To the left of the bar was a closed door where men's voices murmured from the other side.
As Strike neared the door, keeping an ear out while making no motion to actually knock, he commented, “The meeting’s still going on.”
“Meeting?”
He met her gaze and nodded without elaborating. Instead, he started up behind the bar and began listing, “Bud, Bud Light, Coors, Amstel-”
“Ah,” she softly stalled, knowing full well that drinking in the afternoon would not be productive. “I might not.”
Her hesitant answer made him beam what appeared to be a highly aroused smile. Oh right, she thought, he thinks I’m going to fuck some guy, because I’m a groupie, and he’s impressed I can do it stone cold sober.
The plain fact of the matter was that she didn’t need a drink or a twenty-two-year-old babysitter. She needed to press her ear against that door and overhear every last damn word she could. Of course the MC committee—the president, VP, sergeant-at-arms, and treasurer—would be in the throes of a serious meeting. The skeletal remains of one of their own, who had gone missing a decade prior, had just been found dead this morning where a supermarket was supposed to go. At least they were presumably the bones. That had yet to be authenticated but it was doubtful they had come back as anyone else’s. Mainly, even the mention that it might be Johnny would have the cops out here sniffing around the clubhouse and she was sure none of them would want that. Reporters would be even less welcomed since they weren’t bound by the same rules the cops had to follow.
Samantha could feel it in her bones that they were strategizing right now on the other side of that door, which meant that they were saying things that she needed to record. They might even be discussing which of them had actually killed Fox all those years ago and why. “Hey, Strike,” she sang sweetly. “My Prius isn’t going to lube itself.”
“You don’t mind?” he asked, his brows pinched up to his forehead. He was already walking out from the bar. “Asa will be out in a sec I’m sure.”
“I’m not worried,” she assured him, offering a coy smile. “And I can entertain myself in the meantime.”
“Asa’s a lucky guy,” he said as he swaggered backward to the door and Samantha fought the urge to roll her eyes. Yeah, she thought. Like I’m actually going to fuck some guy I’ve never met just because he’s in a motorcycle gang. She knew from her research that some women did. A lot of women as a matter of fact. It was hard for her to wrap her head around but to each their own. She was here to do a job and she meant to do it well. Strike winked at her right before he turned on his heel and thrusted the door open.
The second she was alone in the dimly lit bar, quiet all but for rock music playing faintly from the garage across the way and the rise and fall of arguing men on the other side of the closed door, Samantha pranced on tiptoes to minimize her clicking stilettos until she was standing ear-to-door. She kept one eye on the front door, her senses alerted so as not to blow her cover. As she listened, she could pick out a few words—murder, dirty dealings, only a matter of time—but there was no way for her to grasp the context or the overall points the men were making. Their gravelly voices were overlapping too much, sometimes barking, murmuring otherwise.
Beads of sweat rolled down her neck and dripped between her breasts both from the sweltering hot room and the fear of being discovered. Her heart raced, causing her chest to heave in a never-ending flutter. She wanted this so bad that she hoped to eavesdrop something groundbreaking, but life was rarely so simple. If anything, she ought to stop hoping and start plotting. What was she even going to say to Asa Boone when he did come out that door? What was she planning on asking? And how would she weave her journalistic questions into casual and of course highly suggestive conversation without causing him to become suspicious? She was so green but she firmly believed that her resolve to do this would outweigh the fact that she was quite simply, a rookie.
Just as Samantha reminded herself how smoking hot she looked and that it was highly likely it didn’t even matter what she said the door was suddenly pushed open and whacked her in the side of the head. She staggered sideways and her vision was slightly blurred. She sensed more than saw the man that had just pushed his way out of the room. He stood still, watching her until her vision came back into focus and she was suddenly taking him in.
Black boots, jeans loosely hugging his calves but tightly clinging around his muscular thighs, a shiny belt buckle hovering just north of his defined bulge... She righted her balance and plowed her fingers through her wavy hair even though all she wanted to do was rub the side of her head and tell the guy off for almost smashing her face in with the door.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a smooth, deep tone that seemed to perfectly capture both his rugged good looks and the bad boy glint in his black eyes. He stood about 6’2” with brown hair sheared short on the sides in an almost faux-hawk crew cut, a crisp wide jaw and light dusting of stubble across his chin and cheeks, and he had lips that had the power to hypnotize. Jesus Christ he was sex on a stick and everything inside of Samantha was either shaking or on fire. Whoever this man was, as far as looks went he was a distinct cut above the rest, and Samantha was having a hard time getting her brain to work because of it.
His forearms and threaded biceps completely covered in tattoos and that chest! The white, wife-beater he wore was so thin that Samantha could trace the lines of his body underneath—the firm mounds of his pecs, his washboard abs and the muscles that wrapped his hips curving down towards his bulging, jeans-encased package!
But none of it got her heart pounding quite like those dark eyes of his and the laid-back expression on his sexy face, the intrigued mix of curiosity and skepticism that veiled what appeared to be smoldering interest.
He liked what he saw...
There was no mistaking it.
He was into her. Hopefully, this guy could help her as much as hooking up with Asa Boone. She wouldn’t mind really hooking up with him. Another time and place maybe…
“Yes, you can help me,” she finally said, sinking into her hip the second she remembered the part she was playing. “I’m looking for Asa Boone.” She suddenly hoped Asa wasn’t here. She wanted this one instead.
A strange and subtle smile came over his face as he studied her a moment longer. “You found him.”
Chapter Two
If Samantha was glad about anything, it was the fact that the other Black Skulls members hadn’t filtered out of the meeting room. Her impression was that their meeting was very much in full swing, which meant that she had Asa to herself, at least for a little while.
And even though maybe four seconds had lapsed since he’d indicated that she had found her man, Samantha felt the instant and awkward pressure of having completely dropped the conversational ball.
Yet at the same time, staring up into those black eyes of his, drinking in the sight of his reserved interest in her, she felt bizarrely comfortable despite their mutual silence.
Pauses, she thought to herself. That’s how first kisses start. But kissing him would be an act of insanity. People don’t kiss the second they meet one another just because a room is empty or the conversation stilted.
Why the hell hadn’t she said something yet?
Samantha, say something!
“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 watch
ed 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 against 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.”
ASA: BLACK SKULLS MC Page 2
