Sword (Bones MC) by Marteeka Karland #bikerbooks #romance #actionadventure #newadult

Sword (Bones MC 3)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Marteeka Karland

Magenta: The day my mom took up with Black Reign was the worst day of my life. She became ol’ lady for their president. I became another whore for the club to push around. I fought them at every turn because death was preferable to living this life. Beaten, downtrodden, I was about to be given to yet another man. The scariest man I’d ever seen. He was intent on having me on his own turf, and I wasn’t sure I would survive.

Sword: The second I saw the slight young thing being beaten by that ogre of a man, something inside me I’d thought leashed broke free. A demon better left in check reared his head, and I knew she would be mine no matter what. I got her, but she came with bigger problems than I was prepared to deal with. Not that it mattered. I’m Bones MC. We don’t give up, and we protect our own. Even against The Devil himself…

***WARNING!*** Bones MC has no pussies. These men are rough around the edges and fight as hard as they love. You can expect violence — some that may have triggers — and smoking hot sex. If either is something you object to, you should pass. Otherwise, expect an HEA and a man who always satisfies his woman.

 

Get it at Changeling Press

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Marteeka Karland

“This is a bad, fucked-up place if ever I saw one.” Sword glanced at Torpedo, his brother in the Bones MC. They’d made the typically thirteen-hour trip to Lake Worth, Florida in just under twelve hours, riding non-stop as fast as they dared. Cain had sent a group of them to contact a club known as Black Reign. If their information could be believed, Black Reign was moving pills up the “Oxy Highway” from Florida to Kentucky. Cain couldn’t care less what they sold or how they sold it, but he would not tolerate another club moving shit through their territory without the OK from Bones.

Now, he lay on his belly watching the dingy brown clubhouse in the middle of a seaside urban sprawl.

“Yeah,” Torpedo, their vice-president, agreed. He had squatted down just behind Sword but still low to the ground. “I got a real bad feelin’ about this.”

Sword glanced at the other four men with him. Viper, situated in a similar position next to Torpedo, looked coiled with tension, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. Didn’t mean anything, though. The man always looked that way. Trucker was impassive as ever, farther behind them and slightly to the left so he was hidden in the foliage but still able to see their target. He polished a huge wrench with a black rag as if he planned on working on one of their vehicles. The man always carried a gun, but Sword had never seen him use it outside their work with ExFil, a paramilitary mercenary company for hire to anyone wishing extra protection in the most violent areas of the world. He had seen Trucker open a can of whoop-ass more than once with that exact same wrench. Arkham and Torpedo each checked various weapons on their person, readying for what was to come.

Torpedo was the vice-president of the club and would do the talking. Cain had originally intended on coming himself, but Torpedo, Sword, and Bohannon had all three protested vehemently. Cain, ever the ultra-alpha, had gone nose to nose with the trio, and they might have come to blows except for one minor incident.

Angel, Cain’s woman, had put a restraining arm on her man and pulled him away from his brothers. Though Cain routinely gave the woman anything and everything she wanted, he’d looked at her, a warning in his eyes for her not to go against him in front of his brothers.

“I know you need to do this, Cain,” she’d said. At the time Sword thought she was ignoring Cain’s warning. Instead, she’d had a very good reason. “But I need you more than the club needs you to go to Florida and confront these men.” She’d said it softly, and there had been a sheen of tears in her eyes. Sword knew it was an intensely personal moment, but she’d brought it up in front of them. Now, they’d know what the problem was, and they’d all crush it for her.

Cain had known it, too. Any problem his woman had from the outside world, the club would know about it. They’d all band together and make it right, no matter the cost. “I can’t let you tell me in private, Angel. Not now that you’ve brought it up in front of the club during club business. You shouldn’t even be here.” The president had been angry she’d snuck in. They could all tell from the look on her face, though, she had a good reason.

“Cain, I’m pregnant.” There had been instant silence in the room. Cain had sucked in a short inhalation of air before grasping her by the shoulders. “Don’t be mad because you think I was holding something back from you. I just found out today.”

“Woman, you’d better start talking.”

It turned out that Angel had gone to the doctor because she’d been weak and very sick over the last few weeks. Nothing abnormal for a pregnancy there. However, she’d hidden most of the sickness from everyone, and she’d reached a point where she was very dehydrated and, once her doctor figured out she was pregnant, he’d wanted her to be admitted for IV fluids and medication for nausea. She’d initially refused, not wanting to alarm Cain, but the oral meds the doctor had given Angel weren’t working. She was unable to keep anything down and was afraid she’d harm the baby if she didn’t go to the hospital like her doctor recommended. She was terrified of losing the baby and needed Cain at her side.

Bohannon, the club’s main enforcer, had jumped all over that shit. “You can’t leave her, Cain. You’re not the kind of man to leave his woman to deal with this alone.”

Cain had given the big man a withering look, but had readily agreed. He’d pulled Angel into his arms while the woman finally gave in to what had to be a horrible bout of nerves. She’d clung to Cain and silently sobbed into his shirt. They couldn’t hear her, but the shaking of her slight body gave her away.

Naturally, Bohannon, as the main enforcer for Bones, had thought he’d go. If they were going to warn an MC out of their territory, they needed all the muscle they could get.

“You know that shit ain’t happening.” Torpedo had stood from his seat at the table where they’d gathered to hash out what to do in this situation. It was something they always did. Whether it was Bones or in preparing for a mission with ExFil, they talked through the problem and built a plan of attack together with Cain having the last say.

“As vice-president, I have to be there, especially since Cain has more pressing problems.” He looked at Angel then, his eyes softening for the first time. “You make him take care of you and the little man who’ll be the newest member of Bones,” he’d said, serenity in his gaze and his voice. “With Cain focused on Angel, the club will need you here, Bohannon. You’re third in the chain of command. Sword will come with me as enforcer. Trucker, as always, will provide the chase vehicle with the weapons. Viper and Arkham will be the muscle. Data can keep track of us and run communications from his command center here. If anything goes wrong, you can send whoever you see fit after us.”

“It’s thirteen fuckin’ hours away, Torpedo! Any help I could bring would be hopelessly too late.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure we don’t need you. Besides, Salvation’s Bane is less than half an hour away in Palm Beach. Thorn can send any help we need.”

Luna, Bohannon’s woman, curled her small hands around the enforcer’s biceps. “They’ll be fine, Bohannon. Let them do their jobs.”

“Does every woman in this fuckin’ place think she can take over the fuckin’ show?” Bohannon grumbled, but his large hand enveloped his woman’s smaller one in a loving gesture even as he groused.

“Only when the testosterone overflows. It reduces you to cavemen, and we can’t have that.”

Everyone chuckled, and the tension level dropped. Sword had never seen a club where the patched members let women in on meetings, but the women of Bones didn’t seem to care for conventionality. They simply slipped in when they knew they were needed and directed the flow of churning water in the direction it flowed best. None of them had been with their men long, but Sword could already see the positive impact they were having. Simply keeping a group of alpha males like this one focused on the problem at hand without unnecessarily risking themselves wasn’t an easy job, yet these two small women handled it like pros.

Now, as he lay on his belly watching the abandoned warehouse that served as clubhouse for Black Reign, Sword got the sickening feeling his team was undermanned. If they continued with the meeting as planned, they’d be walking into more muscle than they were prepared for.

“You gonna call in reinforcements?” Trucker’s question was soft and nonchalant, as if the man could care less. It was a simple enough question. The fact Trucker asked it, however, showed he was thinking along the same line Sword was. Which meant that…

“Yeah. I think I am.”

“Get Data to give the heads up to Thorn. He’ll get Salvation’s Bane ready in case we need them.”

“Already on that, bro.” He held up his cell phone. “All you gotta do is say the word. Thorn is less than five minutes away parked and waiting. Apparently, Bohannon jumped the gun and had them on stand-by over an hour ago. Surely to hell and God above we can last five minutes.”

“Be embarrassing otherwise,” Arkham chimed in. Though Sword was looking at the clubhouse through field glasses, Arkham and Viper were tracking the place with sniper rifles.

“Not sure I’ve ever met anyone as bloodthirsty as you and Viper.” Torpedo was only half joking.

“We got movement.” Sword stiffened as he watched as a big, burly man dragged in a woman by her hair. She screamed, clutching her hair to relieve the tension the big man had put on her scalp. The woman tried to back off, planting her feet, but the concrete was slick and unforgiving. She ended up on the ground, the man still dragging her by an abundance of hair. Two more women followed on their own. The latter chatted with each other, ignoring the drama in front of them. When the women passed the struggling couple, disappearing into the clubhouse, the hulking man pulled the woman to her feet and backhanded her across the face so hard she crumpled at his feet.

Sword’s entire being shrieked in outrage. He couldn’t see her face, but her legs and arms were firm and sleek with fine muscle, a testament of her youth. He thought she was an adult, but probably quite young. Protective instincts rose in him like never before, and it was all he could do to keep himself from charging to her rescue.

“Easy there, brother,” Torpedo said, laying a restraining hand on his shoulder. “You know that girl?”

Had he said something out loud? “No.”

“You’re growling and tense like you intend to do some damage.”

 

 

Slider (Hades Abyss MC) by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerbooks #NewAdult @HarleyW_Writer

Slider_Cover

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Vasha: Being groomed for the man who purchased me is the only life I’ve known. But I want more. I want freedom! My husband-to-be is a cruel, vicious man. I dread the day he claims me. When my bodyguard and friend, Anatoly, arranges my passage to America — as a mail order bride — I hope it means things will be better. I never counted on my husband being so handsome, or so tender. Nor did I know that passion between a man and a woman could be so consuming! He leaves my knees weak and makes my heart race. There’s just one problem… He doesn’t know we’re married! I don’t know how it happened, or how to fix things, but it’s clear Slider is angry. Leaving is the only thing I know to do, but it is also the hardest decision I have ever made.

Slider: I’m not even thirty yet, but I’m already tired of the bullshit that comes with easy women. Maybe seeing my Pres settle down gave me a new perspective. Having the same woman in my bed every night is starting to sound more and more appealing. Or guy. I’m not picky. Love is love. What I didn’t count on was my ex-lover deciding to “help” me with my problem. When he left a naked woman in my bed, I was pissed… until I realized she was in trouble. She needs me, and maybe I need her, too. I always did have a hero complex, but it only takes a few minutes of knowing her before I want to slay her dragons, keep her safe, and show her that not all men are evil.

I didn’t count on her being my wife. F**cking Surge! Always putting his nose where he shouldn’t. When she runs, I realize I seriously screwed up and I have to get her back.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order for November 8th at retailers

   

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde

Speak of the devil. I smelled Surge’s cologne before I saw him.

“We good?” he asked.

“Yep. Just tired of the scene inside.”

He shoved a mug of beer toward me. “Here. Drink. Might take the edge off.”

I took it and gulped down half. It was more bitter than what I usually had, but beer was beer. At least, tonight it was. Maybe if I got drunk, I wouldn’t care that I’d be spending the night alone.

He rubbed the back of his neck and cast a look around before reaching for my hand. He twined his fingers with mine. “I know you want more than what I can give you, and you should have it. I’m sorry I’m not ready to settle down, and I hope things don’t get weird between us. I like you, a lot, but I still want to have fun and meet new people. Maybe learn some new things.”

I could understand that. He was younger than me. While I’d been partying hard since high school, Surge was only recently experimenting and opening up more. He’d been a bit reserved when he’d first asked to prospect. I gave his hand a squeeze before letting go.

“It’s fine. I get it. You were clear up front that we were just having fun. Guess I’m just… envious. I see what Spider and Rocket have, and I think I might want that too.”

He looked torn. Before I could react, he pressed his lips against mine in a fast, hard kiss, then took a step back. The way his hand shook belied his agitation, but I hadn’t kicked him out of bed. This was his doing. I didn’t understand what he was thinking or feeling. Had he just been scared of getting too close to someone?

“This might be overstepping, but there’s a gift at your place. All right, so I seriously overstepped, but I think it’s what you need. Before you even said anything, I could tell that you were starting to get that itch. I knew that our time was up or you’d start wanting more from me. You’ve had that look in your eyes almost since the beginning. I’ve been working on this surprise for over a week.”

A week. For a week he’d planning to end things and hadn’t given me a fucking hint? All he’d had to do was say he was bored and we’d have gone our separate ways. No big deal. If he’d just talked to me, been honest about what he was thinking and feeling, then maybe I wouldn’t be so disappointed right now. I’d expected more from him. Not more as in a relationship that was long-lasting, but I’d thought he was man enough to be up front about shit.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I asked.

“You want someone steady in your life, and that’s fine. It’s just not something I want right now,” he said. “Maybe someday. I don’t know. But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have it. All I want is for you to be happy, Slider. Now go check out your gift.”

I ran a hand down my face, wondering if there was a way to rewind and undo this conversation. It was weird as shit and getting worse by the moment.

“What the fuck kind of gift is supposed to resolve my relationship status? You better not have hired a fucking stripper.” Nothing against those women, or men, but they just didn’t do anything for me. I didn’t like fake. If someone was with me, I wanted it to be genuine, which was probably why I was so fucking tired of the scene in the clubhouse every night.

He smirked. “Why don’t you go home and find out?”

Jesus. I thrust the half empty mug at him, and stepped off the porch. My bike was buried three deep so I decided to walk my ass home. Mostly I didn’t want to stand around waiting for everyone to move their rides when I didn’t know what the fuck was waiting for me at the house. If Surge had wanted to call it quits between us, all he had to do was say so. I’d known he wasn’t in it for the long haul, but this was fucking ridiculous. What the hell kind of gift had he left me?

Swear to Christ if he’d left a woman in my house, some stranger, I might very well kill him. There were times I had to question his reasoning. There was shit in my house I didn’t need someone digging through, and I knew enough about women to know they were fucking curious. If I walked through my door and got shot, with one of my own guns no less, I was going to be fucking pissed. Worse, if whoever he’d left inside had stolen anything, I was going to pound Surge’s ass into the damn ground.

I stomped up my front steps and threw open the door, not caring if I scared the shit out of whoever was inside. The lights were on, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I went room by room, then closed my eyes and took a calming breath before opening the last door — the one to my bedroom. Curled in the center of my bed, bare as the day she’d been born, was a small female. I blinked a few times, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. Then again, the room did spin a little. Just how strong had that beer been?

Glancing around, I spotted a pile of clothes that looked like they would fall apart at any moment. They weren’t the type of worn material that people paid high dollar for, but more the kind you owned when things were really fucking bad. I focused on the woman. I’d seen plenty of beautiful women before, but this one seemed almost otherworldly. She was dainty, and delicate. Her blonde hair was so pale it was nearly white and lay in a wavy tumble across my pillow. Slowly, I entered the room and shut the door behind me.

Any anger I’d felt melted away. It seemed he hadn’t left a stripper in my house. I wasn’t quite certain what he’d done just yet. But the strippers I’d seen around town wouldn’t have been caught in dead in the clothes piled near the bed. I hoped to Christ he hadn’t paid some homeless woman to sleep with me. How was this woman a gift?

I moved closer and reached out to shift a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. It was soft, softer than anything I’d felt before. Kneeling next to the bed, I studied her a moment. The sharp blade of her nose, her prominent cheekbones, the way her lashes lay dark against her pale cheeks. It was a little like discovering the fae were real and one had fallen asleep in my bed. I smiled a little, thinking of Goldilocks and the Three Bears, except there was only one grumpy bear in this house, and I was quite content to leave her sleeping in my bed.

What. The Fuck.

 

More from Harley at Changeling Press …

Harley Wylde is the International Bestselling Author of the Dixie Reapers MC, Devil’s Boneyard MC, and Hades Abyss MC series.
When Harleys writing, her motto is the hotter the better — off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place. She doesn’t shy away from the dangers and nastiness in the world, bringing those realities to the pages of her books, but always gives her characters a happily-ever-after and makes sure the bad guys get what they deserve.
The times Harley isn’t writing, she’s thinking up naughty things to do to her husband, drinking copious amounts of Starbucks, and reading. She loves to read and devours a book a day, sometimes more. She’s also fond of TV shows and movies from the 1980’s, as well as paranormal shows from the 1990’s to today, even though she’d much rather be reading or writing.
You can find out more about Harley or enter her monthly giveaway on her website. Be sure to join her newsletter while you’re there to learn more about discounts, signing events, and other goodies!

You can also find Harley on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/harley-wylde

harley lips 1 MK 4

Make Me a Match by Willa Okati #RomCom #boxset #LGBT #NewAdult @willaokati

Make Me a Match (Duet)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Rivals to friends to lovers and more — there’s much ado about you, you, you.

Open Cover Before Striking: Davis Carmichael doesn’t do love. He’d rather strip naked and crawl through a field of broken glass than give anyone that much control over him. The only thing he cares about is his journalism career. That is, until he meets Cristian Baranov, a die-hard Romeo with an uncanny knack for making connections and taming cranky wordsmiths. A man who breaks down Davis’s resistance with a sweep of his hand for just one night. Neither expected they’d ever meet again, but fate has other plans…

Best Laid Plans: Jefferson’s a serious-natured soccer star, and Teddy was born to party till the wheels come off. But they have more fun fighting with each other than they would kissing anyone else. Maybe — maybe — they’re falling in love. But when everything turns topsy-turvy, is their new alliance strong enough to save the day?

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press

or pre-order for October 25th at retailers

   

Also Available in Paperback

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Willa Okati
Excerpt from Best Laid Plans

Oh yes.

Teddy retraced his path backward, down the three shallow porch steps and onto the sidewalk in front of 1514 Saltman Street. Dandelions and crabgrass grew through cracks in the pavement, and someone named BIG JOE had signed the concrete before it dried back in — Teddy squinted — 1983.

Teddy pressed the fingertips of both hands to his mouth as he craned his neck for a good look up at 1514. Two blocks away from the University of West Ioannes campus. Near enough to walk; far enough for independence. Red brick — the kind of red that made him think of sunsets and abattoirs — battered and chipped at the corners. Faded black shutters at every window. The wooden porch boards had been painted a dull slate gray and had gaps between them big enough to lose a quarter down. Straight-up house on the bottom floor, divided into two doll-sized apartments on the second floor. Climbing vines draped lushly over the walls. And it had balconies.

Yes and yes again. Teddy’s grin grew behind the lattice of his fingertips. He jigged in place, three steps of a Cossack kick that made his mop of coppery hair bounce over his forehead. It’s perfect.

He shaded his eyes to squint up at the balconies. Those were what had really sold him on the deal — well, he would have signed up no matter what to get out of the dorms, but anyway. When he’d been offered a chance at a different arrangement, he’d jumped at it. He’d imagined it would be nice, but this was the cherry on top. His own private balcony, where he could cozy up in a blanket in winter and leave his flip-flops wherever he pleased during the summer months. He’d bet it got great natural light. He’d been born to bask, and his full-body dusting of freckles proved it.

Did the balcony already have a chair, or would he need to scout one out at the Army Surplus? Teddy stood on his tiptoes, but he couldn’t be sure. The sturdy vines growing up the sides of the house made it difficult to see past them in places, so thick and verdant green that they had their own personality.

Hmm. I wonder…

Teddy kicked off his shoes and wiggled his bare toes on the pavement, right over BIG JOE’s signature. The vines looked strong enough to climb, and he was a small guy. They ought to hold five-four and a buck-twenty-five. He tugged at a trailing green tendril to check and made a pleased noise in the back of his throat when they didn’t give way. They barely budged except to rustle at him in annoyance.

“Let’s see what we can see,” he said, reaching for a double grip on the vines over his head. “Up, up, and away!”

He almost made it halfway to the second story — not bad, personal record — before his left foot skidded off. Oops. He’d forgotten to account for natural skin oils on his soles and slipperiness from the warmth of sneakers in summertime. If it hadn’t been for that, he thought, he would have made it all the way.

“Yipe!”

“Whoa!”

The body-to-body collision jarred the fillings in Teddy’s molars, and the pair of sinewy arms that wrapped around his chest made his ribs squeak in protest. He flailed and kicked his legs backward and got his ass dropped on the sidewalk for his pains. Right on JOE. Oh, the humanity. “What the hell?” he yelped, looking up again at six feet of indignation framed in chestnut hair and bright-blue eyes.

“Jefferson?” Hastily, Teddy flipped his leather kilt down to hide the goods. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass. Don’t bother to thank me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Teddy said. He rolled to his knees and got up, dusting himself off. Jefferson! Of all the people. To say they didn’t get along — and never had — was like daring to suggest water might be slightly wet or that fire had the potential to burn. And they couldn’t ever seem to avoid each other. He was besties with the boyfriend of Teddy’s bestie, Noelani, which was just all kinds of swell. Everywhere he went, Jefferson poked his giant soccer head up, with his jock buddies in tow and his utter, absolute lack of a sense of humor and his stupid cologne-ad face.

Jerk. Teddy picked a stubborn dandelion fluff off his elbow. “What are you doing here? It’s summer session. You’re at soccer camp.”

Jefferson arched an eyebrow. He leaned his hip against the porch, his Ioannes tank clinging tightly to his pecs. Unlike Teddy, he tanned instead of burned. Freckles had never dared show their faces on his skin, no matter how much time he spent kicking little white balls around, broiling on a practice field. “Am I really? Look again. Unless you think I’m a figment of your imagination.”

“My imagination can do better than that,” Teddy said. Okay, maybe not much better. He could admit to an aesthetic appreciation for the benefits of good nutrition and plentiful exercise, and maybe some good genetics, but that was it. There, he drew the line. He lifted his chin. “Are you playing hooky or what?”

Jefferson ignored the question. He reached out to take one of Teddy’s hands, the move so surprising that Teddy actually let him do it — until Jefferson flipped it from back to front and wrinkled his nose. “Nice manicure. You and Noelani go to the same place to get your nails done?”

Teddy bristled up. He might be small, but he was a redhead, by God, and he had the temper to match. And it was a nice manicure. He jerked his hand back and flashed the nails, neatly shaped and trimmed and painted a sparkly blue, at the… the… oaf, finishing with the middle ones up. “I can get you a discount if you want. Nail Me Spa on Maple. I don’t know if they can do much for athlete’s foot.”

Jefferson chuffed a short breath through his nose and glowered at Teddy. “I was just saying. Jeez. Why do you always have to get all fired up?”

Teddy ignored his question with what he hoped was grand aplomb. Ooh, Jefferson always got him wound so tight. “What are you doing here?” he asked again, planting his feet on the sidewalk.

“What do you think?” Jefferson turned to pick up a duffel that’d been hidden in his shadow and hitched the strap over one shoulder. “I’m moving in.”

“You’re what?”

 

More from Willa at Changeling Press …

Willa Okati is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, and a lifelong love of storytelling. She is definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

You can reach Willa at willaokati@gmail.com.

Join Willa on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/willa.okati.

 

 

Bohannon by Marteeka Karland and an interview with the author! #MCromance #bikers #NewAdult #ActionAdventure @MarteekaKarland

Everyone give a warm welcome to author Marteeka Karland!

Marteeka is joining us today for a quick interview and to tell us about her latest Changeling Press release — Bohannon! But before we move on to the delicious MC Romance she has for us, let’s find out a little more about the author.

 

Has writing always been part of your life or did you just fall into it?

I started writing when I was in the 3rd grade. A Halloween story we were told to write as a fun project in our Reading class. My teacher loved it and while everyone else wrote like a paragraph, I wrote a while page front and back. I never stopped. It just took another thirty years for me to finish my first book. I’ve been published now for exactly sixteen years.

If you could do it all over again, would you change anything?

Definitely. More things than I can say. I think writing is like anything else in life. It’s a lesson in successes and failures, most of which can’t be predicted. I’ve had my share of both. The only thing I can say with certain is I’ve managed to surround myself with incredible writers along the journey. Some of which are so very willing to help in everything from proofreading to plot grid construction help, to marketing, to just being a shoulder to cry one when things go horribly wrong and that new release sells 10 copies. 🙂

What different genres have you written over the years and do you have a favorite?

That’s a tough one. Probably Science Fiction Romance. I love the idea of aliens in general. It’s even better if they’re the hard-bodied sexy kind who appreciate their women. 🙂 With science fiction, there are always rules to follow (the science part) but there are limitless possibles with what you can do with it. I’m hoping to make it back to science fiction and paranormal one day.

What’s your favorite type of hero to write?

I like the strong Alpha type. But I also like him to fall hard for his woman. He must be super protective and helpless in the face of her displeasure or, God forbid, her tears. I especially like it when he fights his attraction to her. At least for a while. I mean, it just makes his surrender that much sweeter.

Is there a common theme or trope that tends to carry through your various books? Or is there one you enjoy writing more than others?

p style=”text-align: justify;”>Soldiers. I LOVE soldiers. Military. There is nothing hotter than a take-charge guy in uniform. (In books. Those real-life types tend to be major assholes.) Fortunately, I’m a woman. I make them Alpha without being complete assholes to their women. Everyone else is on their own. 🙂 I like to write heroines who need some kind of rescue but are still fighting to make a place for themselves. I like for her to need her man’s help, but to prove to him she can survive without it. Oxymoron?? maybe. But it’s MY imagination! lol

As to other things in my writing, you may notice that the main characters in my books all drive some kind of Ford vehicle. That’s by design. 😀

Can you tell us about your current series? Do you have a set number of them planned?

Bones MC is the series. I’ve currently got three books complete (Cain, Bohannon, and Sword) with a fourth in the works (Viper.) As to how many I have planned, I suppose that depends on how well they are received. As long as readers are enjoying them, I’ll keep writing them. 🙂

 

Thank you, Marteeka, for joining us today! And now… I’d like to introduce you to her latest book — Bohannon!

 

Bohannon (Bones MC 2)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Marteeka Karland

Luna: Never in a million years did I think I’d meet up with my childhood hero like this. Beaten down and scared out of my mind, my heart dropped when I realized who had me. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life, but Gage Bohannon the man was even harder to resist than the ridiculous fantasy I’d held in my mind.

Bohannon: I’ve never kept a woman who don’t want to be kept. But I’ve made more than one good girl turn rogue. If I had any decency in me at all, I’d have locked her in my room and left her alone. Instead, I’ll take whatever she wants to give me and coax a few things she doesn’t.

 

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EXCERPT

 

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Marteeka Karland

Gage Bohannon swept the area for more of the unwelcomed club in Bones territory. The local club had gotten hit first, but Bones had finished all of them. By his reckoning, any club selling drugs in their territory deserved whatever they got. Bones was many things, but they weren’t drug dealers, pimps, or a distributor of firearms. They weren’t law-abiding citizens — as evidenced by the slaughter tonight — but they weren’t scum of the earth either.

“One alive in the truck,” Deadeye’s voice came through the earpiece connected to his radio. “Female. Her hands are still on the steering wheel, which is why I left her alive. There is a gun in the vehicle with her. Along with the hand holding it. Orders?”

“Hold. If she moves her hands or in any way attempts to get that gun, shoot her.”

“Copy.” He hated giving Deadeye an order to kill a woman, but he wasn’t compromising anyone’s safety. They’d started this. They’d finish it.

“Keep your hands on that fucking steering wheel,” he bit out. “Don’t fucking test me or the sniper on you will kill you before I ever give the order.” The girl whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut but otherwise didn’t move. “Are you armed?”

She took a deep breath, but didn’t let go of the wheel or open her eyes. “There’s a gun on the floor around my feet somewhere, but that’s it. And it wasn’t mine. I think the owner left his hand with the gun.”

“Good,” he said. “You told the truth about that weapon. Are there any others? Knives? Anything?”

“No, sir.” Her voice wavered in her fear. Again, that was good. She understood the danger she was in.

“What club do you represent? You don’t have colors of any kind. Are you a member? A chaser? An ole lady?” Bohannon had a funny feeling at the nape of his neck. A prickly sensation he knew never to ignore. He didn’t think there was danger or his brothers would have known it. It was the girl. Something about her…

“My brother owes Scars and Bars money for drugs. I’m here in his stead. My service for his life.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not with them in any way, nor do I want to be. I just want to get out of this alive so I can tell my brother to go to hell.” Fear was making her brave. It surprised Bohannon how much he liked that. It made him want to smile when the circumstances didn’t exactly call for it.

“Keep your hands on the wheel until I open the door. I want you to step out. Keep your hands up and open. Keep it slow. Do you understand?”

“I’m scared, not stupid,” she snapped, then immediately winced. “Sorry.”

Bohannon opened the door to the truck, his gun firmly aimed at her head. If she so much as twitched, he’d kill her himself, saving Deadeye the grief. The girl moved carefully, as he’d instructed. Deliberately. She knew she was in danger. Knew not to fuck with them. That knowledge would make life easier on all of them. The overhead light on the old Ford was long out so there wasn’t much of her features he could see.

She uncurled her fingers from the steering wheel slowly, keeping her hands open and at the same level. One leg slid out to place her foot on the ground. Then the other. All the while she never once looked at him. Fear was etched in every move she made. Sweat ran down her arms in streams as if she’d just stepped from a shower.

Once outside, she stood still, hands still in front of her, fingers splayed wide. Bohannon shut the door with a sharp shove of his hand.

“Turn around. Hands on the truck.”

She did as told, not hesitating in the least. Her willingness to comply with orders surprised Bohannon. Most mules were just as stubborn as their namesakes. This one seemed more resigned than anything else. She acted as if she had nothing to hide. Maybe she didn’t. Or, more likely, she hoped to use her wiles to get herself out of a jam.

As he carefully patted her down for weapons, Bohannon couldn’t help but notice her as a woman. She was slight in stature; barely over five feet and svelte of frame. He tried to be as non-personal as possible, but it was difficult when the swell of her breast was just above his palm as he checked her belly for weapons against her skin. His hands were big, and she was so tiny his palm nearly spanned her from side to side yet the curve of her ass was fleshy and rounded, made to tempt a man.

But he was Gage Bohannon. His club name had been Slayer before his brothers sought to mellow him after that stupid TV show became popular, calling him by his last name because the lead character’s name was the same. He might enjoy women, might be tempted to do wicked things with the forbidden female from time to time, but he was always in complete control of himself. Now was no exception. She was tempting, true enough. But he had a job to do.

Except his cock had other ideas. Bohannon swore to himself, easily envisioning grinding his hardening erection against that savory ass. He could tell she was affected by his nearness. Either she wasn’t adept at staying in control or, more likely, she thought to tempt him with sex. If she did, he’d oblige her. Then take her to his president anyway.

“What are you going to do with me?” Her voice shook, her fear obvious, yet she stayed put, not turning or looking over her shoulder.

“Take you back to our president. We’ll discuss the events of the evening then decide what to do next.” Not that he needed to give her an explanation.

“Will you kill me?”

“Only if Cain orders it.”

She whimpered, her body trembling beneath his touch. She was truly scared, not trying to garner his attention. She hadn’t offered herself. Hadn’t made an overt move of aggression or seduction. So what was her game?

“What can I do to stay alive?”

Bohannon thought about that. What could she do? “Depends on what Cain decides. If you’re looking to convince someone of your innocence, it will be him. I warn you, though, he never goes easy on clubs doing business in our territory without permission. Anything he does to you will be to send a message to Scars and Bars.”

“I don’t mean anything to them. If he wants leverage on Scars and Bars he won’t get it with me. I’m only here to protect my brother.”

“Your fate is in Cain’s hands,” he said. “Accept it. And whatever you do, tell the truth. If you lie, he’ll know. You won’t get a second chance.”

She turned to look at him then. Just a movement of her head, her long midnight hair falling over the other shoulder. When those intensely dark eyes met his, glittering like onyx in the moonlight, Bohannon nearly doubled over as a punch of lust hit him low and mean. He couldn’t see her clearly, but there was something disturbing and familiar about her.

“You have to understand, I have nothing to do with the club. My brother owes them drug money. They used me to pay his debt by hauling their… product here.”

Bohannon fought off his instinct, which was to comfort and protect her. If ever a female needed protection it was this one. Such a small woman in the middle of a biker war? She was doomed from the beginning. Ruthlessly, he took her wrists and zip-tied them behind her back. “Answer any question Cain asks you truthfully and completely. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

“And if he doesn’t ask me anything? If he’s already decided?” Her eyes swam with unshed tears. Her skin glistened with sweat.

“Then he already has the answers he needs. I’ll tell him you cooperated in every way with us, assuming you continue to do so. If he decides you need to die, I can promise you’ll never know it’s coming, and it will be a clean, quick death.”

A little sob escaped before she could press her lips together tightly. She ducked her head, breaking her entrancing stare, but not before she got under Bohannon’s skin. Why did he feel like he knew her? Lord knew he’d never forget a woman like her, so he couldn’t have met her.

Everyone called him Bohannon, but his jacket proclaimed him Slayer because, of all his biker brothers, he had the most kills. He was the enforcer of the club. If something needed doing, he was the one who did it. That way, if the police caught him, they could trace nothing back to anyone else in the club. He’d take full responsibility and shift blame away from his brothers. The name had fit him more than any other, so he thought. This girl, however tested his belief in his job. Could he kill her if Cain ordered it?

“Promise me that if Cain orders you to kill me, you’ll at least look into helping my brother.”

“Can’t do that.”

“His name is Markus Newton. He’s not a bad man, just… self-absorbed.”

Bohannon lost his breath. Before he could stop himself, he snatched a penlight from his utility belt and shone it in the girl’s face. Markus Newton! A name from his past. Now here was a woman from his past. It had to be. But Markus was more than ten years this girl’s senior! Her older brother! That son of a bitch should be protecting her, not the other way around.

“Luna?” Her head snapped up, eyes squinting at the bright light. “Son of a bitch.” She tried to see past the light but, of course, she couldn’t. “Luna Martin?”

 

More from Marteeka at Changeling Press …

Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of.

Want to see what’s up with Marteeka? Check out her website at www.marteekakarland.com or join her Yahoo! group at marteekakarland-subscribe@yahoogroups.com. Marteeka always welcomes e-mail from her readers. You can reach her at mkarland@gmail.com. Check out Marteeka’s blog here: marteekakarland.blogspot.com.

 

Protecting Joyce by Cameron Allie #NewAdult #ContemporaryRomance #RomanceBooks @CamAllieErotica @changelingpress

Protecting Joyce (Love Me or Leave Me 5)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

After Alex saves her from being assaulted on the side of the road next to her broken down car, Joyce quickly discovers the only way she feels safe is by sleeping in his arms. But despite the security he gives her, there are questions about Alex that Joyce can’t seem to bring herself to ask. Will he ever want a commitment? What does he feel for the woman who used to have a “friends with benefits” relationship with him for over a decade? More importantly, can he ever love Joyce with the same intensity she feels for him?

 Alex has never met a woman more perfect than Joyce. Her innocent sensuality delivers a hard kick to his gut. She’s sweet and talented and brave. She’s more than he could have ever dreamed of, and their relationship seems, at times, to be too good to be true. So what’s keeping him from saying those three little words he longs to say?

 

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or pre-order for October 18th at retailers

   

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Cameron Allie

The sound of his cell phone woke him.

Rapidly sitting up, he searched for the TV remote, dropping his iPad onto the floor as he did so. When he finally found the remote, wedged between two couch cushions, he muted the TV. He wasn’t even sure what program was playing anymore.

How long had he been asleep?

He dug his phone out of his pocket. Unknown number. It was nearly eleven o’clock at night. Who would be calling now?

He answered anyway. “Hello?”

“Alex?”

Running a hand through his hair he frowned. “Yeah. Who’s this?”

“It’s Joyce.”

“Oh.” Settling back into the sofa, he couldn’t help but smile. Thoughts of Joyce had been tangling him up this past week. Sometimes he was worried about her.

Sometimes he remembered the attack she’d suffered, but most often it was some sort of sexual fantasy she starred in. He felt guilty thinking about her that way, but he couldn’t help it. She was pretty and sweet and he couldn’t help the direction his mind wandered to when he thought about her.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” he lied. “Well, yeah, but I hadn’t gone to bed yet. Seems I passed out on the couch.” He was still in his dress clothes from work. It had been a long day. “What’s up?”

“This is going to sound like an odd request, but can I come over?”

“Come over?” His cock jumped at the idea. He sent his lap a stern glare. He doubted sex was what she meant.

“Yes. Well, you see, I haven’t really been able to sleep, and I was hoping…” she trailed off.

He knew a good cure for insomnia. Something that would wear them both out.

Alex got up from the couch and headed to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. Maybe that would help get his sex drive under control.

The water didn’t help, but when he heard her sniffle through the phone, that doused his fire. She was crying. Or almost crying. Great. He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, you can come over.”

“I really wouldn’t bother you.” She sniffed again. “But it’s been days. I can’t sleep, and I was thinking because you were there, maybe seeing you would help.”

He didn’t know how he could help, but she was welcome to come cry on his shoulder. “I already agreed, babe.”

“Oh, right. I’m not thinking clearly. Where do you live?”

After he offered to come get her, he gave her the address. Not ten minutes passed before she was at his door. He’d barely had enough time to put away his take-out container from dinner and tidy up a few things.

His smile was wide when he opened door, but it quickly vanished. She was a mess. More correctly, she was a wilted, tired shell of herself. Sure, her hair was combed, she had a bit of makeup on, slightly smudged beneath her eyes, and her clothing looked fresh, though perhaps a little stained from working in the kitchen that night. But the big dark circles under her eyes showed her exhaustion. She hadn’t been lying. She looked ready to fall through the doorframe and sleep where she fell on the floor.

When was the last time she’d had a decent night’s rest? He ushered her inside.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you.” She wrung her hands as she spoke. “I hate to disrupt your life.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t even think! Is anyone else living here? You’re not married or something are you? I don’t want to interrupt –”

Alex cut her off. “I live alone. No interruption. Don’t worry.”

She sighed.

“Come. Have a seat.” He directed her to the living room. She perched on the edge of his couch. He pointed to her gauze wrapped finger. “What happened there?”

She glanced down at her left pointer finger. “I sliced it at work. Four stitches.”

He winced. “Oh, got it good.”

“I’m really tired, and made a mistake. My hand slipped. My dad was mad. He thinks I should be taking a few days off.”

“Why don’t you?”

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “What good will that do me? I can’t seem to sleep anyway. What would being at home worrying help?”

He supposed that was true. Wanting to put his arm around her, he took a seat next to her, but didn’t dare touch her. How bad was her PTSD after the attack? Would the touch of a man, even a compassionate touch, send her spiraling?

“Look, I know this is an imposition, and will sound like an odd request, but can I sleep here tonight?”

Here? He supposed she could. He could sleep on the couch. He’d been doing that before she called. “I guess so. If you think being in a house with another person will help.”

She shook her head. “No, you misunderstand. I’ve been staying at my parents’ place the last few days. Being with others doesn’t help. I think I need you.” She let out a shuddering breath. “I think I need to be close to you to sleep. It’s odd, I’m sure, but I feel safe when you’re around.”

He supposed that made sense. Seeing as he was the first man she saw after the attack.

“So can I sleep here tonight? Like, I mean, in your bed?”

 

More from Cameron at Changeling Press …

Romance author Cameron Allie grew up in a small town north of Toronto. As a child she loved stories, and after reading her first romance novel at age fifteen, her dreams of writing became singularly focused on love stories. She is currently living in Ontario with her husband, their baby girl, and their cat, who is constantly trying to interrupt the writing process.

Website: http://cameronallie.com

Blog: https://www.cameronallie.com/category/blog/

 

 

The Alpha’s Demiwolf by Gale Stanley #PNR #werewolves #NewAdult #NewRelease @GaleStanley @changelingpress

The Alpha's Demiwolf (Utopia 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Kya: I’m a demiwolf — half wolf, half human, and both species despise my weird mix of genes. Despite the fact I strip for a living, I’ve hung on to my virginity for twenty-two years. Until I got knocked up by a big, bad wolf. Now, I’m going to bring another demiwolf into the world, but his father will never know.

Levi: I’m all wolf, and Alpha of my pack, committed to keeping our bloodlines pure. Then on the night of my bachelor party, I hooked up with a stripper. I just wanted to teach the demiwolf a lesson, but the sex set me on fire. My wolf claimed her and now I can’t get her out of my head. But what if she won’t accept me?

 

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or Pre-Order for October 11th at retailers

   

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Gale Stanley

Kya

I cringed when I saw the billboard proclaiming, Girls! Girls! Girls! It was a tacky way to get attention, and I hated it. Averting my eyes, I turned the corner, pulled into the lot, and parked my old pickup behind the club. It was my first night at Show ’n Tails, and a definite step down from my old job, but I’d been fired and needed a gig ASAP.

The incident wasn’t my fault. There were two of us on the stage and Brandi was so sloshed she invaded my space and fell on her ass. As if that wasn’t enough, she accused me of tripping her. Well, one thing led to another and we both got canned. Another girl told me that Show ’n Tails was hiring and I went for an audition. The manager was an asshat, but he doesn’t ask too many questions. I like to keep a low profile.

This isn’t the life I wanted, but taking off my clothes pays the bills, and I won’t apologize for trying to earn a living. At least I’m not selling my body, just the illusion of sex. A lot of girls up their game, but not me. My virginity is the last piece of self-respect I own and I won’t give it up to some creep for any amount of money.

The heavy backdoor slammed shut and locked behind me and the manager shot me a dirty look. “Hey, Kya. You’re late.”

“Sorry, it won’t happen again. And my name is Raven when I’m working.”

Marty’s lip curled in a sneer. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You better get dressed. I mean undressed.” He snickered.

I ignored his disrespectful ass, and walked over to the dressing room. A row of dented lockers lined one wall. A wide counter with a lighted mirror behind it ran the length of the opposite wall. Everything stunk from sweat and cheap perfume. The long vanity was cluttered with makeup and no one made room for the new girl, so I started changing next to my locker. When a spot at the mirror opened up, I grabbed it and started working on my wild black curls.

Marty stuck his head in the door. “Hey, fresh meat, you’re on next.”

I knew he meant me. I was the newest girl there. Half of me cringed, the half that’s wolf. The half I keep hidden. Or is it a quarter of me I keep hidden? I guess it depends on how you look at it. A full-blooded wolf-shifter is already half human, although they’ll never admit to it. My father was a wolf, but my mother was human.

Does that mean I’m… Oh, fuck the fractions. No matter how you look at it, I’m a demiwolf.

But I look human. I checked my body in the mirror. Yep, a hot as hell human female stared back at me. Tacky, but sexy. Nothing says stripper like stiletto platform heels and a thong that shows off a girl’s booty. I slipped on a white, halter mini-dress with a drape-neck, an open back, and a side slit. Then I ran my hands through my curls and gave my lips one last swipe of purple-plum gloss.

It’s so much easier to call myself human and blend in with the majority. The humans are clueless. They know we exist, but they believe we keep to our own side of the tracks. The wolves are a different story. They can smell my lupine pheromones, but they don’t want me. I’m not pure. Fuck ‘em. At least I can make a living among the humans. Stripping might be a trashy job, but it pays for the life I’m trying to live. It’s not the life I want, but it’s all I’ve got. I used to dream about being accepted by my father’s people. Fat chance. They wouldn’t even accept him because he had a human lover and a half-breed kid.

My parents never married, but they lived together — sometimes. When my father was around, I was daddy’s girl. But all too often, he would disappear as if he had no family. My mother would drink and tell me that he liked to hang out with his own kind in places where we weren’t accepted. When he came back from his trips, he’d act cold and resentful, but it wouldn’t last long. Eventually, he’d tell me he loved me and everything would be okay again. I thought nothing would keep us apart for good. I was wrong.

One day he didn’t come back. We found out he was killed in a bar fight. One of his so-called friends called me a mongrel and Dad died defending me. My mother cried and cried. She said this was why they never wanted kids. So I was what… an accident?

I couldn’t blame them. Not really. Life was hard enough without being born with this weird mix of genes. I hated myself, too. I wished I’d never been born. At least I could make things easier for my mother. As soon as I finished school, I left home and never looked back.

While waiting to go on, I thought about my routine — floor work, then pole dancing, then back on the floor. I’m not nervous anymore about being naked in front of a roomful of men. I was at first, but now I focus on my moves. I’ve been scorned and dehumanized all my life, so I like to emphasize something I can do well — dance.

I peeked through the curtain and watched Candy finish her routine. There’s a mirror behind the stage and a pole in the center. Chairs surrounded the stage for customers who wanted direct contact with the dancers. I watched one of the men put a bill in his mouth. Candy shoved her breasts in his face and used them to grab the money. There were hoots and hollers and more men waved bills at her. She collected all of her tips, then picked up her clothes, and ran off the stage.

The DJ, sitting in an alcove nearby, introduced me. “Next up is a beautiful lady who’s new here. You’re gonna see her naked for the first time tonight.”

Well, it’s not a complete lie. It’s my first time naked on this stage.

“Give Raven a nice warm welcome.”

My heartbeat skyrocketed as I stepped through the curtains and climbed the three steps to the stage. The opening bars of my music started up and I began to move.

 

Get more from Gale at Changeling Press …

Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.

Some things never change.

Social Media Links
Website: http://galestanley.net/
Blog: http://galestanley.blogspot.com/

 

Wire (Dixie Reapers MC) by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerbooks #Bikers #NewAdult #RomanceBooks #NewRelease @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

HW_DixieReapers13_bryan

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Lavender: My parents weren’t the type to win any awards, but I did learn a few things. Like how to read lines of code and get through the backdoor of pretty much any site or program. I also learned about the man my mother had dated when she’d met my dad, someone who has intrigued me for years. I never thought I’d get the chance to meet him, until my parents end up dead and I can’t think of anyone else who might be able to help. I know too much, know my parents’ deaths weren’t an accident, and now I’ve been targeted. If the infamous Voodoo Tracer can’t help me, then I’m screwed.

Reality is so much better than fantasy, and with one look, I know the reason I haven’t dated is because I was waiting. For him.

Wire: I never really expected my past to come knocking at the front gates, nor did I expect it to be in such a sexy package. Lavender isn’t what I’d call a siren, but with her glasses perched on her nose, her messy hair, curvy figure, and adorable tees, she’s exactly what I want and don’t need. A nerdy, geeky, superintelligent woman who craves me as much as I crave her. So I did what any man would do… I claimed her. Now she’s mine, and if an enemy from my past thinks he can hurt her, I’d like to see him try. He might have killed her parents, but I will destroy anyone who tries to take her from me.

 

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or Pre-Order for October 11th at retailers

   

 

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Harley Wylde

Lavender

The infamous hacker, or more accurately cracker, Voodoo Tracer, hadn’t been all that hard to find. My mother had always said if anything happened to her I should track down the guy she’d dated before marrying my dad. I’d heard the story a million times, about how they’d all been friends but she’d fallen for Dad and hurt the guy she’d been dating. He’d left and never returned. Mom had lost track of him, but it hadn’t take much digging for me to find his current location, which told me he wasn’t really hiding. A guy like him didn’t leave a door open unless he wanted someone to use it.

While my mom and dad were hackers and worked for a lot of companies, trying to find the weak spots in their security so the companies could improve them, men like Voodoo Tracer took advantage of those weak spots to get whatever information they wanted. Mom had never approved of Voodoo’s need to crack government and banking sites. From what she’d said, back then, he never took anything vital. He’d mostly done it because he could. I couldn’t say for certain what he’d been up to lately.

I didn’t really walk either path, but tended to dabble a bit in both. Like the infamous Voodoo, I mostly liked to see how far I could get somewhere I shouldn’t be. If I were as nice as my mom and dad, I’d then turn that information over to the companies so they could keep other people out. Then again, they weren’t exactly paying me for my help, so why give it? I wasn’t an angel by any means, but I wasn’t precisely a devil either. I operated in those murky shades of gray.

I’d known how easy it would be for some to trace my phone, or the built-in GPS on my car, so I’d left both behind. The bus hadn’t been the most comfortable option to ride to Alabama, and I’d paid cash so there wouldn’t be a credit card trail, but now that I was here, I had to wonder if I’d made a huge mistake. The walk to the Dixie Reapers compound wasn’t that far, but the place seemed a bit imposing as I approached the gates. I’d walked what felt like miles of fenceline, although that was surely not the case. Razor wire topped it, and I had to wonder just what they were trying to keep out. Or was it more what they wanted to keep in?

The guy standing guard didn’t seem much older than me, and I noticed the way he scanned me from head to toe. I probably wasn’t the type of woman who typically came to this sort of place. My Converse were well-worn, my jeans ripped along my thighs and knees, and I had on my favorite Dark Crystal T-shirt, which had faded over time. I hadn’t thought much about my appearance and had tossed my hair up in a messy bun. With my thick-lensed glasses perched on my nose, I probably looked like I should be in school right now. If it weren’t for my curves, I’d never pass for my real age.

“You must be lost,” the man said, then pointed back behind me. “Town is back that way.”

“I’m not lost.” I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder. “I’m here to see Voodoo Tracer.”

The man stared and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “No one here by that name. So I think you really are lost.”

My brow furrowed. I’d assumed his club would know him by that name. From what little research I’d managed before taking this trip, I’d learned that some clubs preferred to use a road name and kept their real names private. If Voodoo followed that belief, this guy may not know his birth name. It was foolish to think whatever the club called him would be the same name he went by when he was cracking codes.

“Hang on. I have a picture, but it’s really old.” I slid the strap off my shoulder and dug in my backpack. I withdrew the picture of Voodoo with my mom, Seraph, and my dad, Doc Paradox. I’d stared at this picture a lot over the years. I’d found it shoved into a box in the top of Mom’s closet a while back. The ginger-haired young man had drawn my attention. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen at the time it was taken, but even back then he’d been more than just cute. I knew he’d be my parents’ age now, but I’d often wished I could meet a guy like him.

Showing the picture to the guy, his eyes went wide.

“Holy shit, is that Wire?” he asked.

“Um. Maybe. I don’t know his club name. I only know his hacker name.”

The man nodded. “That would be Wire, then. I’ll have to call him down here. I’m not letting you in uninvited. You don’t exactly look like the type to party at the clubhouse.”

If that was code for sleep with random men, then no, I wasn’t. Not even a little. I took a step back as he made his call and took the time to check out the place behind the fence. There was a building with Dixie Reapers across the top in neon letters, and a lot of houses down either side of the road. As I strained to get a better look, I thought I saw a playground, but that was ridiculous. What type of biker compound had a playground? The fatigue must be getting to me. It seemed I was now hallucinating.

“He asked who else is in the picture,” the guy said.

“Tell him Seraph and Doc Paradox.” I swallowed hard. “They were my parents.”

He relayed the information, and I hoped that Wire would come and hear me out. If things had really ended as badly as my mom had said, then he might refuse to see me. She’d not gone into a lot of detail, just said she’d picked my dad over Voodoo. Knowing my mother, there was a good chance she’d omitted part of the story. Coming here was a gamble I’d been willing to take. Whatever Mom and Dad had been into, it had gotten them killed. Thanks to me nosing around, I now worried that I might meet the same fate. I didn’t know anything about the man Wire was now, but the kid who had grown up with my parents had been the type to help those in need, even if he hadn’t done it the legal way. I was counting on that still being true.

The rumble of a motorcycle started out faint and then got louder. I saw a rider with copper-colored hair approaching from down the road and as he came to a stop on the other side of the gate, my heart flipped, flopped, then took off at a gallop. Holy hell! Mom had thrown over this guy for my dad? What the hell had she been thinking? He didn’t even remotely look like a hacker. Nor was he the gangly teen from the photo I’d brought. Yeah, he’d been handsome back then, but now? Shit. I was almost certain my panties were getting wet just looking at him. His heather gray tee stretched tight across his broad chest, and the leather cut just added to the sex appeal. The denim hugging his thighs was as worn as mine, with a few well-placed holes, and did nothing to hide how muscular he was, especially for a geeky computer nerd.

Definitely nothing like my dad. I’d loved my father, but time hadn’t been kind to him. He’d had lines around his eyes, and what my mother fondly called his spare tired around the middle, from long days and nights at the computer. This guy didn’t have that problem. Hell, he didn’t even look my parents’ age.

Wire swung a leg over his bike and came closer, removing the sunglasses that had shielded his eyes from me. Green, and so damn pretty. It was a sin for a man to have eyelashes that long and thick. Dammit. My nipples were getting stiff. I swallowed hard, wondering why my body was betraying me. I’d never had a physical response to a guy, even when I thought they were hot. Until now. The beard covering his jaw made my fingers itch to reach out and touch it. Would it be coarse or soft? I’d always had a weak spot for gingers, and he had to be the sexiest one I’d ever seen.

 

Find more from Harley at Changeling Press …

Short. Erotic. Sweet. Harley’s other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place.

Harley’s Website: https://harleywylde.com/