ASA: BLACK SKULLS MC

by Walker, Kylie

  “Come for me,” he groaned.

  His grip on her waist was so tight she thought he might leave marks, but his voice, his command was so sexy that she couldn’t help but arch her back more, welcoming his thick cock to thrust deeper and deeper. God, it felt so fucking good, she could barely think straight. A sharp sting of arousal seized her pussy and in the next instant wave upon wave of smooth clenches fluttered throughout her loins, as Asa delivered fast and firm thrust after fast and firm thrust.

  “Good girl,” he groaned, knowing full well she was in the throes of a powerful orgasm. Her moans sounded like whimpers of ecstasy and she could barely keep her elbows straight or her head up, that’s how good he was giving it to her. And just when she thought she might collapse, her orgasm peaked and she cried out.

  “Fuck,” he groaned behind her, thrusting faster and faster, as his own gripping orgasm swept through. Just as she felt her body begin to calm, Asa came deep inside of her with a prolonged groan that sounded like music, and they fell to the bed together, out of breath. There was something so natural about getting settled in each other’s arms, Asa finding his way onto his back and pulling her into the crux of his shoulder, his strong arm around her, her long leg draped over his. They lay there for a long moment, their heart rates subsiding, the rise and fall of their chests evening out.

  It was so simple, so nice, but was it real?

  Why was it that whenever she was with Asa, she felt like she was floating through a hazy dream? She allowed herself the luxury of enjoying the moment, but it didn’t last.

  Harry had asked for one thousand words and they weren’t going to write themselves. Just a few more minutes, she told herself, drifting off despite her efforts not to, just a few more minutes...

  Chapter Ten

  Samantha was running on no sleep and it didn’t help that the hot, desert sun was beating mercilessly down. Making matters worse was the professional-looking pantsuit she had bought first thing that morning in order to look as though she actually belonged in a crowd of reporters at the Conway Contractors site where the decayed body of Johnny Fox had been found days prior. The damn thing was black and the fabric didn’t breathe one iota. She was sweating like a pig out here. At least her strawberry blonde hair wasn’t covering her neck. In present company—Las Vegas journalists from every major paper—she could get away with a sleek, corporate bun.

  The press conference had yet to start, but the makeshift podium area wasn’t vacant. A few Conway Contractor managers were flitting about, straightening out microphone wires, and grumbling into walkie-talkies. The CEO of the company was off to the side, wearing a suit and avoiding conversation with the Chief of Police, a portly man who looked like he hadn’t seen a day of action in at least thirty years.

  Biding her time, Samantha flipped through her notepad and reviewed the various questions she had jotted down. Her eyelids felt heavy though and Asa Boone was at the forefront of her mind, which meant she was completely distracted.

  She had slept deeply in his arms, but not for long.

  After maybe two hours, her eyes had popped open as though her internal clock sensed it was fast approaching 4 am. She had been able to hear Harry Walsh’s gruff complaints in her mind—where’s my damn update?—so she had dragged herself out of Asa’s warm bed, stumbled through the dark into the living room where she found a laptop computer on the coffee table in front of the couch and began furiously composing the one thousand words that she had promised her editor. She had just barely made the deadline when she emailed the word document to Harry, assuming that a low-rung proofreader would confirm receipt. No, Harry himself had replied before immediately calling her.

  What followed had not been the much-needed four hours of sleep she was craving, but rather a lengthy phone conversation she hadn’t been able to escape.

  When all was said and done, the sun had risen and she had known that if she slipped back into bed beside Asa, she would have been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

  The four cups of coffee that she had managed to guzzle while doing a little mall shopping for an acceptable outfit—the only store open was located twenty miles south outside of Death Falls—should have woken her up, and maybe it had, but now that she was standing in the stifling desert sun, it seemed as though all the caffeine in her system had since dried up.

  Feeling somewhat confident about her questions, not that she had reason to hope the Chief of Police or the CEO of Conway would actually call on her when the floor was open to questions, Samantha tucked her notepad in the breast pocket of her power blazer and eyed the competition. At twenty-six years old, Samantha was probably the youngest, not that such a fact meant anything. She recognized a number of on-camera reporters, each of which looked so polished that by comparison, she felt like a bag lady. The other print-journalism reporters were strange to her, though she knew that if she learned any of their names, things would immediately click.

  Suddenly, a worried feeling came over her—paranoia mixed with self-consciousness—and she realized she was being watched. She felt eyes on her, but there were only reporters straight ahead and none of them were staring at her.

  Cautiously, she glanced over her shoulder to find clusters of civilians—the Death Falls locals who had taken an interest in the presumed scandal of Johnny Fox’s murder. Among them was the motor inn owner, Wanda. She was staring right at Samantha.

  Shit! Now Wanda knows she's a reporter, which means the Black Skulls will as well!

  And Wanda wasn't just checking her out or mildly surprised to make the connection.

  Her gaze was predatory, threatening like she was hunting Samantha. But the feeling only lasted a split second before Wanda shot her a big smile of recognition and waved.

  Samantha returned the sentiment though it was an effort because she was so on edge.

  Wanda started towards her and Samantha didn’t know why, but she found herself pretending to get a call on her cell phone. Maybe it was because she didn’t want anyone prying into her whereabouts last night—Wanda seemed like a gossip and had already warned her to stay away from Asa—or maybe it was because she was too mentally exhausted to hold a casual conversation, but Samantha buried her cell phone in her ear and turned her back on Wanda, saving herself from even the slightest degree of chitchat.

  The CEO of Conway Contractors approached the podium and the crowd of reporters fell silent, giving their full attention to the opening remarks of the press conference.

  Samantha focused on taking notes and jotting her thoughts down in terms of the next short article she would write for Harry—all these little snippets were building towards the major article she would write if and when she actually got somewhere with her unconventional investigation.

  The CEO was being intentionally vague and longwinded.

  When it was the Chief of Police’s turn to take the podium and update the press on any developments that he was permitted to relay, he was brisk with information and drawn-out with assurances as well.

  Before long it was time for the press to ask their questions. Samantha’s hand shot up like a rocket, but time and again she was overlooked in favor of the seasoned journalists. She did what she could to record all the questions and answers, but soon she was so frustrated and insulted to be ignored that she abandoned taking notes altogether, pushed to the front of the crowd, and interrupted by shouting out, “Was Johnny Fox’s murder at all connected to the fact that he was sexually abusing his stepdaughter?!”

  Stunned silence washed through the press conference.

  The police chief narrowed his eyes at her then shot a look of suspicion at the CEO, which told Samantha that neither of them had any idea what she was talking about. She heard chuckling amidst the reporters but kept her gaze locked on the Police Chief, who began clearing his throat and scanning the reporters that were now raising their hands.

  Son of a bitch! She thought. They think she’s spouting rumors!

  To put
a stop to all that, she blurted out, “Luke Olson, the president of the Blue Spades was well aware of the abuse.”

  All eyes were on her and no one was laughing.

  The realization that Wanda—a woman who had been involved with Jim Joseph, the road captain of the Black Skulls—was somewhere behind her suddenly sliced through Samantha’s stomach like a knife. Wanda would obviously relay every word Samantha spoke back to the MC.

  What the hell was she doing? Her job!

  “What motive have you come up with?” she shouted, determined to get answers. “If Fox wasn’t killed because of the crimes he was committing against a fifteen-year-old girl, then why was he killed?” When neither gentleman responded, she barreled right ahead. “What about the second incoming telephone call that Fox received on the night of his murder? Did you find out who-?”

  “This press conference is closed,” announced the Chief of Police before abruptly walking off and leaving the CEO of Conway Contractors lingering for a bewildered moment.

  “Wait!” Samantha shouted. “Do you have any suspects?”

  But the men were clearing out and as they did, the group of reporters began glaring at her as though her senseless and impulsive questions had sabotaged all of them. Sighs and grumbles came next as they collected their gear and started off for their news vans. Someone muttered, “Rookie,” under his breath and just as Samantha turned to confront the complainer, another reporter hissed, “Idiot.”

  Samantha didn’t whip around to see who had said it. Instead, she slumped, falling into deep thought. She might be a rookie, but she wasn’t an idiot. Her questions had been valid. Her sources were solid. She was onto something, but her peers had no idea what she was talking about and it was easy for the people who would know—the CEO and Chief of Police—to hold their tongues, thus implying to the press that Samantha was out of her mind.

  By the time she started for her Prius in the parking area, the majority of reporters had cleared out and the only people around were the construction workers who were permitted to continue building since Fox’s body was currently sitting in the county morgue. Or at least Samantha thought everyone had cleared out. When she unlocked her car, Wanda called her name.

  “That was more excitement than I had expected,” she said breezily as she sauntered over, hips swaying. She leaned against the side of the Prius when she reached it and fanned her neck with her cowboy hat.

  “What are you doing here?” Samantha asked. She had meant to sound casual, conversational, but it had come across like an accusation.

  Wanda glanced at the construction site across the way thoughtfully then, returning her gaze to Samantha, and then said, “The Black Skulls can’t very well be here. They’re trying to keep a low profile for the time being.”

  “So you’re reporting back to them?”

  “Looks like we’re both reporting,” she stated, squaring her shoulders at Samantha. Samantha hadn’t exactly made her real reason for having booked a room at the motor inn known to Wanda. As far as she or any of the Death Falls residents should have been concerned, Samantha was in town to get her personal kicks. Asa had been nervous that the Blue Spades would send word to Rodney and the rest of the Black Skulls that Samantha was, in fact, a reporter. If that hadn't happened yet, it surely would now.

  But Wanda wasn’t pushing it. She smiled, returned her hat to her head, and as she glanced down the length of Samantha, closely scrutinizing her professional pantsuit, she asked, “Asa treating you alright?”

  So she knew that Samantha had spent the night at his place? “What is it that you want, Wanda?”

  “Actually, a ride to Boone & Boone would be nice,” she said easily, pushing away from the Prius and rounding the hood on her way to the passenger’s side, confident that Samantha would surely oblige. “I was dropped off earlier.”

  “Your car’s in the shop?”

  “Do you mind?”

  Samantha was getting a strange feeling. She didn’t quite buy that the Black Skulls would enlist Wanda to report back the content of the press conference especially since it would soon be televised and in print. But Wanda was in bed with Jim Joseph, both literally and figuratively. Maybe she had been dropped off for a different reason, one that had everything to do with Samantha herself. As delayed a reaction as it was, Samantha finally said, “Not at all,” with a smile before popping the driver’s side door open and commenting, “you’re going to love the AC.”

  She did.

  As they drove off along the dusty road, heading for the heart of Death Falls, Wanda angled her side vent at her neck and reveled in the crisp, cold air. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue and there wasn’t a cloud in sight, only a few soaring vultures. The uncomfortable silence between them eased into the territory of tolerable and just as Samantha was merging onto the highway, Wanda made an honest effort of smoothing over whatever tension her prior comments at the construction site had created.

  “I think he really likes you.”

  “Who? Asa?” Samantha asked, surprised enough to take her eyes off the road and glance at her passenger.

  “I know I implied you ought to stay away from him,” she allowed in a tone that sounded like she was asking for forgiveness. “And I was being truthful with you about who he is and what he’s done, but he’s also a good guy.”

  “So now you’re encouraging me to get to know him?” she asked, suddenly confused about Wanda’s real motivation.

  “Listen,” she said with a sigh before falling silent in favor of really thinking through how she would phrase her point. “You’re at a crossroads right now whether you realize it or not. You might think it’s none of my business, and I’m sorry about that, but we’re a lot alike. Both involved with Black Skulls, both living our own lives separate and apart from the MC. It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that much, and Jim and I run hot and cold, but the reason we keep coming back to one another and the reason it’s lasted is because I’m completely loyal to him, completely loyal to the MC whether I’m with Jim or not. Sometimes we fight and afterward we don’t talk for weeks, but I’m still loyal to the MC. If they need me to do something, I do it. I don’t go against them.”

  As Wanda went on, detailing more and more examples of her love affair with the road captain, Jim Joseph, and likening it to Samantha’s fling, Samantha had to ask herself what she was even doing with Asa in the first place. Clearly, Wanda was serious about Jim despite the fact that they couldn’t seem to stay on solid ground. She was essentially advising Samantha as though she was heading down the same road.

  Was she?

  She hadn’t necessarily probed her feelings. The fact that she was planning on writing the article somewhat implied that if Asa placed anywhere in her heart, he was a distant second to her career. In large part, she had been using him, sexually speaking, not that being in his company had resulted in much information, and it wasn’t lost on her that she had been getting a ton out of fucking him—getting between the sheets with Asa was certainly her treat. Of course, she agreed with Wanda. She couldn’t trash the MC and expect a real relationship with Asa Boone, but was that her expectation?

  When all would be said and done, would they both go back to their separate lives, Samantha to her condo in Las Vegas and Asa to the Black Skulls' clubhouse? Or could they stay in each other’s lives? Wanda was right. Samantha was standing at a crossroads and she had no idea what she ultimately wanted. Was she really willing to give up life as she knew it for this man? Was it just about sex or did she have real feelings for him? Samantha had never been in love. Was that what this was? Why the fuck was it all so confusing?

  As those questions floated through her head as Samantha turned the Prius into the dusty parking area in front of Boone & Boone Garage. There were a number of bikers hanging out in front, smoking cigarettes and lingering near a line of vehicles being worked on. As Samantha came to a stop, she spotted Jared Hurst and Strike, the only two members whose names she knew for absolute
certain. A quick scan of the other bikers told her that Asa wasn’t there. Her heart sank a bit and once again she wondered about the feelings she had for him.

  “So what’s it going to be?” Wanda asked once Samantha brought the car to a complete stop.

  “Excuse me?”

  She thought Wanda had been prying and rambling. She hadn’t expected to declare any decisions to the woman who changed her bed sheets and fluffed her pillow. When finally she took her surprised eyes off of Wanda, she realized the bikers from the garage had surrounded her Prius. One of them opened Wanda’s door and before the woman climbed out, she said, “It doesn’t have to go down like this.”

  “What?”

  It was then that Samantha understood what was going on. She had been tricked—lured and baited. The Blue Spades must have gotten in touch with Rodney, word had spread that she was a reporter, and Asa’s biggest fear—that Samantha’s life could be in danger—was about to come true. Adrenaline flooded her veins when she glanced in the rearview and saw a wall of bikers at her bumper. The passenger’s side door was still open and even if it wasn’t, there was nowhere to drive unless she was willing to plow a few men over.

  “Step out of the car, sweetheart,” Jared said before popping her door open. “We need to talk.”

  “I wish I could,” she said anxiously. “I don’t have any time, though.”

  “Step out of the fucking car!” he barked and she flinched, holding her palms up as if he had a gun to her head.

  She slowly climbed out without making any sudden movements. Jared grabbed her by the upper arm roughly and though she expected him to push her into the garage where a group of bikers were glaring at her as though preparing to tear her limb from limb the second she got close enough, he instead ushered her into Poison where Strike was standing with his arms folded.