Devil's Claim: Apaches MC

by Claire St. Rose

  Shayla tried to focus. Her eyes swam with tears of her own. So many of them were for Naomi, but she had enough of her own reasons to cry. The two cried together, as dignified as they could. They passed tissues between themselves and kept talking. It hurt like hell, but it was going to be damn good TV. They both knew it.

  They were reaching the end of the story, but it was by no means over. Shayla could practically see the way the teasers would use short clips of this moment to pull viewers in, to keep them engaged even if they felt their attention wandering from the emotional spectacle.

  But Anthony had help securing his victim, and he had provided help in return, the voiceover would say.

  Teary-eyed, Naomi straightened. “He got my drugs from the Reapers MC. In return, he helped them gain a foothold with higher paying clients.” She dabbed at her eyes for dramatic effect. “They’d been looking for a way to move up from street drugs to more profitable endeavors. Prescription drugs were the way to go.”

  “But Naomi,” Shayla said, her brow furrowed. “Anthony told everyone you were in rehab for cocaine.”

  Naomi smiled wryly. “All the better to stop people asking questions. Cocaine is a lot easier to get than prescription drugs for someone who hasn’t been to the doctor in over a year.”

  Finally, it was time for the clincher. This was the powerful moment that would have hearts breaking and hearts burning across the country. “Aren’t you afraid of retaliation from telling me your story today?” Shayla asked. “From Anthony, or from the Reapers?”

  Naomi straightened, exuding pure, elegant poise. “I’m terrified,” she said. Shayla was too. “But I know that by telling my story I might be able to help save someone else.” She paused, wringing her hands together but looking at Shayla with a determined expression. “Even if something bad happens to me because of this, if I save just one person, that will be worth it.”

  Shayla felt that sentence resonate in her bones. Because she had, and Naomi knew that. Shayla had never respected anyone more in her life, and she vowed to do everything she could to keep Naomi safe.

  ***

  It was time. After her emotional encounter with Naomi, Shayla no longer felt any trepidation for her date with Anthony. She had nothing left to feel. She’d cried all her tears. Worried all her worries. Everything was in the hands of fate now. She’d told Pierce and Bernard to get the video back to editing and show it to Amy as soon as they could. They’d listened to her like soldiers receiving life or death orders, even though their commanding officer had streaks of mascara down her face and kept wiping at her leaking nose.

  Luke had taken her home and made love to her after that. He’d never been so gentle, so sweet. It seemed like the actual lovemaking was merely a side note to the intimacy of their embrace. They kissed lazily and stroked each other’s bare skin for what felt like hours. And when they’d surfaced, the old Shayla had been stripped away and stowed somewhere safe under the covers, where Anthony Blake and his inevitable dick-titude couldn’t get to it.

  Only Luke would get that side of her now. Her sweetness and ability to be pushed around had been chafing at her ever since she’d first come into contact with Anthony Blake. It was about time she did something about it, anyway.

  If Luke had his way, Shayla wouldn't have to go within ten feet of that slimy shit for brains. She’d had to be firm with him, too, making sure he knew that she would be okay. She was war hardened. Battle hungry. Ready for her final confrontation with the thorn in her side. Anthony would do everything in his power to make sure the wound he inflicted on her would fester, but it would never be enough—not now that she had a weapon of her own to take him down with.

  There wouldn’t be any others. Naomi had paid the ultimate price to ensure that, and Shayla had tasted enough of Anthony’s medicine to help Naomi reach her goal. This was Naomi’s fight more than it was Shayla, and she was acutely aware of that as she dressed and whispered quiet affirmations to herself.

  It was going to be okay. Even if everything went belly up, they would be taking Anthony and the shady rivals of Luke’s down with them. They would be avenging Rose and Holly, who had no way on their own to cut the Reapers and make it hurt. They would be getting justice for Luke, hopefully helping swing back opinion in his favor.

  Shayla had been boiling mad when he told her about what Raven did. There was soon to be a battle on the air waves. Since they’d gotten in their own footage so quick, though, Shayla was unsure if Raven’s interview would ever air. After all, the station would have to distance itself from Anthony. How could it not? Even if everything Raven said about Luke was true, the fact was that it would mean more to the public what Anthony had done. There would be an outcry if it looked like they were ignoring the complaints against him.

  Even if another station interviewed Raven down the line about Luke, would it matter? She was a known Reapers MC member. She was firmly intertwined in everything that Anthony had done. They’d been seen together. Her credibility would be shot to hell.

  The only thing that Anthony or Raven would have left was the video of Luke and Shayla. They could still release it, undoubtedly. But everyone would know where it had come from. It would work more against Anthony and Raven than for them. It might still damage Shayla, but that was a chance she was willing to take.

  And besides, there was one more surprise up Shayla’s sleeve that would hopefully tie the whole package up with a little bow.

  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.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  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 wha
t 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.