Smolder: Trojans MC (24 page)

Shayla showered and dressed, doing up her hair and makeup as if she were really going on a date. Luke hated it. He would have had her show up in sweats and a baggy hoodie if it were up to him. But again, Shayla reminded him that this was her battle now. He would get his own soon enough, but she would face this the way she felt was best.

Reluctantly, Luke accepted her admonitions. Even though he watched her with hard eyes as she blow dried and curled her hair.

She arrived at Anthony’s front door at exactly ten fifteen p.m. It was the time she’d chosen, stating that she’d rather skip the dinner part of their evening and get down to business. He’d agreed, though he’d stated that he would still be getting his end out of it. She wouldn’t get to tap out early just because it was late. His text told her that she’d be in for a long night.

He had no idea that he was the one who’d be in for the long night.

Anthony’s house was larger than Shayla’s, but a similar color. She mentally noted that she’d have to get hers painted soon. It looked fine enough from the outside, but she wouldn’t have put it past him to have a dungeon just through the front door.

He didn’t, as it turned out. He opened the door and sneered at her, looking her up and down in the warm light thrown off by the lightbulb above the porch steps. “I’m glad you could make it.” He looked around her, nervously. Satisfied that she was alone, he opened the door fully and gestured for her to enter. She had to brush past him to do so, and reminded herself that it would be over soon enough. Only a little bit longer in this hell, so close to Anthony that she could smell the reek of cologne on him, and she’d be free.

He seemed to take an exorbitant amount of pleasure from watching her try to sneak by him without brushing him whatsoever. It didn’t work, of course. He was determined not to let it. Shayla resented that fact, and it only proved to her—if she hadn’t known—how twisted he was. He reveled in her discomfort.

“I was a little bit surprised that you didn’t want to let me woo you first,” Anthony stated, his voice far too close behind her. “I can be quite charming.”

His words sent goosebumps down Shayla’s back, and not in a good way. She scowled, even though he couldn’t see it. Perhaps especially since he couldn’t see it. She didn’t like knowing how much pleasure he was getting out of this.

“Well I figured we know each other well enough. No need for a wooing.”

He laughed.

Shayla stopped in his living room, a large and comely space that was sparsely but tastefully decorated. It had paintings on the wall that she could tell were the real thing. No prints in this palace. She wondered how much money the Reapers had put into his pocket. By the looks of his home, certainly more than a few pennies.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He came around in front of her, gazing down at her with dark and beady eyes. “I love bringing women here. After seeing my place, they’re only too happy to let me see theirs. If you catch my drift.”

She couldn’t have caught his drift any better if she’d been a major league baseball player. She tried to suppress a grimace, but Anthony caught it.

“I love seeing you so disgusted,” he said. “It’s going to make it all the more worth it when you’re writhing below me in ecstasy later.”

That made Shayla laugh. “You can’t actually think I’m going to be enjoying any of tonight’s proceedings?” she questioned.

He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. His skin was cold, like a reptile’s. “I’ve seen it before, Shayla.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “The mind makes promises of hatred that the body just can’t cash.” He released her and let his gaze drop down lower. “I can see already that you came looking your best for me. It was probably subconscious, but don't worry if it wasn’t.” He winked. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

According to what she’d heard from Naomi, he would actually. Since he had a hard time getting aroused unless he was in complete, dictatorial control, that would have been Shayla’s next move had she not had a plan—get in control herself. The thought made her want to gag, but it was an option. Sure, it wouldn’t be fun pretending to want to screw Anthony’s brains out, but if Naomi hadn’t been mistaken then they’d never actually make it to the screwing part.

He was a psychopath. A smart one, too. But he’d messed with the wrong people.

“Can you get me a drink?” Shayla said, making sure he could hear the shake in her voice. “I’m feeling a little nervous.”

His eyes lit up like it was Christmas. “Of course, my dear.” He smirked. “I’ll only be a moment. Go ahead and sit down.”

She’d planned on it anyway, but thanked him as if it hadn’t occurred to her. He couldn’t have been as smart as she originally gave him credit for if he thought she was going to actually drink anything he prepared for her.

But Anthony was thinking with his dick now. And it would be his downfall.

Shayla checked the time on her phone. She was cutting it close, but thankfully she hadn’t missed her moment. She sent off a quick text and settled in front of the TV, pressing the power button on the remote so that it came to life. She searched through the channels until she found what she wanted.

The creaking of hinges from the front door made Shayla smile.

Luke entered through the front door quietly, closing it behind him with barely a whisper of noise. He hung back in the hallway, listening for his cue. He hated that he couldn’t see what was going on in Anthony’s living room. For all he knew, anything could be happening in there. Anthony could have Shayla pinned down to the couch already. What if he’d seen her send the text?

But Shayla had asked him to trust her, and he did. He didn’t want to ruin her plan, so he waited.

He was rewarded with the sound of the KTMA news broadcast blaring through the speakers as Shayla cranked the volume on the remote. From a distance, Luke could hear Anthony say, “Oh, not that crap!” in a boisterous and playful tone.

It made Luke bristle.

Anthony’s footsteps echoed across the hardwood as he came back from the kitchen, or wherever he’d gone when Shayla had asked him to get her a drink. Now it was Luke’s turn to get his own revenge.

When he stepped out from the hallway, Anthony had his back to him. He was standing behind the couch, massaging Shayla’s shoulders. She had a drink in her hand, and he could see from the slight profile of her face and the posture of her body that she was profoundly uncomfortable. Luke saw red.

He was halfway across the floor before Anthony even heard him coming. He grabbed the smaller man by the back of the neck and dragged him to the wall, slamming his face against it so hard that splats of blood resounded from the floor.

“I thought I was going to punch you at this point,” Luke hissed, slamming him again. “But you’re not worth the ache in my knuckles.”

Though disoriented, Anthony tried to struggle out of Luke’s grasp, backpedaling wildly. It wasn’t enough. Luke was too strong, and Anthony too clumsy. His fist still in an unforgiving grip on the back of Anthony’s neck, he dragged him over to the couch, now unoccupied, and threw him down over the top.

Anthony rolled over it and down to the floor, smacking his face again. Shayla watched from the sidelines with a grin, but when she spoke it was to chastise Luke. “He’ll miss the show, Luke.”

Luke shrugged. “Look at the TV,” he said. “He’s got DVR.”

Shayla gave him a withering look, and Luke shot back a mischievous smile. Meanwhile, Anthony lay on the ground, groaning. Luke rolled his eyes. Some men just couldn't take a hit. He walked over and pulled the smaller man to his feet, dropping him onto the couch in a position better fitted to watching.

Luke flopped onto the couch next to Anthony, and Shayla sat next to Luke and entwined her fingers with his. It seemed almost her way of thanking him for not going too ape shit on Anthony. She knew how close he had come to deciding just to kill him and be done with it.

But, alas, that wouldn’t work for his lady. Or for him, really. Once a month conjugal visits were nowhere near as fun as having her in his arms every night. So he’d settled for a quick and dirty beating instead.

Anthony, still dazed, blinked as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. Templeton’s breaking news tonight was an interview with a familiar face, and Luke watched as the color drained from Anthony’s cheeks.

“You didn’t think we’d talk to her?” Luke asked. “You’re the dumbest fool I’ve ever met. Messing with me and my girl and thinking you’d get away with it.” He clucked his tongue. “Anthony Blake, that ego will be the death of you.”

He made sure to enunciate the word ‘death’ for dramatic effect. He might have had to keep his hands off now, but it didn’t mean he had to stop having fun with him.

Naomi was just detailing the physical abuse she suffered at Anthony’s hands when they finally settled. The photos she’d taken in secret of the bruises he’d given her still made Luke cringe. He struggled not to hit Anthony again, especially since those bruises could have wound up on his girl next.

Anthony grew ever paler as the broadcast continued. His phone, somewhere in his pockets it seemed, began to ring incessantly. Luke didn’t know who was calling, but he would have paid good money to hear what they had to say. Maybe it was his mother. Maybe it was one of his current girlfriends. Who knew? Maybe it was his hair stylist. It could have been anyone. Or everyone. It kept ringing.

“How did you…” Anthony’s words died in his throat. For once, the man was lost for words. The silence was golden.

When the brief credits showed, it was clear that Anthony believed it was all over. He was wrong.

This next part had been a special treat for Luke. It wasn’t necessary in the same way that the interview with Naomi had been, but it seemed to add just another layer of poeticism to the evening. Luke felt triumph, like he had singlehandedly burst down the impenetrable walls of Troy. He was the victor, and his spoils were the humiliation of the man next to him, the disemboweling of those who’d wronged him, and the beautiful woman beside him.

At first, Anthony didn’t know what he was seeing. He looked over at Luke and Shayla with an expression of confusion. It didn’t last. The hushed voices of whoever was operating the long distance camera were describing the scene. Several Reapers MC members were unloading crates of drugs from the back of a white van. Luke saw the figure of Raven leaning against the side of the van, looking bored. He was especially glad that she’d made it out tonight.

If there was any doubt to what they were doing, the men flanking the van holding assault rifles cleared that up. And, if it was still in doubt that they were participating in highly illegal activities, then the whirling neon lights and blaring loudspeaker voice from the approaching cop cars telling them to freeze minimized the margin for confusion.

Anthony was so pale that he might have been a ghost. In a way, he was. A ghost of the person he used to be. All of his fears flashed across his face. His realization that his life as he knew it was over. Like a great clout over the head, Anthony was vanquished.

Luke stood and smiled triumphantly, dipping his hand into his pocket for the band of gold that had been his crux for too long now. There was nothing more Raven could do for him. Nothing more Anthony could do to him. He was a free man. He tossed the offending ring at the screen and watched it bounce down onto the floor.

Behind him, Anthony began to cry. Luke turned to survey the scene. Shayla was still seated at the far end of the couch, wriggled into the corner as far from Anthony as possible. She’d been watching Luke with an expression of glee on her face, but now she turned to Anthony to watch him crumble. She looked so sexy in her enjoyment of his downfall that Luke swelled with pride.

There was a knock at the door.

“Shall I get that for you?” Luke asked politely, gesturing to the hallway.

A muffled cry of “Police! Open up!” caused Anthony to bawl even louder. “Anthony Blake, we just want to talk to you!”

Luke snickered. “That’s what they always say.” He shook his head, feigning sadness for the pathetic man in front of him. “It’s never true though. They have to say that. Otherwise everyone would make a run for it.”

Shayla stood from the couch just as the police burst through the door and streamed into the room. Both Luke and Shayla stood with their hands behind their head, as they’d been told to do. And, as they’d arranged, the officers identified them and nodded for them to leave.

The combination of Naomi’s interview and Holly Masterson’s statement had given the police everything they needed to finally bust the Reapers for good. Luke, though he loathed a snitch, had been only too happy to help in this regard. He couldn’t deny, either, that it was going to help redeem him again in the public’s eye if Raven’s interview ever made it out into the world. He’d assisted in the arrest of several persons of interest. That wasn’t something people would look over lightly.

Dismissed, Luke looked down at Shayla and smiled. Her eyes were alight with the same fire in his own, and his lips curved into a smile. He reached down and hoisted her into his arms, placing a chaste kiss on her lips as he carried her out the front door and away from the position of Anthony Blake.

“I can’t believe we did it,” she remarked.

It was the first time she’d spoken since chastising him for taking too long with Anthony. He was glad to hear she still could speak. He was worried that she’d be overwhelmed by the drama and activity. He couldn't have been more wrong. She was glowing.

“I can,” he said, sliding her down to her feet. He held her close though, not yet ready to relinquish his grasp. “There’s just one more thing I need to do tonight.”

Alarmed, she blinked up at him. “What’s that?”

He smiled. “Tell you I love you.”