Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: December 19, 2025
A giant of a man with a shattered soul. A mother running on fear and fury.
Love isn’t even an afterthought.
Tiny — Christmas meant nothing to me. Just cold nights and bad memories. Then
she arrived at Haven. Penny. A woman who’s already fought her share of
battles. She and her girls light up this place like the most beautiful of
Christmas lights. I never thought I’d crave my own family. But watching
them hang ornaments and laugh? Feels like coming home.
Penny — I don’t believe in miracles. Not anymore. Not until I meet a
man who looks like sin and loves like salvation. Tiny’s scarred, quiet,
and so gentle with my girls it breaks my heart. This Christmas, we’re
not running. We’re starting over. All of us. Including Tiny. One kiss,
one breath, one strand of lights at a time, I will build my girls a future to
look forward to. And maybe, just maybe, my own Christmas miracle can withstand
the storm about to crash down on us.
Tiny (Kiss of Death MC 9) is a gritty, emotional, and deeply romantic story of
survival, redemption, and a protective alpha hero who would burn the world
down to keep his family dafe. Can be read as a standalone in the Kiss of Death
MC series.
WARNING: Depictions of domestic abuse, violence, and strong language may be
triggers for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
EXCERPT
Tiny
I ducked my head and turned slightly sideways as I stepped through the door of
the large warehouse, a habit born from years of door frames too small for my
frame. The club had renovated the structure several months ago because the
club’s old ladies demanded the place be secured for their new project.
The shelter only accepted horribly abused women deemed high risk for
retaliatory violence from their abusers. We’d started calling the
shelter Haven. The girls all did their best to make it a haven. It also meant
men with my size weren’t exactly welcome.
I smelled fresh coffee when I stepped inside, a stark contrast to the leather
and exhaust fumes that clung to my clothes. Inside, the few conversations
stuttered to silence as heads turned my way. The newer people stared at me
with wide eyes and a touch of fear. I was used to it. Nearly seven feet tall,
shoulders wide as a doorway, with a mohawk and a beard you could lose a small
animal in, I never entered a room without changing its atmosphere.
Violet spotted me from across the common area and waved me over with an
enthusiastic smile. I moved carefully, each step measured, making myself as
predictable as possible. Prison taught me how to move without threatening, how
to exist in a space where sudden movements could get you shanked. Also taught
me how to use my size to every advantage I could. Here, those same skills
served a different purpose.
“Tiny, I’m glad you could make it,” Violet said, her voice
warm but pitched just loud enough that others nearby could hear. Deliberate.
Showing them I was expected and approved of. Safe.
“Knight asked me to check the security systems,” I replied,
keeping my voice soft. When you’re my size, everything about you can
intimidate, even your voice. Especially when there were young children around.
It’s why I played Santa at Christmas. It helped the kids associate me
with Santa so when they saw me out and about, they remembered. At least, that
was my theory. It had worked pretty well last year, but the very nature of
this place meant the kids didn’t stick around long. Though, I was pretty
sure the old ladies had invited every mother and child who’d come
through this place in the last year to the Christmas party.
As I headed to the back of the big room where the security office sat nestled
off to itself, I noticed three new faces huddled on the worn sofa near the
window. A woman in her mid to late twenties with light brown hair and hazel
eyes sat in the corner with a book while the girls played quietly on the floor
with LEGOs. All three glanced up as I neared the office door.
The girls, though they appeared to be twins, had very different stances. One
with fists clenched, shoulders squared, stood to put herself slightly in front
of her sister. The other girl reached for a threadbare stuffed rabbit with one
missing eye, clutching it to her tightly.
I recognized the signs as clearly as if they’d been written in neon. The
way the woman’s eyes darted to the exits, how she stood slowly, not
making any sudden moves, to put herself between me and her daughters.
“This is Penny and her daughters, Zelda and Kira,” Violet said,
gesturing toward them. “They arrived a few days ago. Penny, this is
Tiny. He’s with the same club Riot’s with. They provide security
for us here.”
I nodded once, not approaching. “Ma’am.”
The woman, Penny, gave me a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her
eyes. It was the smile of someone who’d learned to hide her true
emotions.
“Tiny helps maintain our security system,” Violet continued, her
voice still carrying that deliberate lightness. “And he sometimes
escorts our residents when they need to go to appointments or court dates.
Tiny is an amazing friend to have in those kinds of situations.”
“Yes,” Penny whispered. “I imagine he is.”
I thought Violet would move with me to the office where we could talk.
Instead, she sat on the other end of the couch from Penny. There were two more
couches in the area arranged in the shape of a U. Normally, I’d take a
seat as far away from the women as I could, but I’d still be at a
distinct height advantage even sitting down. So, I sank to the floor, sitting
cross-legged with my back against the couch.
The change was immediate. I watched Penny’s shoulders relax. The girl
unclenched her hands, giving me a curious look. From my position on the floor,
I was still eye level with most people standing, but the psychological
difference mattered.
“Knight and I updated the cameras last week,” I said to Violet,
keeping the conversation normal, mundane. “But he thought one on the
east side might have a small blind spot.”
Violet nodded, following my lead. “That’s the one near the service
entrance, right? I noticed it seemed off when I checked the monitors
yesterday.”
As we talked, I kept my peripheral vision on the small family. Though Zelda
had relaxed somewhat, she still kept a wary gaze on me. Kira watched me with
cautious curiosity now. She clutched her rabbit tighter, its worn fabric
testament to years of comfort sought.
Then it happened. The rabbit slipped from her grasp, falling to the floor and
bouncing once before settling a few feet from where I sat. The girl froze,
eyes wide with alarm.
I didn’t move immediately. Instead, I telegraphed my intentions clearly.
“Would you like me to get your friend for you, Kira?” My voice was
soft as I addressed her directly.
The girl looked to her mother, who gave a barely perceptible nod. Only then
did I slowly unfold one long arm, reaching for the toy. I kept my movements
smooth and deliberate, picking it up with the gentlest grip I could manage.
I didn’t extend it toward her — that would force her to come to me.
Instead, I leaned over, stretching as far as I could, and placed the rabbit
gently on the floor halfway between us, then returned to my original position.
“Thank you,” the woman, Penny, said when her daughter didn’t
speak.
The moment crashed into me like a wave, dragging me back fifteen years. My
sister Julie, sixteen and broken, flinching from every raised voice after what
that bastard did to her. The way she’d curl into herself when men came
near. The stuffed horse she’d kept since childhood that she clutched at
night when she thought no one would see.
The same stuffed horse that had been torn to pieces the day I came home and
found her hurt and half dead.
I blinked away the memory. That had been the worst night of my life. I think
it hurt just as bad as when she died a few days later.
“Tiny’s road captain for the club. He also helps with security
both here and at the clubhouse.” Violet spoke to Penny and her voice
pulled me back to the present. “He’s been instrumental in setting
up our security systems here.”
I shifted uncomfortably at the praise, my vest creaking again with the
movement. I understood why Violet was doing it. These women needed to know I
wasn’t a threat, but praise had never sat well with me. Not before
prison, and certainly not after. “Just trying to help,” I mumbled,
examining the tattoo on my forearm to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Tiny volunteers for most of the escort duties when our residents need
to go to court,” Violet continued. “He’s been a huge help to
many of the women who’ve passed through here.”
I glanced up to find Penny studying me with a careful gaze. Not fearful
anymore, but assessing. I recognized that look too. She was recalculating,
reshuffling whatever assumptions she’d made when I first walked in. No
doubt because she knew Violet had a point. I was a big fucker. The
intimidation factor alone was generally enough to keep unwanted people at a
distance.
“Good to know.” Penny spoke softly, almost timidly. I got it and
wasn’t insulted. I didn’t know their story, but to be here in the
first place, there had to be some pretty horrific details.
The smaller girl had reclaimed her rabbit by now, holding it against her chest
as she whispered something into its tattered ear. For just a moment, our eyes
met, and I saw something there that squeezed my chest tight. Not fear, not
anymore. Something closer to recognition.
I knew that feeling. The paradox of finding safety with someone who looked
like they could crush you with one hand. I’d seen it in the eyes of
younger inmates who gravitated toward me in Terre Haute, seeking protection in
my shadow. It was a burden I carried willingly, both inside those walls and
now here, in this shelter with its mismatched furniture and reinforced doors.
I wasn’t an overly religious person, but I’d always felt God put
me on this earth with my size and strength to be a protector. It had started
with my sister. Now I did my best to continue as much as I could. It took a
while, but I could usually prove that sometimes safety came in unexpected
packages. Like a giant with a mohawk and prison tattoos, sitting cross-legged
on the floor to avoid scaring a little girl and her stuffed rabbit.
That’s when I noticed the small movement at the edge of my vision. Kira,
the girl I’d handed back her stuffie, had moved in my direction. The
stuffed rabbit dangled from her hand as she took one cautious step in my
direction, then another. Penny was distracted, talking with one of the shelter
staff, but her sister had noticed. Zelda’s eyes narrowed and I could
almost see the fierce protective instinct that sometimes rode me, too, envelop
her. She stood but didn’t immediately hurry our way.
I remained perfectly still, not wanting to spook either of them. The
girl’s approach reminded me of how stray cats would sometimes appear at
the prison fences, wary and ready to bolt at the slightest provocation, but
driven by some need stronger than fear. She stopped several feet away, her
small fingers working nervously at the rabbit’s worn fabric. Up close, I
could see the careful stitches where someone had repaired a seam, the worn
spot where fur had been loved away. A well-tended comfort object. Someone
cared enough to keep fixing it.
“His name is Mr. Hoppers,” she said, voice barely audible. The
first words she’d spoken in my presence.
I nodded solemnly, giving the introduction the gravity it deserved.
“Good name.”
She studied me with an intensity that belied her age. Not the fearful
assessment I was used to, but something different. Searching. Her eyes tracked
from my hands to my face, then back to my hands again.
“You have big hands,” she observed.
“Yes.”
“But you were careful with Mr. Hoppers.”
I understood then what she was doing. Testing a theory. “I try to be
careful with things and people smaller than me.” I shook my head slowly.
“I don’t like hurting people.”
Her head tilted slightly. “My dad has big hands too. But he breaks
things.”
The simple statement hit me like a punch to the gut. I kept my expression
even, though something hot and angry flared in my chest. “Some men
don’t know how to be careful.”
She nodded as if I’d confirmed something important. Then, with
deliberate care, she extended her arms, offering me the rabbit. The trust in
that gesture staggered me. I held perfectly still, afraid that any movement
might shatter this fragile moment. Then, with the same care I’d use
handling a newborn, I accepted the offering, cradling the worn toy in palms
that could crush a man’s skull.
“He likes you,” she said with the conviction of absolute
certainty.
“I’m honored,” I replied, meaning it more than she could
know.
That’s when I saw it, the recognition in her eyes. Not of me
specifically, but of something in me that felt safe despite appearances.
I’d seen the look often but this was the first time I could say someone
making that judgment had the right of it. I could be deceptively calm. Until I
wasn’t. But not with this girl. Or anyone here seeking shelter.
The moment stretched between us like a bridge, this strange connection forged
in the quietest of gestures. I gently returned Mr. Hoppers to her waiting
hands, and she clutched him close again, a half-smile ghosting across her
face.
Then the spell broke when the very kind of man this little girl had been
running from just walked into the Goddamned foyer.
“Let me in, you little bitches! I know she’s in there!” The
male voice exploded from outside the main area but still inside the warehouse,
followed by the sound of something hitting the front door hard enough to
rattle the windows. I wasn’t certain how he’d gotten in but I knew
at least two of the brothers wouldn’t be far behind him.
About the Author
Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife
by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in
spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are
speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined
with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a
sigh from her readers.
Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph
events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.
Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland
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