(Black Reign MC 11)

A Bones MC Romance

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: February 21, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

Archangel is always perfect. In complete control. Which makes him a
challenge I can’t resist…

Sonya: Just because I put a blow-up doll in the neighbor’s holiday
yard ornament, or send various embarrassing items up the flagpole
occasionally, doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. But my father
doesn’t see things that way. So he sends me to a man he thinks can
help me “find my inner self.” Otherwise known as get some kind
of job. Just my luck, the man he sends me to is the man I’ve had a
crush on forever. Archangel is strong, soft-spoken, always in control, and
the most perfectly made man I’d ever seen. He’s unflappable. I
can’t resist, even knowing the price I’ll pay. I just hope I can
slink the walk of shame back home before he knows I’m gone. That might
be the only chance I have of protecting my heart.

Archangel: I don’t know what Thorn was thinking when he sent his
daughter to me. Sonya has plagued my every filthy fantasy since the first
time she came home from college to visit friends at my club. I’d known
then I needed to stay away from her. Not only am I way too old for her, but
her daddy is the president of their club. Which puts me and Black Reign MC
in a delicate position. What I could never have predicted was Sonya taking
matters into her own hands. Sonya running isn’t a surprising. Kinda
expected that. What wasn’t on my Bingo card was my forgotten past
catching up with me.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Marteeka Karland

Two blocks down, I saw a big, black Harley heading our way. Even from this
distance the roar of the pipes was distinctive. And I knew the sound well. A
dense trail of smoke had covered the four lanes from where one of the
residences was burning a small pile of brush. Just like in the movies, the
big Harley I’d known was attached to that rumble parted the haze with
smoke circling behind him like a jet trail. The man sitting on the bike was
just as intimidating as the machine. All the scene needed was a slow-motion
sequence and it would be perfect.

Archangel. He was the most unflappable man I’d ever met. There was an
eerie calm surrounding him most of the time. Sure, he laughed and had a good
time like anyone else, but he was the peacemaker. The person everyone called
when they didn’t want El Diablo or El Segador to take up the cause.
More than once, I’d heard Archangel make the statement you knew when
you had a successful negotiation because neither party was completely
satisfied. He didn’t play favorites, and he was always fair, but the
man had a giant stick up his ass the size of a telephone pole.

He crossed across two lanes of traffic at the corner to pull into the
parking lot of the courthouse, not even hesitating at the light as he did.
Brazen, considering where he was, and that three deputies and two city cops
were sitting close by. He parked the bike in front of Lawdawg’s truck
before turning it off and putting down the kickstand. A long, thickly
muscled leg was lifted over the seat as Archangel dismounted and walked
toward the truck and Lawdawg.

I knew there was drool dripping from the corner of my mouth, but I
didn’t fucking care. Archangel was the most perfectly built man
I’d ever had the pleasure of viewing. No matter how many times I saw
him, he was still awe-inspiring. If anyone saw me, all I had to do was point
at the man and any red-blooded woman on the planet who looked would
understand. He wore snug, black jeans. The material clung to his hips and
thighs in all the right places. He didn’t have on a shirt, but his
plain, leather vest covered most of his rippled torso. Which left his arms
bare, and a sliver of chest and abdomen showing when he walked. Muscles and
thick veins roped his arms. Tattoos peeked from his vest and crept up his
arms. His salt-and-pepper hair was over his collar but artfully shaggy, and
his beard was full and neatly trimmed. Mirrored aviator sunglasses rounded
out his outfit. The man rocked it like the ultimate bad boy.

“Hoooooly shit. Are you seeing this?” Linnie sounded in awe and
I glanced at her sharply.

“What the shit, Linnie, you whore!” I wasn’t really mad.
This was how we communicated.

“What?” She didn’t take her gaze from Archangel and the
question was more of a demand. “Tell me you weren’t eye fucking
him too and I’ll be ashamed. Or something. OK. No, I won’t be
ashamed, but look me in the eyes and tell me you weren’t eye fucking
him. Besides, we always eye fuck him together.”

“I’d love to. But I’m too busy eye fucking him to look
you in the eyes and tell you I’m not eye fucking him. Because
I’m eye fucking him like crazy. Also, I’ve changed my mind. We
can’t eye fuck him together anymore.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Sonya. If you change your mind
and decide he’s too much work, let me know. I’ll give it a
shot.”

“Like hell.” I turned and hissed at my friend.
“Mine.”

“You know he’s so much older than you as to not be believed,
right? The man is practically ancient!”

“Red and Rosana have more of an age gap than me and
Archangel.”

“Right. Use their successful age gap relationship to justify your
own. I’m sure it will go over with your dad as well as it would with
my own father.” She had a point.

“Why’s he here, I wonder?”

“Don’t know, Sonya, but if the look on his face is any
indication, the reason can’t be good.”

Whatever was being said between Archangel and Lawdawg seemed to have gotten
under Archangel’s skin. He snatched his glasses from his face and
leaned into Lawdawg’s space. His lips moved, but I couldn’t tell
what he was saying. Mainly because Archangel had his teeth clenched. Lawdawg
shrugged and jerked his head toward the truck where we sat and watched them
from the back seat.

Archangel turned his head to look at the truck and us. Lawdawg spoke,
gesturing with his hands a couple of times while Archangel continued to
stare.

Finally, he nodded, and stepped away from Lawdawg, moving toward the truck.
Archangel came to my side and opened the door. “Come on. Out with
ya.” When I hesitated, he added. “Or I’ll haul you out
over my shoulder. Choice is yours.” Though his eyes looked like he was
furious, his face was relaxed and his voice was calm.

“What crawled up your ass?” The only person in the world I
loved pushing more than Lawdawg was Archangel. Probably because both men
were so naturally uptight yet unflappable. Anyone who followed the rules so
close to the edge should feel anxious at least some of the time. Neither of
these men were. Both of them stayed true to their consciences, but when the
shit hit the fan, they were the calm, driving force behind fixing the fan
and cleaning up the shit.

“When I’m called an hour and a half away to take a young woman
in hand who’s acting like a spoiled teenager, it tends to eat away at
my social niceties.”

“Look, you don’t want my company, I’ll happily catch a
ride back with Linnie and Talia. I’m not sure why anyone called you to
begin with. I don’t belong to your club.”

“No. You don’t, thank God, but your daddy thinks you need a
come-to-Jesus meeting about what you’re gonna do with your life. I owe
him one, so I got drafted.”

I blinked. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Afraid not, Sonya. Now, come with me. We’ve got a long ride
ahead. You can rest tonight, but tomorrow we’re going to sit down and
figure out your next steps in life.”

“Oh really.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “What if I
don’t want to talk with you about my future? I happen to like my life
the way it is.”

“And that’d be great. Except for stunts like this.” When
I would have continued to argue with him, Archangel snagged my upper arm and
pulled me with him to his bike. His hold wasn’t painful, but it was
clear he wouldn’t tolerate me trying to get away from 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.

Contact Links

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

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Hounds of Hell MC (#6)

MC Romance

Date Published: 2/7/2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

She’s a spark I never saw coming, in a fight I can’t afford to
lose.

Deva — No Mercy Ink is my sanctuary, the shop I built with my brother
Jackson. But after a string of attacks leaves him in the hospital, I’m
left to defend everything we’ve worked for. That’s when Razor
storms into my life — intimidating, loyal, and maddeningly protective.
He’s everything I’ve avoided in a man, yet I can’t deny
the pull between us. But as danger closes in, it’s clear Victor
Grayson and his crew will stop at nothing to destroy us. Razor swears
he’ll keep me safe, but how can I trust him with my heart when my
survival demands I protect myself?

Razor — Leading the Hounds of Hell means protecting my family at any cost.
When Deva’s world collides with mine, she’s more than just a
mission — she’s a fire I can’t extinguish. Fierce, stubborn,
and utterly captivating, she’s determined to fight for her shop, even
if it puts her in Grayson’s crosshairs. But this isn’t just
about the club or Mercy anymore — it’s about her. The deeper I fall,
the higher the stakes. To win this war, I’ll have to face my past,
defend my future, and prove to Deva that she’s not just worth fighting
for — she’s worth everything.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2025 Jamie Targaet

Deva

Zipping the front of her coat against the bitter cold wind of January, Deva
Crane climbed out of her SUV. After slinging her backpack over one shoulder,
she walked from where she parked behind the building. She and her brother
Jackson had been lucky to have rented a space in the strip mall when they
did. Theirs was a corner shop in a gritty, historic part of Mercy. Dark,
graffiti-style art covered the outer wall of the building, perfect for their
vibe. Decades of imagery and symbols decorated that wall conveying
rebellion, strength, and transformation.

Deva and her brother, called Outcast by his biker brothers, had opened the
shop three years ago. She was damned proud of what they’d built. The
shop’s bold neon sign read “No Mercy Ink” in fiery red and
cool white. She liked the way the sign caught people’s eyes on gray,
rainy days, and the ominous light cast on the street outside at night. It
had been her brother’s idea to tint the windows, and it was a good
one. The lighting made the intricate tattoo designs they displayed there
stand out, giving passersby a taste of the artistry within while maintaining
privacy. A small wrought-iron bench sat out front under the old metal awning
with a bucket that served as an ashtray, finishing the exterior — an
invitation to rest, get lost in thought, smoke a cigarette…

Deva unlocked the shop to get started with her day. As she flipped on the
light, she smiled. Inside the shop was a weird mix of her style and her
brother’s, like an odd cross between an art gallery and an old biker
bar. The walls were painted in dark, muted tones of indigo and slate gray.
There were metal accents and hints of exposed brick lending an authentically
rough vibe to their studio. Framed tattoo flash, custom designs, and photos
of some of their best works hung on the walls.

The waiting area in the front had metal stools and a weathered leather sofa
bought from thrift stores. She placed their high-end aftercare products and
branded merch in a glass display case there. No Mercy Ink was stamped on
everything from leather jackets to T-shirts and trucker hats.

Their tattoo stations were further in, separated by worn steel dividers,
offering their clients a little more privacy. There were three stations. One
was hers, one was Jackson’s, and a third that she hoped to fill one
day with another hired artist. They just needed to get their profit margin a
little higher to finally pull that off. Each station had a tattoo chair, a
tool cabinet, and an adjustable lighting rig. The workstations were well
organized with tattoo machines, bottles of ink, and sterilized needles. The
presentation was important to her because it showed their pride in their
craft. Jackson usually kept his area bare bones, all except for a photo of a
phoenix tattoo that he kept there. It was odd because she was pretty sure it
wasn’t his work. Her station had warmer lighting and a few plants,
reflecting her creative style.

Her goal had been to work on paying bills this morning, since she had no
appointments scheduled today. Business off the street didn’t pick up
until lunchtime or after. But suddenly the door sensor triggered the low
rumbling sound of a chopper engine that Jackson assured her would be so
cool. At first, she’d begrudgingly tolerated it. Over time, she came
to love the rumble of the sensor. Still, Deva had to wonder who was
there.

It was a familiar-looking young woman Deva couldn’t quite place, with
long, red curls and big eyes who stood in the waiting area, looking more
unnerved than excited. Her dark winter coat reached her knees and had a faux
fur-lined hood that she eased back. A tattoo virgin? Deva smiled when the
woman’s gaze found her.

“Hi, there,” Deva said. “Can I help you?”

A flush of color brightened the young woman’s face — no one blushed
quite like a natural redhead — and she nodded. “Yes, I was hoping to
make an appointment to speak with Deva.”

“That’s me. And I’ve got a few minutes. We just opened.
Come on back.” Deva motioned for the woman to follow her, heading for
her own station. Motioning to the tattoo chair, she said, “Have a
seat.”

The woman’s green-eyed gaze took in everything before she sat down,
perching on the edge of the chair. The visitor’s emotions were
palpable, her posture hesitant. Deva waited patiently, giving her the time
and space to speak when she was ready. Whatever it was the young woman was
dealing with, it was obviously still haunting her.

“My boyfriend recommended you,” she explained.
“Axel?”

That got Deva’s attention. Axel was one of the twin enforcers of
Mercy’s chapter of the Hounds of Hell. The same MC her brother
belonged to.

“I know him,” Deva said. “My brother is Outcast. We
co-own this shop and we’re both artists here.”

A little of the tension in her pretty face eased at that. “Outcast
is… very nice.”

Deva laughed. “No, he’s not. He’s a quiet, broody
asshole, but I love him.”

The redhead smiled. “He is quiet and…” Shaking her head,
she held out a hand. “I’m Sadie Downing.”

“Sadie. Well, I’m honored that Axel sent you to me,” Deva
said. “What can I help you with?”

“I’d like to get a tattoo. To, um, cover something up.
It’s…” Sadie paused, drawing in a deep breath, then rose
from the chair instead, her movements deliberate. Shrugging off her heavy
coat, she draped it over the divider and swept her long red curls over her
left shoulder. With hesitant hands, she tugged her shirt off one shoulder,
revealing just enough for Deva to glimpse the markings. What little she
could see was enough to make her stomach twist.

With Sadie glancing over her shoulder, Deva asked, “May
I?”

At Sadie’s nod, Deva gently shifted the shirt and bra strap to reveal
the full extent of the damage. The words “Bobby’s Bitch”
were crudely carved into her skin, a brutal mark of ownership. The sight
infuriated Deva. The jagged, uneven lines spoke volumes — rage,
entitlement, and pain. It was a violation, both physical and emotional,
leaving scars that went far deeper than the skin. Just the thought of the
agony Sadie must have endured made Deva’s stomach churn.

Deva adjusted Sadie’s strap and blouse back into place with care.
Sinking into the chair, Sadie swiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks.
Deva reached for the box of tissues on the counter, handing her one. It took
every ounce of control Deva had not to cry alongside her.

“I’m… sorry,” Sadie said, her voice trembling as
she dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. “Axel thought maybe there was
a way to cover it up. It’s not that he’s bothered by it —
he’s actually been so kind. It’s just…” Her voice
trailed off, unable to finish, the weight of her pain and vulnerability
hanging heavy in the air.

“You want to reclaim that part of you,” Deva said simply.

“Yes.” Sadie nodded. “I’m sure that’s so bad
that there’s probably not a lot you can do but…”

“There’s plenty we can do to cover that,” Deva assured
her. “I get a lot of requests to cover old wounds and scars these
days. It’s a specialty of mine.”

Sadie’s eyes widened, flashing hope. “You can?”

Deva nodded and reached beneath the counter to retrieve a photo album. She
flipped it open to a specific section, her fingers brushing over the pages
with care. Positioning the album on her lap, she turned it so Sadie could
see the images through the protective clear plastic sheets.

“Most of these are cover-ups for cutting scars.” Deva gestured
to the first two pages, which showcased intricately tattooed inner forearms.
The designs were bold yet delicate, turning painful memories into something
personal, meaningful. “But not all,” Deva added, flipping
through the rest of the pages. The other photos featured stunning tattoos
covering hips, thighs, and backs — art meant to reclaim and
transform.

About the Author

Jamie Targaet is the author of the Hounds of Hell MC. She’s anxious to
introduce you to this club of gorgeous, dominant men and the lucky women who
surrender to them. The ride is going to get wild at times, not going to lie.
But there’s thrilling action, scorching hot sex scenes, and all the
feels. 

Jamie writes erotic romance for Changeling Press, a little fanfiction on
the side, and she’s an aspiring horror writer in another life. She enjoys
time with her family (including the fur babies). She likes good horror
movies and shows, emo metal and classic rock, and time spent in other worlds
writing and reading. She loves hearing from readers and is looking forward
to hearing from you.

Author Contact Links

Author on Facebook

Author on Amazon

Author’s Website

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

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Iron Tzars MC, Book 12

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: September 27, 2024

Apple — I gave Deacon my heart, but he said I was too young. So he left.
For over a year. Didn’t want me around. Hurt and humiliated, I left
for Grim Road MC. If anyone will understand my need to hide and lick my
wounds for a while, it’ll be my sister Lemon. Of course, Lemon’s
also a royal bitch. When I get shot, first thing she does is call Deacon —
the last person I ever want to see again. Then she sicces him on the man who
ordered the hit. Not sure who I’m gonna kill first — Deacon, or
Lemon.

Deacon — All I ever wanted was to keep Apple safe. To protect her. Mostly
from me. When my president sent me to infiltrate a trafficking ring, I
gladly accepted the assignment. I thought once I was gone, Apple’d
have time to grow up. Fall in love with someone her own age. Someone better.
Then my enemies went after Apple. When Lemon tells me she’s been shot,
her call pushes me over the edge. Now, I’m going to unleash hell.
Maybe then, Apple will forgive me for pushing her away.

EXCERPT

“I don’t want to wait, Deacon,” I whispered. “Not
anymore.”

“Me neither, baby. But I’ve gotta give you your property patch
in front of the club. You also gotta get inked.”

“But –” He silenced me with a kiss before laying me down on
the bed and covering me with his heavy body. His actions belied his words. I
found the ridge of his cock and rubbed myself against him.

“No, Apple.” His tone was stern, but he continued to kiss me,
nipping at my jaw and neck before placing a lingering kiss to the swell of
my breast. He stood, reaching for me and pulling me to my feet. “Not
until I give you the vest.” He grinned. “And not in the
clubhouse. We’re goin’ home.” He cupped my face and kissed
me once more before unlocking the door and pulling me after him back to the
common room.

Deacon grinned, draping an arm over my shoulders possessively. He looked
proud to have me with him. Several of the guys clapped him on the shoulder
good-naturedly and gave me respectful nods. The Iron Tzars might be as wild
as any other MC, but they were respectful of their women. Besides, everyone
knew Lemon would have their balls if they weren’t. Also, Wylde would
likely have done his worst. Which, he might be the tech guy, but Wylde was
more than what he showed on the surface.

“Deacon!” Roman called to him from across the room. The party
had started, though the place was more sedate than I’d seen in the
past. Especially since me and Lemon were the guests of honor, so to speak. I
was sure that was why there were only a couple of club girls in the area,
and they were there strictly to keep the food coming when Iris told
them.

Deacon raised his hand to the enforcer. Instead of a welcoming smile,
however, Roman looked serious. Like he was displeased in the extreme.

“Deacon? What’s wrong?” I gripped Deacon’s hand in
both of mine, looking up at him. There was a look of dread briefly before
his expression closed off. I glanced back at Roman who was giving Deacon a
hard look in return.

“Nothin’, Applejack,” he murmured, leaning close to my
ear. “I’ll be right back.” Deacon kissed my temple as he
wrapped his arms around me in a fierce hug. He strode to Roman, who took him
into Sting’s office and shut the door. It was over an hour before the
three of them exited the room. Roman said something to Deacon, who nodded.
Sting gripped Deacon’s shoulder, before slapping it in a show of
solidarity and encouragement. Whatever had happened couldn’t be too
bad. Right?

Deacon scanned the room until he found me. He flashed a tight smile before
heading in my direction. Once he reached me, he pulled me back into his arms
and hugged me tightly for several long seconds.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain in a minute. Let’s go home
first.”

“Right now? The party’s just started.” I grinned up at
him. Unease had settled in my belly. I knew something was wrong and
wasn’t sure I wanted to go with him right now. The longer I put off
leaving, the longer I had this one night with him. Because I knew something
was about to happen I wouldn’t like.

“I’m sorry, honey. This can’t wait.” He gave me a
sad, gentle look, but I could see the truth in his eyes.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to, Deacon.”

He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Gripping my hand firmly, he
tugged me after him. When we got to the parking lot, he led me to his bike
and climbed on. “Ride with me, Applejack.” He held out his hand
for me to grip for balance if I wanted to climb on. He almost willed me to
take his hand.

As if I could deny him anything. I loved Deacon.

He rode me around the property for a while. I always loved the feeling of
the wind in my hair as he sped over the hard paths. It felt like I was
flying. The one time I’d been on the open road with Deacon especially.
Even with a helmet, I’d never felt more free in my life.

All too soon the ride ended and Deacon pulled up outside the little house
we’d been given. I should have been excited. This was the moment
I’d been waiting for. To be at the house with the intention of having
sex with Deacon. Only, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. He
hadn’t given me his property cut. So, whatever was about to happen
wasn’t going to be welcomed.

He helped me remove my helmet and lashed it to the back of his bike. Then
he took my hand and we went inside. Deacon locked the door but stood with
his hands on the door, his forehead against the wood.

Carefully, I placed a hand on his back. “What’s about to
happen, Deacon?” My voice was so soft I wasn’t sure if
he’d heard me, but after letting out a deep breath, Deacon turned to
face me.

“You know I love you, right, Apple?”

I nodded. “Yes. I know.”

“Then I need you to trust me. I’m going to have to wait to give
you your property cut.”

“Why?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I was very near
tears. “This was the plan. We were going to be together.”

“We will be, Apple. I just need a year. One year. Use it to spend
time with your sister doing stuff young women your age normally
do.”

“What is this, Deacon? I don’t want to go on trips or to
parties unless it’s with you.”

“Honey, there is something I have to take care of. It’s going
to require I be gone a lot over the next several months. I don’t think
it’s fair to ask you to wait for me.”

“Wait… “ Dread washed through me and I shook my head.
“Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

“One year, Apple. Give me a year. If you haven’t found someone
you want more than me, I’ll be home and I’ll beg you to take me
back.”

“Are you going to be with other women?”

“Honey, I swear to you, I’ve not been with another woman since
I made a commitment to you. Not in the whole three years since I’ve
known you. That’s not going to change. Not as long as you’re not
in a relationship.”

I watched him for a long time, studying his expression. His eyes. Looking
for anything that might give me some hint as to what was going on. I found
nothing.

With a sigh, I nodded. “I’ll be waiting on you when you come
home. I don’t want this to be the end.”

He gave me a gentle smile. “It won’t. I promise.”

“Why did you want us to come here? If you’re not giving me your
cut yet, are we still, uh, are we going to sleep together?”

“We’re not going to have sex tonight, honey. But I want to
spend the night with you. I want to hold you all night while you
sleep.”

“We can still make love, Deacon. I want you.”

“I want you too, honey. But I have to leave in the morning. I’m
not sure when I’ll be back, and even when I am, I might not be able to
stay long. I’m not using this as an excuse to take what I want without
committing to you.” He cupped my face in both his hands, leaning over
to brush a tender kiss over my lips. “I’m going to hold you
while you sleep. You’re going to give me this one night. After I
leave, we’ll revisit us in a year.”

“I’ll wait, Deacon. Just… try to talk to me as much as
you can? Make sure to see me whenever possible?”

He smiled reassuringly at me. “I promise to do everything possible to
stay in contact with you, Applejack.”

I took him at his word. He held me all night long. With Deacon wrapped
around me, I’d never slept so well as I did that night. Sure, I woke
occasionally, but only to shift my position. Always, Deacon whispered softly
to me until I dozed back off. It was paradise.

* * *

The next few months, Deacon called me at least once a week. Then it backed
off to once every other week. By the time our year was up, I hadn’t
talked to him the entire last two months before he’d promised
he’d be home.

It was another two months before he finally came back to Iron Tzars MC.
When he did, Deacon wasn’t the same person he’d been when
he’d left.

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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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

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(Underland MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: September 13, 2024

Sometimes the most forbidden love can be the most
irresistible…

Violet — My life has never been a bed of roses, especially after I lost my
brother. He gave his life for his country, and without him, I lived in pure
hell. My family was the type you read about in horror books or bad news
stories, but I was doing my best to survive. It wasn’t going so bad. I
went away to college, thought everything would be better… Until I
went to a frat party that went horribly wrong. Now I’m pregnant, lost,
and so very alone. So I did the one thing I told myself I’d never do.
I used my computer skills in a not very legal way to look up my
brother’s best friend — Marcus Blevins. He’s the only person I
can think of who might be able to help me, to keep me from drowning, or
doing something stupid. Never once did I think he’d find me
suspicious. But once he let me in, I knew I’d do anything to
stay.

March – I ran like hell from my old neighborhood by joining the
military, and even after I was discharged, I never looked back. My friend
and brother in arms lost his life. I watched the life fade from his eyes.
There’s no going back after that. How could I ever face his little
sister, Violet? I never once thought she’d track me down — or that
she could — but when she shows up on the clubhouse doorstep, I can’t
help but be suspicious. I have enough on my plate without adding her
problems to it, but once I know what happened to her, I can’t look the
other way. I’ll make them all pay for what they did. The more time I
spend with Violet, the more I realize she’s all grown up… and
the more I fall under her spell. If her brother knew the sorts of thoughts
I’m having, he’d come back from the dead to kick my ass. But
just maybe I need Vi as much as she needs me.

Suspense, passion, and second chances — are you ready to dive into this
captivating tale?

WARNING: Intended for readers 18+ due to adult situations, language, and
violence. March has a guaranteed HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

EXCERPT

“March, Ben knew,” Hatter stated, firm and resolute. “He
knew.”

“Knew what?” I asked, even though I feared the answer.

“That we’re brothers. All of us,” Hatter replied. I knew
what he meant. Sometimes family went beyond blood.

“Brothers ‘til the end,” Cheshire echoed quietly, and we
drank to that unspoken truth.

The silence lingered like a thick fog, heavy enough to choke on. Cheshire
broke it first, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “We’ve
all got ghosts, brother. Some just scream louder than others. You and
Ben… Well, you had a longer history than the rest of us had with him.
And you were right there when it happened.”

No shit. Some nights, I still felt the spray of his blood coating my skin.
The warmth of it searing me like hot coals.

“Damn right,” Hatter added. “Lost too many to count. Each
one leaves a mark, but you keep going. Because that’s what warriors
do.”

My fists unclenched slowly, the white of my knuckles fading back to flesh.
Their words, raw and honest, chiseled away at the walls I’d
built.

“Remember Rico?” Cheshire asked, tipping his chair back, his
blue eyes clouding over. “Took three bullets meant for me. I hear his
laugh sometimes, in the wind. It’s like he’s still here, riding
with us.”

“Rico was a good man.” Hatter nodded solemnly. “Died a
warrior’s death.”

“And Ben… he died a hero’s death,” I murmured,
finally finding the strength to lift my gaze.

“Heroes, every last one,” Hatter agreed. His piercing eyes held
mine, not letting me sink back into the dark. “And we carry them with
us, every mile of the road.”

“Every damn mile,” I echoed, feeling the truth in his words
weave through the pain.

“Look around, March,” Cheshire said, gesturing to the crowded
room. “This is family. We’re your brothers, through thick and
thin. We may not have all made it out of there alive, but our fallen
brothers will live on in our memories. As long as we remember them,
they’ll never truly die.”

I scanned the clubhouse, the familiar scents of oil and leather wrapping
around me like a balm. Laughter bounced off the walls, and the warmth soaked
into me. This place, these men, they were my sanctuary in a world laced with
chaos.

“Family,” I whispered, allowing the word to settle in my
chest.

“Always,” Hatter affirmed, reaching across the table to clasp
my shoulder.

“Let’s drink to that,” Cheshire said, an edge of his grin
returning. He raised his beer, and Hatter and I followed suit, our bottles
clinking.

The tension drained from my body, seeping into the floorboards below. In
its place, something warm unfurled, a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in
a long time. It never lasted. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I took what
little bits of solace I could find here and there. It was the only way to
remain even somewhat sane.

“Brothers,” I said, meeting their eyes. The bond between us,
forged in blood and fire, was unbreakable.

“Until the end,” they replied in unison.

For the first time in what felt like forever, laughter bubbled up from deep
within me, genuine and freeing. I was home, surrounded by my brothers, and
for now, that was all I needed. And when the nightmares returned, I’d
have to remind myself of this moment, and all the ones like it we’d
shared since we became civilians again.

The room hushed as I stood, beer in hand, eyes scanning the faces of my
brothers. Each one carried scars, tales etched in flesh and soul. The air
was thick with unspoken understanding, an electric current of shared loss
that hummed beneath our skin. I knew they could tell by the look in my eyes
that I’d been fighting my demons before I came in here. Each man had
done the same, countless times.

“Tonight,” I started, “we remember those who aren’t
here to raise a glass. Ben. Rico. Tate.” My throat tightened, a noose
of grief tugging with every name.

“Vick,” Rabbit said, lifting his beer.

“Jarret,” Tweedle said.

“To our fallen brothers, may the road they ride be smooth and
endless,” I said.

“Ride free,” the chorus echoed back, a haunting melody of
respect and remembrance.

I drank, the bitter brew sliding down my throat. Swallowed past the lump
that never quite faded. With each sip, a silent oath to never forget.

I lowered my bottle, the weight of brotherhood heavy in my chest. A
patchwork family bound tighter than blood could ever dictate. It gave
purpose to the pain, a beacon in the tempest that was my mind.

They didn’t know how much they kept me anchored, these men who shared
my demons. How the roar of engines and their gruff voices were the only
lullabies capable of quieting the cacophony of war that still played on a
loop in my head.

“March,” Hatter’s voice cut through my reflection.
“They’d be damn proud of you.”

“Damn right,” Cheshire added, his smirk betraying the moisture
in his eyes.

Pride mingled with the sorrow, a bittersweet cocktail that warmed from
within. This club, this duty I bore, it was more than a title or a role. It
was a lifeline — a reason to keep pushing when darkness clawed at my
edges.

“Thanks,” I managed, my voice raw. “Couldn’t do it
without you bastards.”

Laughter erupted, a salve to the open wounds. In their company, even the
deepest cuts seemed to heal, if just for a moment.

Once a Marine, always a Marine. But here, in the Underland MC, we were
more. We were guardians of each other’s sanity, keepers of stories too
grim for the light of day. And protectors of this town.

I looked around at my brothers, their faces as hard as the lives we led,
yet there was warmth there too. They were the pillars in the chaos, the
constant in a life that had offered little else.

In the safety of shadows, where the world couldn’t reach us, we were
invincible. And in that moment, I allowed myself to believe it. We’d
already battled several times in this place we now called home, and
we’d been lucky enough to not lose anyone.

Outside these walls, danger prowled, hungry and relentless. It clawed at
the edges of our sanctuary, waiting for a crack to slip through, a weakness
to exploit.

“Tomorrow’s ride is going to be dicey,” I said.
“But we ride together, through whatever shitstorm comes our
way.”

About the Author

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC
Romances. With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde
immerses her readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible
women. Her works exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still
managing to end on a satisfying note each time.

When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new
plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book.
She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies.
Visit Wylde’s website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and
don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts
and other exciting perks.

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

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