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 Three
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 between 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.
It would mean they would each be tied up and fully focused on keeping the press at bay since it was a God damn given that cops and press alike had only one suspect in mind—the motorcycle gang. Slipping away to seek revenge against the adversary who had executed Johnny Fox would be no easy task, even if they knew who to go looking for.
Would they go after the Blue Spades, a biker club from up north that they used to do business with in the past?
Would they interrogate the owner of Sin Sin, one of three casinos who Rodney and Carl had been in bed with for as long as he could remember? The bulk of the Black Skulls business centered on doing dirty deeds for legitimate establishments that could never get away with such things on their own.
Asa was jarred from deep contemplation when Carl inte
rjected, “I say we put our foot soldiers on combatting the press and police so that Asa and Kyle are free to question the most likely suspects.” Rodney nodded but the look of agreement on his face was clouded over with frustration—who were the most likely suspects?
“Fucking everyone hated Johnny,” Jim complained before drowning his rage in booze. It was almost time for another round of beers, Asa thought, who still hadn’t completely shaken the sight of Samantha Wilde from his mind. He knew he had much more important things to concentrate on right now, but fuck she was a hot little piece of ass in those skin-tight, black leather pants and matching top. That top basically turned her tits into a shelf that he’d like to lick. When he stepped out of the meeting, he had definitely not expected to find a doe-eyed blonde on the other side of the door and the way she had tripped sideways, ass out and softly grunting, had instantly filled him with ideas. And when he’d cleared his head of those ideas, others clouded it. This girl was far out of her element and quite frankly, her outfit—as sexy as it was—came across as more of a costume than anything she would ever normally be caught dead wearing. Asa realized that was what was intriguing him. She wasn’t down and dirty like the usual chicks he fucked whenever the mood struck him. There was something polished about her, dignified, maybe even a little prudish, though she had tried not to seem so. She was also up to something, though.
He wasn’t overly surprised about that. All the members of the Black Skulls had been warned to expect reporters, cops and groupies to come flocking, thanks to the bones of Johnny Fox surfacing. Some girls liked that kind of danger...but something about Samantha hadn’t entirely struck Asa as being one of the groupies with a hard on for the bad boy. He wanted to know what she was really after, and he also wanted to feel her back in his hands…without that leather suit on. When he had gripped her ribs, he should have gone further. He should have let his hands travel up north and cupped those sexy tits. He would have liked to hear her gasp and see the offended glint she would almost certainly have in her eyes. But she was asking for it, wasn’t she? Maybe he should give her what she was asking for and that would lead to what she was really after. The thought of it led to his cock stiffening in his pants but once again he was jarred from slipping into an elaborate fantasy when Carl stated the one silver lining of the moment:
“Reporters haven’t come to Boone & Boone yet. We haven’t seen any in Poison all day.” Asa suddenly sat upright—What am I, a fucking moron?
Scrambling for an excuse, he mumbled, “Beers,” under his breath, quickly collected the empty bottles, and ignored Jim’s irritated objections that one of their sergeants-at-arms was about to leave the meeting for the second time.
Kyle snorted a laugh, as Asa whipped the door open, then commented, “I wouldn’t turn down a skull fucker either.” But that wasn’t what Samantha Wilde was, and he should have spotted it sooner. The second he shut the door, his instinct was confirmed. Not only was she still here, but she was staring up at him from the exact same place he had left her. He had to assume she had heard everything.
In an instant he clanked the empty bottles onto one of the tables and then seized her, gripping her bare upper arms so hard that she grimaced. Before she could yelp or make a sound, he quickly began crossing the room, steering her as she shuffled her stiletto heels so as not to trip.
“Why the fuck are you here?” he hissed as they rounded the far end of the bar, coming to a swinging door that connected to a long hallway, a storage room, and also the stairs to the cellar.
“Just a fan, like I told you,” she breathed.
Rather than press her palms against his chest to push him off, she was holding his biceps as if her greatest hope at the moment was to not trip backward in a nasty spill.
“Who fucking sent you?” he demanded, unsatisfied with her outrageous lie of an answer.
He slammed her into the door, which swung easily under their momentum, and soon they were shuffling down the dimly lit hallway.
Thinking fast, he pivoted and thrust her against the wall. The impact caused her to grunt, her limbs loosened enough for Asa to widen her shapely legs with one of his own. As he pressed his pelvis to hers, breathing heavily down at her, drinking in the sight of her pouty lips, the rise and fall of her tits, he knew what had to be done.
“You’re hurting me,” she breathed, but he hadn’t even gotten started yet.
In a fast, fluid motion, he grabbed her leather bodice, hooking his strong fingers where a cross-stitch of leather zigzagged down the front and ripped the damn thing open. She gasped and slapped him hard across the face, but it didn’t break his concentration as he studied her perky tits under black lace where he had expected a surveillance wire to be.
“Where is it?” he growled, finally meeting her stunned gaze.
Her eyes were white all around, green and screaming, though not a sound escaped her open mouth. She was confused, shaken up. She looked like she legitimately didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about so he clarified, “Where’s the wire?”
As her heaving chest gradually calmed, her breathing smoothing out, he watched her nipples harden into tight erasers beneath the black lace of her bra.
She wasn’t as scared as she was turned on…interesting.
“Answer me,” he demanded.
“I’m not wearing a wire,” she said firmly, but her tone had been too low to trust.
“We’ll see about that,” he told her, kicking her feet further apart to widen her stance. “I’m not a cop,” she retorted, as he pinned her hands above her head, holding her wrists together with one hand while the other began cupping her left breast, not because he was feeling for a wire, but because he could. What was she going to do about it? Stop him? He wanted to see a look of hate in her eyes at his power over her. And then he wanted to feel how wet it made her between the legs.
“I don’t think you’re a cop,” he hissed. “I think you’re a fucking reporter.”
With that, he squeezed her tit and a sharp yelp escaped her. She slapped at his hand but she may as well have been blowing on it. He continued touching her but instead of pinching he turned it into a smooth massage that was soon eliciting sultry moans from her. She wasn’t resisting any longer and Asa was as turned on as she was.
One of his favorite things was hearing a woman cry out in pain a second before she moaned with pleasure at his changing touch. The melody of Samantha’s tone was particularly enjoyable. He wouldn’t mind thrusting his thick cock up her tight, little slippery pussy just to hear her scream and gasp, the shock and pain of his huge size gradually washing over her. Eventually, her flexed face, the pained expression would soften with pleasure.
Maybe he would fuck her here and now, he thought. That’s what she said she’s here for…let her prove it. He squeezed her wrists tighter together and she winced in response, but the second his free hand reached the zipper of her leather pants she tensed. She bit her lower lip and gazed up at him, but she wasn’t frightened.
“Are you?” he asked.
“Am I what?”
“A reporter?”
Her profound lack of a response was confirmation enough, and because of it, he wasn’t exactly gentle when he jerked her zipper down and thrust his large rough hand under her silky panties. She let out a sharp moan and tried to jerk her arms free, but she didn’t have a chance in hell of slapping him again.
“You think I’ve got a wire up my vagina?”
“I won’t know until I search it,” he shot back as he looked down at her with a smoldering gaze. He liked the look of disgust on her face especially since her fluttering eyelashes contradicted the sentiment. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “You can moan if you want. I won’t tell anyone you love this.”
“Fuck you,” she whispered.
He laughed and said, “Isn’t that what you said you came here to do?”
She snorted instead of moaning and he didn’t penetrate her with his thick fingers. Not yet. He was having too much fun not to
draw this out as long as possible. Instead, he cupped her pussy, holding her firmly between the legs and feeling her heat, the wetness building, her body softening in response to his touch.
Now we’ll see what she really wants, he thought before slowly loosening his grip on her bound wrists.
Her eyes widened, realizing her hands would soon be free.
Asa steadied his gaze on her pouty mouth, her straight teeth. Would she tip her chin up, inviting him to kiss her? Would she begin moving her hips to help his fingers explore the velvety folds of her slippery pussy? Or would she gouge his eyes out?
By the time he cupped her tit, his thumb grazing over her hardened nipple as the fingers of his other hand began slowly and gently massaging her hot, wet labia, Samantha’s hands were still above her head of their own accord as though she had no idea what to do with herself. Maybe she was just here to fuck him…or maybe she was a really good actress and this was all about getting a story. Or maybe…it was both. Maybe she wanted the story and she wanted his cock too.
He was pretty sure that being fondled by a biker in a dingy hallway was the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to her because her body betrayed the secret. Her hips were rocking ever so slightly as if begging for his fingers to be inside of her. At first, she seemed unsure whether to fight it or love it…and then she slowly lowered her beautiful hands to his muscular shoulders.
He squeezed her tit again and she gasped.
They were standing so close that he could feel her cool breath on his sweaty neck. He released her breast in favor of gripping her tight, little, leather-bound ass and her arms melted over his shoulders. Her entire body relaxed for him and she let out the sweetest little sigh. The rise and fall of her chest caused her perky tits to brush up against his chest.
ASA: BLACK SKULLS MC Page 3
