by Kylie Walker
“I’m Samantha Wilde,” she blurted out ungracefully. Even worse was the fact that she had just planted her fists on her hips as if in declaration of revealing she was some kind of superhero. Thankfully, Asa didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he appreciated her high-chested posture because his gaze kept touching down on her cleavage, which had lifted tautly.
Quickly, she dropped both hands to her sides before returning one fist to her hip. That seemed to do the trick. She added a bit of sensual oomph by tossing her hair and heaving her chest again. “Okay, Samantha Wilde,” he said easily, as he veered around her in favor of the bar. “Why were you looking for me?”
Thinking fast on her feet as she watched him round to the business side of the counter—God, he had a tight ass, and those broad shoulders... the Black Skulls kutte fit him well—she widened her eyes hoping to catch his gaze again and explained, “The Black Skulls are kind of a legend-”
“Kind of?” he challenged, his dark eyes locking on hers, as he stilled behind the bar, his hand fishing through a bin of ice beneath.
His tone had been harsh but there was the slightest hint of a curl to his lip. Cautiously optimistic, she chose to assume he was teasing her and so she quickly allowed, “The Black Skulls are certainly a legend and I felt the need to do what I could to meet them.”
As he pulled beer bottle after bottle from an ice bin under the counter and set them on the bar top, he questioned, “Them or me?”
“You.”
“Why?”
A breathy laugh escaped her and, nearing the bar, she indulged him with a little sassy banter that according to Jared Hurst would have to ring true, “Because your father’s too old for me apparently. I was fascinated with the fact that you don’t have any pictures floating around out there anywhere. No mug shots either. I could find out all kinds of things about the other guys, but you remained a mystery. That intrigued me.”
With four beers on the counter, he cracked the top off the fifth and knocked it back, his biceps flexing, neck long and lifted, and his firm chest rising and falling. A single bead of sweat rolled down the side of his neck and for a fantastic moment, Samantha envisioned herself licking it off.
She hoped it wasn’t obvious that she was drinking in the sight of him.
He set his bottle on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then said, “You might think the old man would be too old for a sweet young thing like you, but Rodney wouldn’t. He’s had his fair share of twenty-year-olds. I could introduce you if you like.” His lips quirked and she didn’t miss the fact that he had completely ignored her question about why there were no photos of him to be found anywhere.
Men in their early thirties are more my speed, she thought with him in mind but didn’t dare say it out loud. Changing the subject ever so slightly would be far more productive.
“I actually grew up in Vegas,” she commented. What was that? What the hell did growing up in Vegas have to do with anything? She changed tactics again and slid up onto one of the barstools and rested her elbows on the countertop in such a way that helped lift her already perky chest for his benefit. After holding his gaze—Asa still looked like he liked what he saw, but there was no question he didn’t outright trust her, or wouldn’t, not until he knew for sure her reason for dropping in. She helped herself to one of the beer bottles and performed the only worthwhile party trick she had ever learned in college. She angled the cap against the edge of the bar and with gusto, smacked her hand hard onto the bottle.
It worked like a charm. The bottle cap bounced across the counter, having popped off with ease, and Samantha took a proud sip of Bud.
“Refreshing,” she said, returning her beer to the counter.
The amused laugh that escaped Asa was soft and deep and for some reason made Samantha think about what it might be like to curl up in bed with him. Get your head on straight! She mentally scolded herself. Asa pulled another ice-cold beer from the bin beneath the counter to replenish the one she had stolen.
“So all throughout my high school years,” she suddenly decided how to link the “I grew up in Vegas” comment to something that made sense, “I took notice of the Black Skulls rolling through town. Those noisy Harleys and the leather vests. The whole skull image on the back. I thought you guys were so cool.”
“And you thought to yourself, that’s who I want to fuck when I grow up,” he supplied before taking another refreshing haul of his beer.
Pausing—should she agree or make a joke or brush right over his comment?—Samantha quickly chugged, debating whether or not to ask about Johnny Fox. When she set her beer on the counter, she resumed a pleasant poker face that, unfortunately, felt plastic. But all she could think to say was, “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way…but it was who I definitely wanted to meet and see where it went from there.”
Asa glanced at the closed door. The voices on the other side had died down and Samantha thought that the men in the room were wondering where their beers were. Asa didn’t seem in a hurry to rush off, however. Instead, he leaned over the bar, stared her dead in the eye, and said, “You’re up to something.”
Bravely, she challenged, “What do you mean?” But her voice had hitched in her throat, implying he was right to question her.
“Meaning...” he trailed off, studying her expression as if her reason for being here might leap out at him that way. “Meaning I don’t believe you came all the way out here, alone, on a quest to fuck a biker, unless you’re stupid. You would have to know that’s a fucking dangerous undertaking. Are you stupid, Samantha?”
“No Asa, I’m not stupid. I was honestly just curious.” Samantha couldn’t be sure how she looked, or how she felt—thrilled, scared, on the brink of success, the cliff of failure, distracted by this overwhelming attraction, fearful that Asa could smell a rat and knew that it was sitting directly across from him on a bar stool. So she did what she does best, she barreled ahead as though there had been no snag in the conversation. “What do you guys do in Las Vegas? I see Black Skulls all over town and yet you live here in Death Falls.” She shrugged, took a sip of beer, and tried not to be painfully aware of how sophomoric her question had sounded. “So what brings you to the city? I’ve always wondered about the club’s real business, you know?”
“Have you?” he said dryly as he collected the bottles in his arms.
There was no way he would be able to carry so many so she quickly took charge, grabbing two bottles and hoping like hell she would get away with finding out who was on the other side of that door. “Thanks, but,” he began, indicating she ought to return the bottles to the counter, “I can handle it.” With three bottles in hand, Asa came out from behind the bar and easily slipped into the back room, leaving Samantha to wrack her brain as to how she might garner more of his time.
She was ready to kick herself. Asa was fucking hot. She obviously wanted him. And sex was the Black Skulls’ currency. This should be easy. Just freaking throw yourself at him, get your hook in, it’ll lead to answers! Really…would it be any different than meeting a guy in a club and having a one-night stand? It doesn’t exactly speak volumes about her high morals, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing a woman ever did either.
Once Asa returned to the bar and had the rest of the bottles in hand, she stepped in front of him and cut him off at the pass, holding her ground in front of him.
He stilled, staring her down, a slight curl in his lip, his dark eyes suddenly threatening. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, sending a rush of adrenaline through her veins that made her feel momentarily light-headed.
Judging his expression, she sensed he was curious to find out where this might go. That crooked curl forming at the side of his mouth, his black eyes brightening ever so slightly, the length of his left eyebrow cocking up, as he gazed down at her were all indications that the ball was in her court and she needed to make her move.
Samantha took a shy step closer—click!—and then another, her stiletto heels tapping faintly a
gainst wood. Gently, she clutched his beer bottles, taking them from him and setting them on the edge of the bar.
Words had gotten her nowhere.
She would have to speak in an entirely different language and hope that in doing so Asa would finally talk. Maybe not here and now, but eventually.
Standing close, her head tilted, looking up at him and she could feel the heat roll off his body, through the thin, white wife-beater he wore. The scent of his leather kutte seemed in perfect complement to his natural musk.
She dared another small step, drawing even closer and angling her lips up to his ear.
“I’d really like to get to know you,” she whispered.
“Yeah?” he softly groaned, fully matching her suddenly smoldering mood.
Her hands drifted to his belt buckle as if without her permission and the next thing she knew she was holding him there, anchoring herself, her fingers hooked ever so slightly down his waistband, his warm, smooth stomach against the backs of her fingers.
“It would really turn me on,” she continued, her smoky timbre filling his ear, “To hear you tell me all about you while we…”
“While we what?”
When she didn’t fill in the blank, Asa grabbed her ribs, his thumbs curved under her breasts, strong hands holding her chest, holding her still and giving her no choice but to gaze up at him and hope that he didn’t turn against her. He could easily turn violent and exert his massive strength over her. She had no idea what she was thinking. She had no idea what kind of fire she was playing with.
“What do you want to know about me?” he asked her as his large hands began kneading her leather-encased waist.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said coyly, slipping her warm hands just underneath his wife-beater. Was she really doing this? Had she made the leap from small talk to foreplay just like that? Was his cock stiffening beneath those jeans right now? Was that why he was breathing heavier, the bulge beneath his belt buckle growing before her very eyes? Was she going to go through with this? Is her job this important, or did she just want this man that badly?
His abs were hard as a rippled rock, yet so smooth, and as she slowly grazed her palms up the length of him, she could feel the firm mounds of his pecs and she momentarily forgot where she was and what her objective was. For a split second, there was only Asa’s hard and hot body, the pounding of her thrilled heart, and the softly fluttering ache between her legs. The answer to both of her questions was yes. She wanted to succeed this badly and she wanted this man unlike she had ever wanted another.
“I think you do know,” he countered, his hand now on her throat, forcing her to look up at him. At first, his grip was tender, but soon grew tight and Samantha was suddenly aware of how easily he could snap her spine if the mood struck him. Again she had to ask herself what the hell she was doing. Asa narrowed his dark eyes down at her and said, “Tell me what you’re really doing here.”
Adrenaline flooded her veins. He was holding her throat too tightly yet for some reason she was hotter and wetter between her legs than she was frightened. She didn’t even know this side of herself and she was a little bit shocked, and so turned on. Her pussy throbbed beneath the tight leather pants, aching for and craving his hard cock. “I’d like to know what you do for the skulls. I’d like to know everything about you…and the club.”
It wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
He snarled down at her, his lips tensing and jaw clenching. Was he deciding what he was going to do with her?
She had been too forward, too obvious. Hot off the heels of the former VP’s body being discovered she shows up asking questions. What was she, an idiot?
Without warning, he shoved her backward. Samantha stumbled in her heels but didn’t lose balance. He was big and strong enough that if tossing her on her ass had been his aim, that’s where she would have landed. She straightened up and pressed her back to the wall to save herself from being plowed over if he decided to charge ahead.
But he didn’t. Not immediately.
Instead, he grabbed the beers off the bar and warned, “Leave Death Falls and don’t come back.”
He started for the back door where the voices on the other side had never died out, but once again Samantha boldly planted herself in his path.
“Or what?” Yes…she was a fucking idiot.
Asa laughed but there was no humor in it. His tattooed arms glistening with sweat.
Trying to appear undeterred she told him, “I’m staying at Wanda’s Motor Inn, room number five.” Maybe if she got him away from here she could think more clearly and he would be more relaxed. She had already decided that she wanted to have sex with him. Anything she got beyond that would only be a bonus. Samantha would never fuck a man for money or information. But this man, she’d fuck just to live the rest of her life with the memories of it.
The light behind Asa’s eyes shifted, but before she could make sense of it—was his sexual interest returning or was he ready to murder her?—he veered around her, flung the meeting room door open to reveal four steely looking bikers seated around a table, cigarette smoke wafting through the air, and ducked inside, slamming the door in her face.
Samantha Wilde knew exactly who was seated at the table.
Chapter 3
The image of Samantha was burning into the forefront of Asa’s mind as he neared the Black Skulls meeting table. He had to squint through thick streams of cigarette and cigar smoke, as he handed his fellow sergeant-at-arms, Kyle Flanagan one of the beers before taking a seat at the round table and passing the last beer to the road captain, Jim Joseph.
At the head of the table sat Rodney Boone, backlit by a cloudy window where sunlight was streaming in. Rodney was a beast of a man with thick, salt-and-pepper hair that he kept trim on the sides, and his eyes were perpetually locked in the killer gaze of an alpha wolf. Often when Asa looked at his father he had to hunt to see his own likeness. There was very little resemblance between them. Rodney wasn’t just tall like his son. He was towering, his arms thick as tree trunks and hard as steel. He had a big, barrel chest where gold and silver chains rested, and despite the fact that he could guzzle beer as easily as water, he didn’t have even the slightest hint of a gut. As president of the MC for the past twenty-some-odd years, Rodney was wise beyond his fifty-five-year-old age. He had inherited the gig early and much to Johnny Fox’s objection. Johnny was the VP at the time and thought no one but himself should have slid into the chairman’s seat.
It wasn’t until Johnny had disappeared that Rodney’s twin brother, Carl had been promoted to vice president.
“What the fuck took you so long?” Carl asked Asa from where he sat to the right of his twin. If there was a physical difference that distinguished Carl from Rodney it was the fact that every beer he’d ever drank showed. Carl’s round belly and bloated cheeks were the glass ceiling of his MC career. Should anything ever happen to Rodney, the title of president wouldn’t likely be handed to him, but rather Asa who was as fit as he was mean.
That’s what being a sergeant-at-arms meant in the Las Vegas chapter of the Black Skulls—being the meanest motherfucker to ever ride dirty-side-down through the sweltering desert.
“What the fuck took me so long?” Asa repeated, staring dead at his uncle who he knew had seen the sexy woman on the other side of the door. “Did you all devise some kind of massive plan that I missed?”
Rodney blew smoke across the table and Asa tried not to blink when it stung his eyes. Rodney was a man of few words but many orders and exhaling cigarette smoke in his son's general direction was his version of reprimand.
Kyle Flanagan chuckled to himself, angling his crooked sneer down at his own firm chest, the sweat-glistening, exposed skin above his undershirt. He clamped his cigarette between his straight teeth, plowed his thick fingers through his mop of cowlick, blonde hair, and said, “Well, we know he didn’t fuck her or else he wouldn’t sound so fucking uptight.”
His cigarette had bobbed betw
een his lips as he spoke and after quickly sucking in a hard drag, he snubbed the thing out in an ashtray and then washed his point down with half his beer. Asa couldn’t suppress the grin on his face. Kyle had that effect on people. Everything he said came with an air of humor, a smirk and wink. They had been best friends since they could talk and there wasn’t much one didn’t know about the other.
Jim Joseph took the floor at that point. He was the road captain and his primary talent was that he was a strategic genius—he planned every detail of the Black Skulls’ business runs, most of which would have been life or death operations except that Jim was a calculating man who never made errors.
“Johnny disappeared ten years ago and at the time we all told ourselves the same lie,” he reminded them, spitting each word through his tight lips. Jim was a wiry man in his mid-thirties who had bedded more women than every last Black Skull member combined, a testament to his powers of seduction and his boyish good looks that only seemed to get better with each passing year. He had thick, black hair, pale skin, and blazing green eyes. Jim Joseph was an Irish God whose deep and raspy tone, devoid of the accent you would expect, had a knack for commanding all within earshot, women and men alike. “We told ourselves he wanted out because we wanted him out. Remember? We convinced ourselves he vanished for his own reasons. It didn’t sit right with me and I know for fucking sure it didn’t sit right with any of you.”
Rodney narrowed his tight, brown eyes at Jim, not liking the accusation in his subordinate’s tone, but Jim wasn’t deterred.
“He didn’t ride off into the sunset that day,” he went on, making a point to lock eyes with each and every committee member. “And we’ve got to put all business on hold until we get to the bottom of who the fuck killed him. If we don’t, the law will be sniffing around here until they do.”
Asa straightened his spine. He wasn’t the only one nervous. They all were. It was a full-time job charming and dodging the local cops so that the Black Skulls’ true business wouldn’t be discovered, and that effort went without a dead body. Now they could expect not only the police to sniff close and ask questions but reporters as well.