“Behold, the rage of Achilles,” Luke murmured, chuckling.
The kitten turned away and went back to sleep.
Naming a kitten after an ancient Greek warrior amused him, but not as much as the young animal’s antics. He’d spent the last hour running around the room, pouncing on Luke, and in general being a brat. It was like Achilles had no idea how close to death he’d come.
But both the kitten and his namesake were hard to kill.
Luke looked up from the pile of fluff in his lap to the screen in front of him. The evening news had just started. Luke didn’t usually watch the local news. He learned all he needed to about rival gangs from his own guys, and anyway, local news was always just a bunch of filler with maybe one or two stories. But the remote was on the coffee table in front of him, and he didn’t want to wake Achilles again. The kitten had had a rough day.
A thump from the other room caused Luke to crane his head and listen, but there were no follow up sounds. Good. He couldn’t remember the name of the girl in his bed, so it was better for everyone if she stayed there for the time being. The last thing he needed was another clingy broad climbing all over him when he was just trying to wind down a little. And, after the show she’d put on a couple hours ago, he’d rather hang out with the cat.
Bringing home an endless parade of hot chicks went with the territory of being the president of Trojans MC. Getting ones that had just as much substance in their heads as their tits was another story entirely. One girl had once asked if he’d named his club after the condom brand. She’d never even heard of The Iliad, or of the Trojan war.
Hadn’t everyone learned it in high school? That’s where Luke had first read about the Greeks and their great struggle, about the ten years of siege that was destroyed by the hubris of a king. He’d named his club after it because he sympathized with the warriors on both sides. Proud, noble Hector, and ruthless, angry Achilles. Men whose fates were sealed the moment they were born, and who took action even when they knew it would lead to their downfall.
Luke hoped that his destiny to lead would not conflict with his will to live, but he would embrace whatever fate he’d been dealt when the time came. No man could hide from death. Though it seemed to him, as the main stories of the night began to cycle through the broadcast, that he’d suffer death by boredom.
The male news anchor was a dick named Anthony Blake, who had always gotten on Luke’s nerves. He had a cocky attitude that Luke could feel through the screen. He didn’t think anything would be quite as satisfying as punching Anthony Blake in the face. Normally his co-anchor was a woman named Natalya or Naomi or something. She was pretty for someone who was overly done up, even for Luke’s tastes. It helped that she had a great rack and they were always putting her in shirts with plunging necklines.
Today there was a different girl sitting beside Anthony’s too-tanned glow. She looked quite young, mid-twenties at most. She had a round little face, big blue eyes, and sinfully full lips, all framed by long blonde tresses.
Luke leaned closer to the screen. Things had just gotten interesting.
Anthony introduced the girl as Shayla Queene and said that she was standing in for Naomi tonight. Naomi. That’s what the other woman’s name was. Naomi and her great rack were essentially all but forgotten though, in the face of Shayla’s angelic face and promising curves. She looked a bit nervous at first, but she soon warmed up to the cameras.
She and Anthony pinged off each other, detailing the top stories affecting their city. The first was about a local bike thief, who’d stolen again. Luke snorted. He knew exactly who the thief was—a junkie teenager who’d tried to steal off of one his member’s kids. He was surprised to see the twerp had continued going after bikes. They’d have to have another talk with him.
He stroked Achilles’ head, and the kitten shifted in his sleep. Luke looked down, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile.
He looked back up and Shayla was speaking now, her eyes full of fire as she eloquently described the municipality of Ritchfield’s struggle to rezone an old quarry into a housing development. Luke had never been so interested in banal shit like that before. Now here he was eating it up like she was covering a goddamn riot.
That story ended, and Luke frowned when the camera turned back to Anthony. The next story seemed all too familiar though. Luke sat up just as a grainy video popped up on the screen. It was a traffic cam for a bridge on the I5. There were three figures on screen: two snarling dogs and a blurry white blob. He watched as a tall, burly man in a leather jacket pulled up on a Harley, darted into the middle of the street and chased the dogs away, then leaning down to scoop the blob up into his arms. He secured it inside his jacket and hopped back on the bike, peeling off into the night.
Luke looked down at the kitten in his lap. “Looks like we’re on Candid Camera, little Myrmidon.”
Chapter Three
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.
Chapter Four
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 ge
t 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.
Devil's Claim: Apaches MC Page 24
