by Kara Parker
He cackled, the abrupt noise jarring Shayla and causing her to jump slightly in her seat. Her pulse quickened. What was he going to do? Why did he look so deliriously pleased with himself?
Anthony slid onto the desk facing her, leaning down toward her face. His knees just brushed the tops of her fingers on the desk, and she retracted her hands quickly and slid back. He leisurely allowed his eyes to roam across her figure, causing her to flush with anger and humiliation. She was just about to yell at him to leave and threaten to call him out in front of everyone for his poor behavior, when Anthony pulled out his cell phone.
“You know, I love the internet.” His gaze landed on the screen of his phone, though Shayla dared not let her attention wander. “There are so many things to see. Photos of cats. Videos of cats.” His eyes flicked to hers. “You get my drift.”
Shayla nodded shortly. “Anthony, I really have work to do. Can you get to the point?” She tried to hide her anxiety behind a wall of confidence, but she worried he would see through the cracks to her quaking form beneath. Shayla could read through his posture and expression that Anthony had something big, and she knew she wasn’t going to like it.
“I’m getting there. Humor me for a minute.” He looked back down at his phone and tapped a couple places on the screen. “I also love email. Did you know I get fan mail from all over the state?”
Shayla found that hard to believe, but she forced a tight lipped smile. “That’s great. Good for you.”
He nodded, his eyes still on the screen. Sound began to play quietly from the speakers. It was staticky and Shayla couldn’t decipher what was going on, but she could tell he was watching a video. Why was he wasting her time by watching videos in her office?
“I got an email last week from an old friend of Luke’s, actually.”
Shayla’s heart clenched in her chest. She wanted, for the first time, for Anthony to actually look at her. At least then she might be able to tell where this conversation was going. For now, he was completely in control, and there was no telling where this train of thought would end up.
The video he was watching sounded like there was a faint whining sound in the distance. She could only hear it quietly, and closer to the microphone were snickers and breathing.
“Do you want to see what they sent me?” Anthony’s eyes finally shot up to Shayla’s, and she nodded fiercely. He smirked and tapped on the screen, presumably restarting the video, and turned it so she could see.
At first Shayla couldn’t tell what it was. The video was dark and pixelated, and she had the disadvantage of no context to help frame the image. Then it became horrifyingly clear. The video was of Luke and her in the graveyard—her writhing beneath him, him glorious and brutal, screwing her within an inch of her life. Now that she understood what the video was, she could tell that the sounds she’d heard were actually her screaming in pleasure.
And it was definitely her. There would be no mistaking her face and Luke’s distinctive tattoos if she tried to contest that she was the subject of the video.
Shayla looked back up at Anthony, her expression marred with hatred and fear. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could nearly feel it cracking against her ribs in a violent bid to escape. Her vision blurred ever-so-slightly, hands and face hot and cold at the same time. She recognized the symptoms of a panic attack. She tried to forget Anthony’s presence and focus her efforts on breathing to stave it off.
“What is that?” she asked when her breath had returned enough for her to do so.
She already knew what it was, and she knew Anthony knew that. Her question had really been meant to ask why he had it and what he was going to do with it. Things she couldn’t bear to ask properly.
He pulled back his phone and glanced at the screen, a smile growing on his lips. “That is an exceptionally nice pair of tits bouncing as a woman’s career ends before it’s begun.” He clicked the lock button on his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, smacking a hand on the thigh where it rested as if bidding it a good night.
“Anthony.” Shayla didn’t know what else to say. Was this the part where she pleaded for his mercy? Should she be throwing herself at his feet? Or was the damage already too far done for her to be able to fix it by lowering herself to his level?
“I love hearing you say my name.” His mouth twitched with amusement. “I think I’d like to hear you say it more often. Why don’t you come over for dinner the day after tomorrow? When we both have the night off?”
Her breathing hitched. She didn’t know what else she could have expected from him. He was a cruel monster, and that was the kind of thing that cruel monsters did. Disgusting.
“You want me to come have dinner with you?” she repeated slowly.
Anthony nodded, leisurely standing from the desk, signaling their conversation was due to be over soon. “Maybe a couple drinks. We can see where things go.” The disgusting pig actually winked.
There was no argument where things were going to go at her dinner and drinks rendezvous with Anthony. The only question that remained was whether Shayla had the guts or not.
“I’ll consider it.” She gulped, her eyes struggling to keep contact with his.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t like having plans up in the air, Shayla.” He enunciated her name like a curse word. “Either you’re coming or you’re not.”
Goddamnit! How could he do this to her? How could anyone do this to another person? Shayla supposed the world was filled with assholes and cheats. It was only natural that she should have to deal with one of them someday.
“Fine,” she bit out. “I’ll come for dinner.” She could hardly bring herself to say the word dinner, knowing what it implied.
Anthony seemed amused by the exchange, his eyes alight. “Splendid.” He placed a hand on the doorknob, flashing her one more million-watt smile. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
When he closed the door behind him, it took all of Shayla’s will not to collapse in a heap on the floor. She shook, as if her whole body was trying to expel her previous encounter like a bad piece of chicken. She ached.
She cried.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Luke had a lot to be grateful for. He also had a lot to be ungrateful for. Recently, the pros and cons of his life had begun to pile up, as if each was seeking to surpass the other. He’d managed to win the attention of a beautiful, kind woman, who caused him to burn with a desire that nearly consumed him. And then Anthony Blake and his scheming ex-wife had pulled the rug from beneath him, threatening to expose Shayla and his encounter in the cemetery and ruin both of their lives.
It wasn’t a good spot to be in, and Luke felt like his teeth were always on edge. Yet, even though the situation seemed hopeless, he’d be damned before he gave up just because things looked tough. Anthony wanted him to stay away from Shayla. Raven wanted him to stay away from Shayla.
Too bad he didn’t give a shit what either of them thought.
Though he needed a little time to figure out how he was going to extract himself from the predicament, at least one more thing had popped up that he could add to his list of gratuities.
Holly Masterson, the teen who’d been sold dirty drugs by the youngest brother of the Reapers MC, was awake.
Rose, the girl’s best friend, had been told early this morning. Apparently she’d taken her bike over to Sparky’s house before he was awake, not satisfied with him not answering her phone calls. She’d dropped her bike on the front lawn and bounded through his door like a dark blur.
As Sparky told the story, it was lucky he hadn’t had a girl with him. And that he’d gone to sleep wearing pajamas. Rose had a difficult time remembering that the reason Sparky’s door was never locked was because anyone breaking in would get their teeth broken before they had a chance to steal anything. She seemed to take it for granted that her new best friend and mentor was a rough and tough biker, often forgetting that he had scars for a reason.
Nevertheless, Sparky was of course delighted th
at Rose’s friend had pulled through. Her parents had been the ones to call Rose. They’d been thrilled to see her taking such an active part in the campaign to keep Holly’s memory alive and at the forefront of youths’ minds when thinking about repeating her error. Less publicly, Rose had also been searching for the scumbag who’d sold Holly drugs in the first place. Holly’s parents, like Rose, wanted blood. The fact that the Trojans had stepped up to help them get it at Rose’s behest had endeared the girl to them eternally.
Once Sparky had been roused from bed, he called Luke. Luke heard the sounds of Rose puttering in Sparky’s kitchen in the background, making coffee for the two of them.
“She’s turning eighteen soon, you know,” Luke commented quietly, though he knew he wasn’t on speakerphone. “I’m surprised she hasn’t started asking you to teach her how to ride.”
Sparky didn’t answer immediately. When he did, all he could say for himself was, “Well…”
Luke let out a bark of laughter. “So we’ll have our first female recruit soon,” he remarked. “Though I more object based on her age.”
“I told her she has to wait until she’s twenty-one,” replied Sparky in a hushed tone. “Though I’m not sure that’ll hold her off. She’s persistent.”
“Who would’ve thought?” Luke laughed. Rose had been all over Sparky since she’d first turned up at his doorstep, pushing for her revenge against the people responsible for harming her friend.
“Anyway.” Sparky coughed, clearly wanting the conversation to resume its course. “Rose wants me to take her to the hospital now, but I told her I’m not doing anything until I have some coffee.”
“And you want me to come with you,” Luke inferred. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry than this right now, Sparky.” Namely one very greasy fish named Anthony Blake.
“I know.” Sparky sighed. “But it’s early. I’m cranky. And I don’t want to have to be alone with two teenagers all day. If you’re here, I can drop her off in Holly’s room for a bit and you and I can sit outside and conduct some business.”
Sparky was implying that the business they would conduct would benefit Luke too. And maybe it would. He could use Sparky’s help in figuring out what to do with Anthony. It had been days and he still had no solution. That was unlike him. He was usually able to think his way through a problem like this.
Granted, the solution was usually violence. And the consequences weren’t usually so dire.
But this situation was quite dire, and any mishandling of it could mean his and Shayla’s downfall. So he agreed to meet Sparky at the hospital so that they could meet Holly and figure out what to do about his fish problem.
Sparky drove Rose in his truck, which explained her sullen face when Luke pulled up. She was still arguing with him about whether her clothing was protective or not until Luke dismounted beside the truck, shooting the leaning figures a look of confusion.
He looked over Rose’s attire—a long black dress and denim jacket, and shook his head. “Listen to him, kid.” He balanced his helmet on the bar of the bike. “You’d get thrashed if you hit the pavement like that.”
She blew a strand of her long hair from her face, her darkly lined eyes narrowed at him. “I’m wearing boots.”
It was a weak defense and she seemed to know it, so she didn’t press any further. Luke just grinned in a bemused fashion and stared at Sparky, shaking his head. “Let’s go see who has risen from the dead, huh?”
The walk into the hospital was silent between the three of them. Holly was still in the same room as she’d been in previously, so Rose led the two burly bikers there easily. They got some stares in the hall, which was likely another reason Sparky had wanted Luke with him. Because of course, it was much less potentially disgusting for a teenager to be wandering around with two rough and tumble older men than just one. But at least Sparky wasn’t bearing the judging looks alone.
They turned the corner and Rose stopped, Luke and Sparky nearly slamming into her from behind. Before they could accost the thin girl, though, they assessed the scene. And what a scene. Down at the end of the hall, presumably in front of Holly’s door, was a boy who looked not much older than Rose. At first that was all Luke saw. It took Luke a moment to recognize the angular, proud jaw of Chester Smith beneath the hood of the sweatshirt.
Chester was about twenty-five now, but unlike his brothers, who had rough-hewn features, Chester was as baby faced as Paul McCartney or James Dean. He’d look like a teenager even when he was old and wrinkled. Once, Luke had witnessed Chester being ID’d at a bar. The kid had nearly upended a table, he was so furious.
Chester didn’t look furious now. He hadn’t seen the trio yet, his gaze too focused on the door to Holly’s room, and his mouth was a determined line. He looked uncomfortable and irritated, but he was clearly trying to rein in everything on his face to look more pleasant. If Luke had to guess, he’d say that Chester had been told to come here by his dad. Maybe old Herman thought he could smooth Holly’s ruffled feathers in the hopes that she wouldn’t take on the mantle of Rose’s vendetta.
He was about to get a surprise.
Sparky reached out and grabbed Rose’s shoulder, yanking her back just as she was about to speed down the hall to confront Chester. Her fists were balled up at her sides, crushing the bouquet she’d bought at the gift shop for her friend, her face murderous.
“Hold on there, tiny demon,” Sparky said in a hushed whisper. “There are sick and miserable people here. If you want to yell at him, better take it outside.”
Rose laughed mirthlessly, turning on her heel to gaze at Luke and Sparky with calm eyes. “I don’t want to yell at him,” she said sweetly. “I’m just going to ask him politely to leave. Can you please hold my flowers?”
Sparky gave Luke a look, but Luke merely shrugged. He was having a hard time not tearing the shithead limb from limb where he stood. Rose had been waiting for this very moment. Who was he to deny it from her?
Sparky took the bouquet from Rose’s trembling hands and watched as she spun and marched toward Chester. Catching sight of her, his face lit up in a handsome grin. Presumably he was hoping she would fall for the “innocent youth” act he was trying to portray, too.
But he was wrong.
Rose hauled back and punched him across the nose, and the impact reverberated down the hallway. Sparky and Luke hissed through their teeth, though both could barely contain their smiles.
“That was one hell of a cross, Sparky,” Luke commented. “She didn’t learn that at one of her emo concerts.”
Sparky shrugged. “She said she wanted to learn self-defense. Hope to hell she remembered not to tuck her thumb.” They watched Chester as he threw the flowers he’d brought down to the ground, caught sight of Luke and Sparky, and stormed away in the opposite direction, clutching his bloody hand to his face. “First real punch I threw wasn’t that good.”
Rose bent over the discarded bouquet and picked them up neatly, carrying them back over to her companions with a calm smile on her face. “No sense putting these to waste,” she said, in reference to the colorful package in her arms. “Man, do I feel better.”
Sparky shook his head, but a proud smile was on his lips. “You’re something else.”
She shrugged and gestured them to follow her as she walked up to the closed door to Holly’s room. She knocked, and was greeted by a pair of suspicious eyes peering through a crack in the doorway.
The eyes widened, and the door opened to reveal a small middle aged woman with a floral shirt and jeans, who gave Rose a warm hug. “I thought it might be that boy again.” She stroked the back of the girl’s head. “I think he’s been waiting for us to leave. I don’t trust him.”
Luke glanced over the embracing figures to the bed, where the thin and sunken form of Holly rested, dark circles under her eyes but a thin smile on her lips.
“Mom wouldn’t let me even see who it was,” Holly croaked, reaching out toward her friend with spindly fingers. “Please tell
me it was Curt Reynolds from P.E.”
Rose snorted, taking her friend’s hand and placing the flowers on the bedside table. “It was a different dork from school, but I didn’t see his face well enough to place him. Total weirdo by the looks of it.”
Mrs. Masterson’s tongue clicked approvingly. “I told you he was no good. You need rest, not the affections of some boy from school you don’t know.”
Holly glared at her mom. “I’ve been doing nothing but resting, Ma.” She chuckled, her voice hoarse. “What do you think a coma is?”
Luke and Sparky took the opportunity to slide into the room in the space left by Rose, handing the bouquet of flowers to Holly’s mother with a gentle nod. Her eyes darted up and down the men, but she didn’t say anything to expel them.
Rose beamed. “I’m glad to see you’re back to your old self.”
Holly nodded. “More or less. My throat hurts. Everything hurts. I sleep all the time. Nod off in the middle of…” Her voice trailed off and her chin dropped towards her chest, but after a moment, she picked it up and winked. Rose giggled. Then, Holly seemed to see past her, and her expression crossed over to weariness. “Who are your friends, Rose?”