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.”
Chapter Thirty Four
Six months later…
“You’re going to do fine.”
Shayla looked up at Luke with wide eyes, practically hyperventilating. “What if I don’t?”
He smiled wryly and shook his head. “You helped take down a biker gang and a sleazy psychopath with nothing but your wit and nerve.” He kissed her gently. “I believe in you. This is child’s play for you, little one.”
Shayla was unconvinced. She felt her stomach rise in her throat, and the electric excitement that tingled over her whole body reminded her of the first time she’d ever gone out with Luke. But that had been easy in comparison. At least with Luke she would only have to deal with herself if it all blew up in her face.
She peered out from behind the curtain, only managing to see a sliver of the crowd. If she tripped or slipped up her speech out there, she’d be lambasted in front of the whole country. They were calling her the Midas of news, which Luke absolutely loved. Every story she touched turned to gold.
It wasn’t that simple, but Shayla never corrected anyone. It was easier to let them think that she was naturally brilliant than to explain how hard she worked to get the stories and angles she did. Let them think she was magic. It would keep them on their toes, at least.
Luke followed her line of sight and pulled her chin up so that she only saw him. He was wearing a tux, and looked absolutely gorgeous in it. His hair was neatly combed, and almost all of his tattoos were covered by the high neck. Of course, the few that did poke through only made the look sexier.
“I have to get back to my seat, gorgeous.” He grinned mischievously. “I want the best seat in the house when you walk across that stage.”
She gulped. She was a big girl. She could do this herself. “Okay,” she squeaked. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
He kissed her again and patted the silver, silken material of her dress where it stretched across her ass. Luke’s eyes had nearly popped out of his head when he’d seen her in it for the first time. It was a modest enough gown, with a high neckline, albeit revealing back, but it was tight around her hips and chest in a way that Shayla had to admit was quite flattering.
She counted her breaths steadily as she waited for them to call her name. In. Out. In. Out. She reminded herself to be thankful that this was the hardest thing she had to do today. There had been a time, though it felt like ages ago, when she’d woken up one morning thinking that she’d have to sleep with Anthony Blake.
Shayla began to laugh, her body wracked with giggles and hiccups that caused those walking past her backstage to stare in confusion. But she didn’t care. She’d made it here, after all. She could do anything. Luke was right.
“We are happy to present the Emmy Award for Outstanding Investigative Journalism in a Regularly Scheduled Broadcast to a very special woman, who personally fought through the grit of her subject matter and came out victorious. Since what has become known as “The Reaper Conspiracy,” she has demonstrated time and time again the exceptional ability of her person. Please welcome Shayla Queene!”
Shayla’s heart did a somersault, and she plastered on a big, yet genuine smile and walked out across the stage. She barely saw anything amidst the flashes, though the applause and cheers nearly knocked her off her feet.
Once at the podium, Shayla grounded herself for her speech by looking out at Luke’s beaming face from the front row. It was a short and bland speech, thanking all those who had assisted in her success in recent months. She’d practiced it for over an hour in the mirror at home beforehand, though the words still felt clumsy in her mouth.
Finally, she gripped her trophy and prepared to make the long walk backstage. The crowd erupted again, but this time they seemed more boisterous than ever. Surely she couldn’t have had such an effect?
Shayla looked out in confusion, just in time to see Luke bounding across the stage toward her. “What are you doing?” she cried, laughing.
His only answer was to stop in front of her and drop onto one knee, pulling out a box from his jacket pocket and opening it for her inspection. She nearly didn’t hear the words that he spoke, the crowd was cheering so loud.
“Shayla Queene,” he said. Then, a little louder, “Since the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that I wanted you to be my wife. Would you do me this honor?”
Only then did the room go silent. It was as every member of the crowd was holding in the breath in anticipation. Maybe Shayla was holding her breath too. She felt something deep and visceral then, something that only Luke could provide. And something he had been providing since the moment she met him—pure, primal joy.
“Yes!”
Epilogue
It took only one year, nearly to the day, after her Emmy win for Shayla to earn a spot as an anchor on Good Morning America—though she and Luke had called Los Angeles home for some time already. Leaving Templeton in the rearview had hardly been a tough call. After all, Shayla had outgrown KTMA faster than her belly had grown round with Luke’s child.
And Luke, who had once thought it simply wasn’t in the cards for him to be a father, took on the role with such vigor and enthusiasm that Shayla often joked his bike was jealous. He rarely rode it these days, busy at home with their little daughter, Athena, watching mommy on TV and learning all about the Greeks of old. And anyway, the only rush he craved anymore was the feel of his woman writhing beneath him in ecstasy. And that particular craving was one that they both had and satisfied quite frequently.
Sparky’s transition to leadership of the Trojans had been nearly effortless. Of course, it was made easier by Sparky’s ball-busting right hand man, who’d made it clear to anyone who thought they’d be free to make an incursion into Trojan territory with the new leadership that they were dead wrong. Well, right hand man was the wrong phrasing. Right hand woman, more like.
Shayla still saw Naomi; quite often, in fact. That was one of the side effects of being coworkers. Though they weren’t on the same show, Naomi and Shayla both worked in the mornings and spent many of their mornings doubled over in laughter. They were well liked by everyone, but had earned special respect from the station’s many interns.
With many of the higher ranking Reapers members behind bars, along with their new best friend Anthony Blake, the struggles Shayla and Luke had faced in Templeton were far behind them. Though life was never without its struggles. They weren’t so full of hubris to think they’d never hear the drums of war again, but they welcomed whatever the world had to offer.
After all, there was nothing they couldn’t conquer together.
THE END
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Preview of DEVIL’S BABY
Prologue
Bathed in sweat, Cain Rodgers wiped at his face as he stopped thrusting and tried to catch his breath. He was balls deep inside the bartender that he had picked up, and she was wearing him out. He had already come twice, but she wasn’t finished with him yet and hadn’t let him stop the marathon fuck.
He was in New Orleans on business and had stopped by The Cat’s Claw for a little liquid refreshment and some company. The Claw wasn’t a brothel, but it was well known that the wait staff could be very accommodating for the right amount of green. He had wanted to enjoy the rewards for another shipment successfully received and sent on its way to Dallas.
Cain was the broker for the Hellhounds Motorcycle Club. He put together their deals and made sure everything ran smoothly. He was good at his job… very good. Since he had taken over, their sales were up over three-hundred percent and the club was making good money, and his slice of the pie allowed him to indulge in certain… pleasures.
“Don’t stop!” the bitch murmured as she rocked on her hands and knees, working her ass in a way that made him gasp and twist with pleasure.
She wasn’t a loud fuck, a soft moan was about the most he was able to get out of her, but she was insatiable. She had caught his eye as she worked behind the bar, doing all the fancy flips and tricks that a good flair-tender could do. But she didn’t look like most flair-tenders he had seen, with her porn star body and the face of an angel framed by a mass of dark curls. There was something about her that had captivated him and he had spent most of the night sitting at the bar, watching her run through her routines while he downed shots and slipped her twenties to keep her attention.
He rolled to his back, pulling her over with him, his cock never leaving the warm confines of her pussy. After nearly two hours of hard fucking, he was winded and ready to let her do the work for a while. Almost as soon as they were still, she began to bounce on him, the muscles in her strong shapely legs flexing and straining with effort. Her back was to him, but he had seen her all-natural tits swinging and bouncing from a similar position before, and thinking about how they sloshed and jiggled along with her breathy pants was heating him up again. As she panted, squirmed, and bounced, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and wiped the sweat on her back. She was already so wet with sweat that she wouldn’t notice a little more.
“I’m going to come again,” she whispered as she leaned forward and increased the speed and power of her thrusts, bending his cock down toward his knees.
“Fuck,” he hissed as she began to clamp down on him, the tightness of her pussy causing his orgasm to begin to swell. Even though he was drunk off his ass, she was working him up to another ball-draining climax.
“Fuck me. Fuck me!” he growled, holding her ass, straining for his release as she slammed her hips into his.
Just as he felt his essence flow, he heard her gasp and she began to grind herself hard down onto him. The feel of her pressing herself down onto him, driving him as deep as possible into her, felt so good he that he arched his back, pushing up against her as he plumbed her depths with his cock.
“Fuck,” she sighed as she tumbled off of him and then turned and crawled up the bed to collapse in a heap against him. “I can’t remember the last time I came so many times. You were… wonderful.” She dragged herself up onto his chest and kissed him on the lips, a long wet kiss that would have made him steel hard in moments if he weren’t already completely drained.
“So were you…” he mumbled as he struggled to remember her name. All he could remember was that she said she was related to some old French actress he had never heard of, Sarah Bernhardt, but he couldn’t recall her first name.
Before the situation could become awkward, she drifted into sleep and he racked his brain for a few minutes and decided fuck it! He would never see her again anyway. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t remember her name. As shit-faced as he was, he felt lucky to remember her last name.
He wiped at his face again and sighed. He slapped around on the side table until he found his phone and then groaned when he saw the time — 4:13. Fuck… It had been worth it, but he had to be up and ready to ride in less than two hours.
Cain stumbled out of bed as he silenced the alarm on the phone. He had called on one of the tricks of the trade and stuck the phone under his pillow so it wouldn’t wake up the chick when it went off. With a near silent groan he staggered into the bathroom and quietly splashed water on his face. Even my fucking hair hurts he moaned to himself… and the sound of the water splashing in the sink felt like gnomes were driving spikes into his skull.
He dressed slowly, grimacing in pain from his throbbing head when he bent over to put on his boots. He slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him with barely a click. Not only did he not want to wake the woman he was leaving alone in the bed, he was also afraid his brains would dribble out of his ears if he were to bang the door closed.
He stood in the elevator, the little ding as the door closed making him want to punch something, and the sudden dropping motion made his stomach try to escape through his mouth. As the doors opened with another cheery ding that made him wince, her name came to him — Ally! No, that wasn’t it. Alice? No, that wasn’t it either. It was something like that, but what the fuck was it?
Chapter 1
“Alex! Good to see you! How are you doing, girl?”
“Hey, Mel,” I said quietly, cringing that I would bump into a neighbor now. I was in no mood for chitchat.
“You feeling okay?”
“Sure. Why?”
Mel grinned. “Well, you’re walking into a drugstore for one thing, and you don’t look like your normal perky self for the other.”
I smiled at the man. He was married, and old enough to be my father, but he was always willing to come fix a leaky faucet or kill a big ugly spide
r. I liked him. “Just feeling a bit under the weather,” I lied.
“That’s too bad. Let us know if you need any help. I’ll have Kim rustle up some chicken soup if you want.”
Mel and Kim were good people. “No, no. That’s okay. I’m not that kind of sick.” I grinned as he flushed.
“Oh. Yes, well…” he muttered as he tried to extract himself from his predicament.
I giggled at his discomfort. “Anything else you want to know?” I teased.
“No!” he barked then smiled. ”I think I know more than I want to already. I have to go. Hope you get to feeling better.”
“Thanks, Mel,” I said as we began to part. “I’ll be fine in a few days.”
Devil's Due: Death Heads MC Page 39