to another soul. He’d heard once that not being able to be alone with your own thoughts was the mark of a guilty mind. He didn’t know about that, but shit if he’d let anyone think he was anything but sure of himself.

He swung his leg over his Harley and made sure to tuck in the bottom of his jacket before he began to ride. Achilles was still, probably already asleep, but he decided it’d be a real fucking bummer if he got to the station to give them the cat and the damn thing had fallen out and gotten crushed on the way there.

He fired up the bike, allowing it to warm up and grumble beneath him. His leather clad hands on the handlebars felt so right, and he squeezed as he took off, roaring into the dark.

When Luke was on the road, nothing could get him. It was better than the sounds of the city at night. It was better than a cold beer on a hot day. It was even better than sex. Most of the time. He was one grumbling beast, and the world was a web of black asphalt beneath his tires.

The TV station wasn’t far away. He passed its gigantic satellite dish a few times a week, and he’d even snuck in to stargaze on the cool metal curve once or twice. The security at the station was pretty tight now though. He liked to think he’d had a hand in that.

Parking by the front doors, Luke assessed the scene. There were a few cars in the lot, but not as many as there would be during the day. It was a squat building of red brick, with a big set of glass doors that looked out of place on its aged facade. Someone had tried to make the place look modern, but it was still a shitty TV station in a small city in Oregon.

Kicking his stand and jumping off his bike, Luke unzipped his jacket and fished down the front of it for Achilles. The kitten gave a little meow as Luke pulled him out, placing him on his wide shoulder. Achilles had hung out there for a long time when he’d first brought him home. Luke suspected it was because he liked the scratchiness of Luke’s beard.

Achilles’ low purring buzzed against Luke’s neck as he swung the door open and entered the building. The receptionist’s eyes immediately snapped to him. She was a woman in her early-forties, with the first threads of gray beginning to slip through her hair, but she was still beautiful. People who worked in TV stations often were. She gave him a friendly smile as he approached, and when he stood directly in front of her desk, her eyes darted up and widened in what he took for pleasure as she noticed the kitten on his shoulder.

“Can I help you?” she asked. “Or your cat?”

“I saw on the news that a little girl is looking for this kitten,” he replied. “I’m here to return him to her.”

Her eyes washed over with adoration, and maybe a hint of lust. He should have guessed that saving a defenseless creature would endear him to the female population. They always loved a bad guy with a heart. He smirked at the thought. Did this woman—Sharon, according to her nametag—think that he’d get her in bed and show her the same gentleness that he did he cat? If so, she was wrong.

“I didn’t realize anyone would come so quickly,” she said, licking her lips. “Come with me.”

She rose from the desk and smoothed out the wrinkles in her tight black skirt. Luke watched her with interest. Maybe he’d come back and see her after getting Achilles back to his owner. He’d always wanted an older woman.

He followed her out from the desk to a door at the back of the room. Through the door was a long hallway, which apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about the modernity that the front half of the building had been subject to. It was cluttered, and the heels of his boots struck against the yellowing linoleum with a sick
splat
noise.

There were few people around, and those who he did see gave him a wide berth as he passed by. The receptionist strutted in front of him with her head high and her ass out, and he admired the view, though he was a little exasperated by the obviousness of it. He was starting to miss the chase. Sure, he could take her to somewhere skeezy and screw her brains out after he was done here if he wanted to, and knowing he held that power was thrilling, but there would be no real lead up.

He began eyeing the other women he passed in the corridors. The women who shrunk away. There were only a couple, and neither were his type.

And then he saw her.

The receptionist led him out into a large, open room full of monitors and computers, with a desk and a green screen at one end. That Anthony asshole was still standing near the desk, and talking to him was the hot blonde from the broadcast earlier. Rather, that Anthony asshole was talking at her. She was shrinking away from him, and the asshole was leaning into her space, clearly threatening her with his body, no matter what his words were saying. Luke didn’t know what they were talking about, but he didn’t like it.

The receptionist pulled up to a short, plump woman wearing a headset. “This is Amy, our producer.”

Amy gave him a once over, decided that she like what she saw, and extended her hand to him. Luke grabbed Achilles off of his shoulder. “Can you hold him for a minute?”

He dropped the kitten into Amy’s hand before she had a chance to reply, stalked to the other side of the room, and stopped where Anthony had his finger jabbing in the direction of Shayla’s face. Shayla. That was her name. He could remember the name of the girl on the news, but not the girl he fucked only a couple of hours ago? Typical.

Anthony was still up in Shayla’s space. Unacceptable. Anthony was the type of guy who thought that just because he went to the gym three times a week, he should be able to throw his weight around and bully whomever he pleased. He probably gave a hard time to everyone, especially the person who did his spray tan, considering how cooked he looked. Luke could hear the tail end of Anthony’s comments as he approached.

“...Just because you’re hot doesn’t mean—”

He’d heard enough.