Bullet by Marteeka Karland #excerpt #comingsoon #motorcycleclubromance #romance #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

(Grim Road MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: April 12, 2024

 

 

Cecilia: The enigmatic biker is the one bright spot in my life. I see him three or four times a week at the cafe down the block. Talking to him about books we’re reading or our hopes and dreams helps me escape my reality, if only for a short time. Most of the time we don’t even sit at the same table. He’s everything I ever wanted but know I can never have. We simply cross paths. Him going… wherever he goes. Me… I know I’m going straight to hell. Nothing but a miracle can save me.
The Devil owns my soul.

Bullet: There’s something about the small, dark-haired woman I see at the corner cafe. She’s everything I’m attracted to in a woman, but she’s so young it’s laughable. I didn’t set out to
seduce her, but the next thing I know she’s in my bed and I spend the most incredible night with her. I wake up the next morning to a cool pillow. No note. No way to contact her. I chalk it up to a young woman not wanting drama in her life until I see her again a few days later. This time,
she’s in my ICU, beaten to within an inch of her life. Someone’s going to pay. God have mercy on their soul. Because I won’t.

 

WARNING: Bullet includes scenes of graphic violence and adult situations that may be triggers for some readers. There’s also a protective hero, a determined heroine, and an eventual happy ending. No cheating, as
always.

EXCERPT

Bullet

“Just another glorious day in the ICU, Attie.” The fresh-faced
resident was trying way too hard to socialize. I’d noticed the pup did
the same with all the attendings. I accepted he was trying to fit in and
carve his place with people who would be his peers once he’d finished
his residency, but no one — fucking no one — called me
“Attie.”

“My name,” I said, not looking up from the laptop where I was
finishing up a physical assessment for the patient I’d just seen,
“is Atticus. Or Dr. Benedict. Call me Attie again, I’ll
personally see to it you fail this rotation.” If the kid had been a
prospect, I’d have beat the shit outta him. But I couldn’t do
that. Not in this world. Which was a Goddamned shame because if an adult
hadn’t learned how to treat people with respect by this guy’s
age, he needed an ass whoopin’.

I was beginning to think it was past time I left practice in the civilian
world and stayed at the Grim Road compound full time. Traveling back and
forth was risky anyway. The last thing I wanted was someone following me to
the compound. They wouldn’t be able to get in, but it would draw
attention to us, which I did not want. Still. Here I was. Trying not to
punch an intern.

Fuck. Me.

I didn’t give the kid time to respond. Instead, I shut the laptop,
picked it up, and headed back down the hall to the lounge. I wanted to
finish my day so I could get a bite to eat — and maybe some stimulating
conversation that didn’t involve body fluids or death. I’d had
enough of that in the Air Force, yet here I was. I’d thought I’d
fulfill some sense of purpose by continuing to work with critically ill
patients in a different setting, but death was death.

“He’s just trying to fit in, Atticus.” One of my
colleagues, Phil Davis, clapped me on the shoulder as he pulled up a chair.
“Don’t be so hard on the kid.”

“I’ve told him repeatedly not to shorten my name. I’m
tired of fuckin’ with him.”

“He’ll make a decent doctor if you help train him
right.”

“I’m not a mentor, Phil. I told you that when you hired me.
I’m supposed to be an intensivist. Not a teacher.” It was a sore
spot. The hospital had promised me I wouldn’t have to supervise
interns or residents. Yet here I was.

“You know how it is, man. There’s a shortage of healthcare
staff. That includes doctors. Why keep these kinds of hours when you can do
family medicine?” He shrugged. “The hospital owns the offices,
so they all get paid a salary just like we do. Only difference is the hours.
They get nights, weekends, and holidays off. We don’t.”

“Coulda had better pay and better benefits if I’d stayed in the
fuckin’ Air Force,” I grumbled. “Kid’s got this last
chance. He calls me Attie again, I’ll do more than fail his rotation.
I’ll kick his fuckin’ ass.”

Phil chuckled, likely thinking I was joking. I wasn’t. “Just
give me the report so you can get your cranky ass outta here. Someone needs
a beer. And possibly to get laid.”

I scowled at him, but he was right. On both counts.

Report took an hour. We walked around to each of my ten patients’
rooms, and I gave him a rundown of what was happening as well as introduced
him to each of those patients. Not every doctor in the hospital wanted to do
hand-off rounds like this, but I thought it helped all of us to see the
patients as people instead of simply numbers on a screen. As such, I
insisted on it.

We only got caught up in one room and honestly, Mrs. Singleton loved to
talk.

“I thought I was taking the right dose, Dr. Benedict. I mean, I might
have missed my shot from time to time, but I usually manage better than
this.” She smiled up at me from her bed. She was always pleasant. And
always called me Dr. Benedict. “Maybe if you explain it to me
again?” She looked like she was hoping we’d sit down and go over
her medication with her again, but didn’t want to actually say
so.

“Maybe we should get you an insulin pump,” Phil said, not
looking up from his tablet as he pretended to review her chart. I knew he
was just giving himself an excuse not to engage. Mrs. Singleton had been
offered the same thing every single time she was admitted. She always
refused. Something Phil knew all too well.

“Oh, I couldn’t. It might give me too much. What would I do
then?”

“It won’t give you too much, Nanny.” Phil’s
irritation showed on his face and in his voice, but he never looked up from
his fucking tablet. “It’s programmed to give the exact amount we
order. You need to agree to this so you don’t have to be admitted so
much. You’re going to ruin your kidneys and your eyesight, among other
things.”

“I’m ninety-two, Dr. Davis. If my kidneys and my eyesight were
going to go, they’d have done so already. Besides, I know I’m
not long for this world.” She sounded like she was going to cry. It
made me want to beat the shit outta my colleague.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,”
I said, sitting beside the bed and taking Mrs. Singleton’s hand. One
thing I tried to always do was be respectful to my patients. Just because
she was old didn’t mean she was stupid. “We’ve discussed
this before. If you want to keep taking shots instead of using an insulin
pump, you can. But, he’s right that you’re hurting your body.
I’d like to have long conversations with you for years to come.”
I gave her a gentle smile.

She patted my hand with her free one. “You’re a good man, Dr.
Benedict.” Then she sighed, looking resigned. “If you think
it’s best, I’ll agree to your pump. Do you promise it will be
OK?”

“I do, ma’am. I’ll even come check on you after
you’re released until you get used to it.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You’d do that? For me?”

I smiled. “You’re one of my favorite patients, Mrs. Singleton.
Of course, I will.”

Mrs. Singleton was a diabetic who went into ketoacidosis once every couple
of months because she didn’t take her insulin correctly and refused to
modify her diet. At ninety-two years young, I figured if she wanted to eat
cupcakes and moon pies, that was her prerogative. My job wasn’t to
judge but to help her when she got sick. I’d often wondered if she
didn’t do this to herself on purpose to get some attention because her
daughter and grandson refused to put her in a nursing home but were never
around to take care of her. She’d been a social butterfly in her
younger years, by all accounts, and needed personal interaction. But, she
abided by her family’s wishes and stayed at home even if her daughter
and grandson were never there to help her.

After we left and started down the hall, Phil chuckled, as if he
hadn’t insulted and treated the elderly woman horribly. “I
swear, that woman gets chattier every time we have her.” He shook his
head. “I don’t have time to spend thirty minutes in her room
chatting about the weather or the good old days. Not to mention arguing with
her about her treatment.” Yeah. It was past time I either opened my
own practice or simply moved back to the clubhouse and disappeared from
polite society.

I gave Phil a hard look. “You know, if you had half as much sympathy
for Mrs. Singleton as you do that disrespectful punk of an intern, you might
be a decent doctor.”

I left Phil alone with Intern Iggy and the rest of the zoo and headed out.
I needed the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. Fuck this shit.
I’d keep my promise to Mrs. Singleton no matter what, but my days here
were numbered.

Coming back in to the doctor’s lounge, I went to the locker room and
changed out of my scrubs and lab coat. I left very little at the hospital
other than a couple changes of clothes for emergencies, so packing my stuff
wouldn’t be an issue. Tomorrow I’d bring my truck and clean out
my shit. Tonight, however, I was on my bike. I wasn’t prepared.

I strode out of the hospital, my boots thudding on the pavement as I made
my way toward my sleek black Harley V-Rod. The bike that would carry me away
from the sterile walls and white coats. I needed the freedom of the road and
the comfort of my club. Grim Road MC had been good to me. After my last
mission it had become my only real haven. Initially, working at the hospital
had fulfilled my need to help people, but it had become more cumbersome than
helpful now.

Flashes of the carnage I’d lived through shot through my brain and I
gritted my teeth through the pain, needing to keep myself under control. It
was those memories that haunted me at night and kept me coming back to the
hospital to work. I hadn’t been able to help the people from that day
so long ago, but I could help people in the here and now.

I started up my bike, put it in gear, and took off. I needed food and rest.
Tomorrow everything would be better. I’d get Mrs. Singleton to stick
to her promise to try the insulin pump. God knew Phil would just fuck things
up. Besides, I wanted to help her get home so I’d know where to come
to check on her and make sure she was using her pump correctly. I also
needed to put the fear of God into her daughter and grandson. I was pretty
sure they were trying to keep her out of a nursing home so they could keep
her Social Security check and that simply wasn’t going to
happen.

With a sigh, I pulled into the parking area of a little outside café
I often frequented after work. Helped me to wind down and catch my breath.
Occasionally I’d run into someone who knew me, but the hospital was in
Palm Beach so it wasn’t often. It was also the place where I’d
met the most interesting woman I’d ever encountered.

Her name was Cecilia, but she went by CeCe. I thought she was an escort,
but the jury was still out. She was here nearly every evening. I found I
simply liked talking to her. She was intelligent, with a quirky personality.
She could carry on a conversation about almost anything with some degree of
knowledge. But it was her eyes that intrigued me. She had the look of
someone who’d seen far more than a person of her years should have. I
doubt she was much out of her teens, but she seemed to take in everything
around her. Several times I’d tested her. Dropping observations about
things around us or small details about someone walking down the sidewalk.
She always knew the answers. Like me, she always chose a table that let her
have the best view of the area with her back against the building.

Walking to my usual table, I glanced around, looking for CeCe. Because of
the long conversation with Mrs. Singleton, I was a little late so I could
have missed her. I hoped not because I could really use her refreshing
personality. The girl really was a rare treasure. I thought about prying
into her life, finding out exactly what she did and who she worked for,
seeing if my suspicions were correct, but we had a comfortable relationship.
Basically, we spoke when we were at this café, and that was it. I
didn’t see her anywhere else. We didn’t talk about anything
personal. Sometimes we never even looked at each other. Just… talked.
About everything and nothing. Nonsense. Whatever was on our minds. I was
about to leave when I saw her.

CeCe was dressed in a tight, short red skirt with a white billowy top that
cinched around her middle above her waist. A black bustier pushed her
breasts up and together, giving her mouth-watering cleavage. Her hair was a
straight, gleaming mass dark as a raven’s wing reaching below her
waist. This was her usual attire and I’d learned a couple of months
ago to live with the hard-on I got seeing her in these outfits.

She sat along the brick wall of the building beside the café, as
usual, one table between us. We didn’t acknowledge each other or
speak. She simply caught the attention of Teddy. He owned the place and was
always there, even if he had someone else working.

“The usual, Teddy.”

“Chocolate pie and a coffee coming up, darlin’.”

“Thanks.” Everything inside me settled. I hid my smile and said
nothing. Instead, I picked up a book I’d been reading the last several
days while I drank a cup of coffee and ate a sandwich. This evening it was
chicken salad.

“You still reading about the guy who kills that old lady and then
spends the whole book freaking out about it? Raskolnikov,
right?”

I grinned. “Crime and Punishment. Yeah, kid.” I didn’t
look up from my book, but I never did. It was a game we played, where we
pretended indifference. It was one we were both comfortable with. “I
always found him to be an interesting character — tormented by his own
guilt. Unable to escape the consequences of his actions.”

She snorted. “It’s always something, I guess. Life torments us
all in one way or another.”

I thought about that. “Can’t say you’re wrong
there.”

“‘Course, I’m not wrong.” She sounded bitter. Not
for the first time, I wondered if I was right and she was an escort. She was
always very well put together. Even the revealing clothing she wore was done
with taste. Her hair was always perfect, her makeup just so. Her body was
well toned, fine muscle playing beneath her skin when she moved. I’d
never seen such perfectly formed arms on a woman before. They were muscled
but sleek. Feminine.

With one last bite of pie, she slapped a couple bills down on the table and
stood. She started to leave, then stopped and turned her head to face me.
“You think Raskolnikov would’ve done any better if he’d
had someone? You know, someone who had his back?”

“Who knows?” I shrugged. A darkness crept into her gaze even
though her face was carefully blank. This, I didn’t like. “But I
do believe there are times when the ends do justify the means. Maybe not in
Raskolnikov’s case, but…”

“Yeah.” She looked away, putting her shoulders back.
“Sure.”

“See you tomorrow?” I’d never pushed her before. Never
asked when I’d see her or if she’d be back. But my instinct was
screaming at me that something was wrong.

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe.”

“Take it easy, CeCe.” I forced myself to let it go even though
I wanted to push even harder, to make her tell me what was going on and how
I could help. Because if ever there was a woman who needed help, it was
CeCe.

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

Pre-Order Today

 

Joker by Harley Wylde #promo #excerpt #teasertuesday #motorcycleclubromance #romanticsuspense #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

Dixie Reapers MC, Book 19

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense, 2nd Chances

Date Published: February 23, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Cleo — My family put me through hell, and I escaped the only way possible… by marrying a biker locked up in prison. Joker gave me his name and a way to hide from my family. Until the day they find me… Now it’s time I return to the husband who doesn’t want me and hope he doesn’t find out all my secrets — because if he does, I have a feeling he’s going to make me leave.

Joker — She seemed sweet and innocent. Marrying her wasn’t a big deal. Then I managed to obtain my freedom, and with it, I decided to set her free as well. Only one problem. She doesn’t want a divorce. Now Cleo is living with me, and my club has accepted her as part of our family. None of us realized she was hiding something that could destroy us, but at the end of the day, she’s mine and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

 

WARNING: Joker is intended for adult readers 18+ due to bad language, violence, and adult situations. There’s no cliffhanger involving the main characters. There is a slight cliffhanger involving secondary characters, which will be resolved in the next book. Guaranteed happily ever after, and no cheating!

 

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2024 Harley Wylde

Joker

The clanging of metal bars and shouting inmates jolted me awake. Another
day in this hellhole. I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights as the
guard banged his baton against my cell, barking at me to get up. My joints
creaked in protest as I slid off the thin mattress onto the cold concrete
floor. I’d wasted away in this cage for over a decade, my youth fading
with each endless day.

“Mail,” the guard said, thrusting a letter into my cell.

Only one person wrote to me. Someone I’d never met in person, though
she’d sent me a picture one time. Out of boredom, I’d signed up
for a pen pal program, not expecting much. To my surprise, I’d
received dozens of letters — all from women. One had stood out. A teen girl
named Cleo.

I’d been hesitant to respond. At forty-eight, I’d felt like it
was wrong to reply to her. My morals might be questionable, but I still had
a line I wouldn’t cross. In the end, I’d answered her, and
we’d been writing to each other ever since. She’d needed a
sympathetic ear, and I’d needed a distraction.

I opened Cleo’s latest letter, her looping cursive filling the page.
My light in this darkness. She saw the man beneath the cut, the heart behind
the grim façade. Her letters were a glimpse of the world outside
these walls. She shared her dreams, her troubles, her very soul. And I
confessed things to her I’d never uttered aloud. The abandoned boy who
turned to the club for family, the gnawing loneliness beneath the swagger.
She understood. We were both fighting our own demons.

The guard slammed the bars again. “Chow time, Joker! Look
alive!”

I tucked Cleo’s letter into my pocket, close to my heart. I’d
survive another day in this concrete tomb just to read her words again
tonight. And someday, somehow, I’d be free. I wasn’t sure what
would happen then. We were worlds apart in a lot of ways. Once I left this
place, Cleo would come to be a part of my past. It would be dangerous for us
to keep in touch.

I shuffled into the cafeteria, the din of inmates engulfing me. I kept my
head down as I grabbed my tray of slop and found an empty table. Solitude
was survival in this jungle. Placing my arm around my tray, I shoveled food
into my mouth. In this place, you had to protect what was yours.

My thoughts drifted to Cleo as I forced down the cold mush. She
hadn’t written in weeks. Her family was poison. From what I’d
gathered they were all rotten to the core. She only hinted at the horrors
she’d seen, but I sensed the fear beneath her brave words. At
seventeen, she shouldn’t be worried about surviving. She should be
having fun with her friends, enjoying her high school years, and figuring
out where she wanted to go in life. I hated not being able to do anything
for her, except listen.

My fists clenched, rage simmering through my veins. If they touched one
hair on her head, I’d kill them. She was too pure for this world, an
angel who deserved so much more. I had to protect her, no matter the cost.
Except… the shackles binding me went deeper than this prison. I owed
my club my life and my loyalty. I couldn’t do anything without talking
to them first, and I hadn’t heard from any of them in a long-ass time.
I’d fucked up, and it had felt like they all turned their backs on
me.

The guards herded us to the yard, the sun blinding after days under
flickering fluorescent lights. I found a shady corner and waited. Breathing
in the fresh air meant nothing without freedom. I’d only traded an
interior cage for an exterior one.

A hush fell over the inmates. The warden stormed across the yard, his face
like thunder. He stopped in front of me, his eyes hard. Well, shit. Had I
done something wrong again? It wasn’t often he came in person. Then
again, I wasn’t always nice to the guards. Maybe he was simply
protecting his men.

“You’ve got a visitor, Joker.”

My pulse quickened. No one had come to see me in years. What the fuck was
going on?

The warden didn’t like me. In fact, we’d frequently butted
heads during my incarceration. It had to piss him off that I had a visitor.
The man would do anything to keep me from even one moment of happiness. I
knew if he could, he’d keep me locked up for the rest of my
life.

I followed the warden through the maze of fences and gates until we reached
the visitation room. My breath caught when I saw her. Even though I’d
only seen one picture of her, I recognized her right away.

Cleo.

She looked small and fragile in the plastic chair, her fingers twisting a
tissue. Bruises shadowed under her eyes, barely hidden by makeup. My heart
clenched.

I sat down, picking up the phone. Her eyes flooded with tears as she did
the same.

“Joker,” she whispered. “I’m so
sorry…”

“What happened?”

She glanced around quickly before answering. “My brother found out
about the letters. He was furious. Said no one in the family should
associate with your kind.”

My jaw tightened, fury rising. My kind, huh? Seemed like her brother
wasn’t any better. “Did he hurt you?”

“It doesn’t matter –”

“The hell it doesn’t!” I snarled. “You listen to
me. I’m getting you out of there, you hear me? We’ll leave town,
start over somewhere new.”

“How?” Her voice trembled. “You still have years left of
your sentence.”

I placed my hand against the glass. “Marry me.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Marry me,” I repeated. “You just turned eighteen, right?
So you don’t need your family’s permission. I know the warden
hates me, but… I’ll convince him somehow. He’ll do the
ceremony right here. Then when I get out, we can start over — together, if
that’s what you want.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She put her hand against mine, even though
the glass separated us. “Yes. I’ll marry you,
Joker.”

“I’ll find a way to get word to you. If your brother is angry
about us talking, then I can’t send it to your house. Find someone
willing to help you and send me their address. I’ll correspond with
you through them.”

She nodded and wiped away more tears. We talked for another minute, then
our time was up. I watched her walk away and hoped I’d made the right
choice. If this came back to bite me in the ass, it might end up harming her
too.

* * *

It took two weeks to convince the warden. In the end, he only agreed in
order to help Cleo. I stood in a dingy room, still cuffed and wearing my
prison-issued jumpsuit. It wouldn’t be the wedding of her dreams, but
hopefully it kept her safe.

Cleo entered the room in a simple white dress, holding a small bouquet of
daisies. Her smile nearly blinded me. I didn’t know why she looked so
happy. It made me wonder what she thought about this marriage. I had to
admit, she looked beautiful.

We exchanged brief vows. No kiss or embrace could seal our union. It ended
nearly as soon as it had begun. The guards escorted her from the room and
sent me back to my cell. I could only hope changing her name from Cleo
Lathem to Cleo Clemons would help her in some way.

My heart ached, knowing she had to return to that abusive household. I felt
powerless, stuck in this damn cell while she suffered. I slammed my fist
against the concrete in frustration. They couldn’t legally force her
to do anything, but people like that didn’t care about the law.
She’d have to disappear to avoid the danger of living with her family.
At least with her name changed, she’d have a chance to get away.
Hopefully, it would take them a while to figure out she’d gotten
married. I only wished I had some money to give her too.

The next visiting day, her eyes were puffy from crying as she picked up the
phone. “It’s time. I’m leaving this week. Today will be my
last visit with you.”

I hadn’t expected her to ever come here again. Seeing her one last
time was more than enough. I nodded, letting her know I understood.

“Go as far as you can and don’t look back,” I said.

“Will you be okay?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve survived this place this
long. I’ll be fine. Protect yourself, Cleo, whatever it
takes.”

I hung up the phone, forcing her to leave. This was for the best. She
needed a clean break. As much as I’d enjoyed her letters, I hoped she
didn’t write anymore. It was time for her to start living. I’d
miss her like hell. She’d been a bright light in this dismal place.
Without her words to carry me through, I wasn’t sure what would happen
to me. Didn’t matter. I’d possibly die in this place. Even if I
got out, my life was probably halfway over. Assuming I didn’t get
shot, stabbed, or die in some other fun way long before I became an old man.
Cleo was just getting started. There was so much of the world for her to
explore, and I hope she got the chance to see it all.

For me, days passed. Then weeks. Months. I didn’t hear from Cleo
again. Time blurred. I lived one monotonous day after another. Wake up, work
out, eat, work, eat again, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat.

My thoughts constantly drifted to Cleo when I wasn’t occupied. Was
she eating enough? Getting any sleep? Staying safe from her family’s
crooked dealings?

I wondered where she was now. How far had she gone? Was it a big enough
distance her family couldn’t find her? Part of me wondered if
we’d ever bump into each other again in the future, once I put this
place behind me. It ate at me, not knowing if she was safe or not. Had the
plan worked? Or had I married her for no reason?

 

 

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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Snow by Jamie Targaet #promo #excerpt #comingsoon #teasertuesday #motorcycleclubromance #romance #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @ChangelingPress

(Hounds of Hell MC 2): A Hounds of Hell MC Romance

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: 12/15/2023

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

 

 

Emily — Most wonderful time of the year? Yeah, right. Business isn’t
booming at my bakery this Christmas and I’m behind on my business loan. And
if that weren’t enough, my SUV’s transmission is dying, my ex is in town for
the holidays, and our regular Santa broke his leg and can’t make it for the
annual children’s Christmas party. Somehow, we’ve ended up with a biker
playing Santa Claus this year and I think he’s the wrong man for the job.
Santa shouldn’t have all those muscles and tattoos. And I shouldn’t be
daydreaming about sitting in Santa’s lap.

Snow — I’m not a man with a sweet tooth — at least I wasn’t until now. If
I’d known about the gorgeous little baker, I’d have snatched her up years
ago. The little lady has a lot of problems this holiday season. For her,
I’ll play Santa Claus for the kids, and her ex will wish he got a lump of
coal in his stocking when I’m done with him. Emily will have a good
Christmas. I guaran-damn-tee it.

 

EXCERPT

 

Emily

“Wait. What?” Emily Frost couldn’t have heard that right. The annual Christmas event they held in Mercy each year for the town’s children was two weeks away. “What do you mean Andy isn’t going to be able to play Santa Claus this year?”

While she listened to the elderly man’s wife explain why he wouldn’t be able to be Santa this year, Emily was fighting off hysteria. She understood that he’d taken a nasty fall and told his wife she was very sorry he’d broken his leg. Automatically, she asked if there was anything she could do. She did care. But she really wasn’t listening for a response.

What was she going to do?

Emily carried on the rest of the conversation as best she could, taking a deep breath when she ended the call.

“Fuck!” Her yell echoed through the quiet bakery.

Could things get any worse? She was blinking back tears as she finished counting the register and got all the goodies that hadn’t sold today boxed up. And there was a lot that hadn’t sold today.

The planning committee for the Christmas event was meeting tomorrow. Each member of that committee had jobs to do to make the event happen each year. Liza Austin and her husband owned a greenhouse in town. Each year they provided a beautiful wreath for the door. A live potted Christmas tree for the event was displayed in her bakery shop’s window throughout the holidays. Liza had a key to the shop to take care of the tree so it could be replanted later.

Myra Michaels handled the guest list, answering questions from parents and guardians about the event. She also handled donations that came in. Mina Dock had passed away this summer, but her granddaughter had moved back to town and was taking her place on the committee. Jade Dock and Emery Phillips oversaw setup, using folding chairs and tables Emery used at his bar, Sackett’s, for special events. They got out the decorations they used each year. Most had been donated by Jade’s grandmother Mina.

Emily had been a part of the committee since its first year, five years ago. Her job was supplying all the baked goods for the event and, with help, filling stockings with candy and treats for the kids to take home.

And she’d been the one who found their Santa Claus, Andy Wilder. Each year the elderly gentleman arrived as Santa and was just the best part of the entire event in her opinion. His warmth and sincerity made him a perfect choice. Plus, he could handle anything from kids scared of Santa, to those who were acting up and rowdy.

But he wasn’t coming this year. That was just the latest calamity this week and it was just Thursday night.

Where were they going to get another Santa Claus with two weeks to go?

Locking the door on her way out, she carried the box of goodies out to her SUV and got in. Emily crossed her fingers that the damn thing would start because it hadn’t been running right for the last several weeks. She knew her transmission was failing. What she didn’t know, since things had been so slow at the shop, was where she was getting the money to fix it.

In five minutes, she reached Mercy’s homeless shelter, delivering what she didn’t sell as she did every day the bakery was open. Heading for the back door, Emily rounded the corner and almost collided with someone.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered glancing up into gray eyes.

There were two men, both tall and wearing leather vests with their biker gang name on them, carrying a bed frame into the shelter. The one closest to the door was blond and nice-looking. The one she almost ran into? He was just as tall and muscular with a dark beard and mustache and almost entirely white locks of hair were in disarray on his head. She did a double take because hair that color didn’t usually go with a younger face. His eyes were pale gray and stunning.

The Hounds of Hell had long been a part of Mercy according to Liza, and she spoke of them fondly. Emily didn’t know much about motorcycle gangs and none of them ever came to her bakery. She really wanted to keep it that way. They were a little scary for her.

That gray-eyed gaze moved over her until the blond lost patience. “Snow, we still moving this frame?”

Snow returned his attention to the task, and someone else walked over to her.

“Emily, how are you?” Jade Dock asked. “Making your deliveries?”

Emily smiled. “I am. How are you?”

“Donating some things,” Jade said, watching the men carry the bed frame carefully through the shelter door. “At least I have some strong help to move them.”

Jade walked with her into the shelter. As she always did, Emily placed the box of treats on the receptionist’s desk just inside.

“Who’s your friend?” a deep voice behind her asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Guys, this is Emily,” Jade said, motioning to the two bikers who were apparently with her. To Emily, she said, “This is Hero and Snow.”

Emily shook hands with both, noticing the one she called Snow wasn’t too quick to release her hand. By the time he did, she noticed the blond had his arm around Jade’s waist. So they were a couple?

“I’d better get going,” Emily said. “It’s nice meeting you.”

“I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow?” Jade called as she walked back to the SUV.

When I get to tell the committee we need another Santa Claus, and we just have two weeks to find one? Yes, wouldn’t miss it.

“I’ll see you there,” Emily said over her shoulder as she reached the door. And as she headed back to her SUV, she just hoped the damn thing would start and not embarrass her in front of the bikers.

* * *

Snow

August Crowe, Snow to his MC, watched the petite blonde rush back to her SUV, the long braid of her hair dancing behind her. She looked so perky in her soft sweater and form-hugging slacks. He’d never seen an ass like that on such an uppity girl.

“Who’s that?” Snow asked Jade as he helped Hero get the old box spring out of the truck bed.

Jade watched her drive away in her SUV before turning back to Snow. “That’s Emily Frost. She owns Whisk and Whimsy in town. It’s a bakery.”

Frost, huh? That had Snow grinning. They sounded like a matched pair.

“Say that five times really fast,” Hero said from the other side of the furniture they were moving.

Figures. She looked like someone you’d find in a bakery, making treats. If he thought she’d give him the time of day, Snow would become a bakery patron real fucking fast. But from the look she cut him, he probably wouldn’t have a lot of luck.

“What meeting is tomorrow?” Hero asked Jade, holding one end of the box spring and guiding Snow who carried the other.

“Planning committee for the annual kids’ Christmas party,” Jade explained. “It’s only two weeks away.”

Jade had mentioned it recently. Doing an event for the poor kids in Mercy sounded like a good plan to him. If Miss Uppity was in on it, she had a good heart.

“If you need help with that, let me know,” Snow said. It earned him a look from both Jade and Hero, but he meant it. There had been a few times when he’d been a kid that he and his family wouldn’t have had food if not for the kindness of others. He liked the idea of paying it forward.

“Thank you, Snow,” Jade told him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hero shook his head as they reached the shelter door.

“What?” Snow asked. “Something wrong with wanting to help kids? Razor did say we should do some community outreach.”

“Not that,” Hero said. “The blonde. I’d forget that if I were you.”

“Why?” Jade asked. “Emily’s nice.”

“Maybe so,” Hero said. “But I’d be willing to bet someone in an MC isn’t exactly her type.”

“I might have said the same thing once,” Jade didn’t look convinced. “You can’t assume things like that.”

She had a point.

“So the party is for any kid in Mercy?” Snow asked as they maneuvered the box spring through the shelter door.

Jade followed them. “Technically. We have to leave it open for anyone to avoid singling people out, you know? The ones who really need help.”

“Good approach,” Snow said.

“I’m told each year we have a tree and decorations. There’s an older man who comes to play Santa Claus. There are treats for everyone and everyone gets a gift from Santa. We identify the kids who really need help and they get different gifts than the ones we give the other kids that show up.”

“Makes sense,” Snow said. “What do the poor kids get?”

“The smaller ones get a toy, some candy, and a gift card this year,” Jade explained. “The older kids get candy and a bigger gift card. Santa tells them they can’t open their presents until Christmas Eve. Liza said most of the time that works.”

It was thoughtful.

They set the box spring down, heading back out for the mattress.

“Offer stands,” Snow said to Jade. “Let me know if I can help. Even if it’s just setup.”

 

 

 

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.

 

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

 

Preorder Your Copy

 

Iron by Harley Wylde #promo #teasertuesday #excerpt #comingsoon #motorcycleclubromance #romanticsuspense #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

A Dixie Reapers Bad Boys Romance

Hades Abyss MC, Book 11

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: November 24, 2023

 

 

Nari – Pain. Humiliation. Those are the things my father taught me, and every man I’ve met since. Running away from home didn’t fix
anything. Now I’m nineteen and back in the town my family calls home. I haven’t told them I’m here, and I don’t plan to. But I also didn’t count on a biker giving me a ride, and leaving me at the
Hades Abyss compound. They say they’ll help me, but can I trust them? What if they’re just as bad as all the others?

Iron –I’m no stranger to the darker side of life. Sometimes I’m the monster lurking in the shadows. Still, there’s a line I won’t cross. I will never harm an innocent woman or child. The moment I saw the tiny Asian woman cowering in front of Titan, I wanted to protect
her from the world. She’s been beaten, yet she’s not broken. I’ve never met anyone like Nari before. Despite how timid she appears, she’s stronger than she realizes. I know I’ll do whatever it
takes to make her smile and keep her safe, even if it means getting blood on my hands. The moment her family tries to take her from me, I’ll show them what it means for Nari to be mine.

 

WARNING: Iron is intended for readers 18+ due to bad language, violence, and adult situations. There’s no cheating, no cliffhanger, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

 

EXCERPT

Copyright ©2023 Harley Wylde

 

Nari

My cheek pressed into the carpet as Gio held me down. I knew I’d be
covered in bruises within the hour, if I wasn’t already. Nothing new.
It seemed all I had to do was breathe in order to piss him off. I’d
only stayed due to a lack of options. Leaving Gio would only mean taking a
chance on someone else. Men didn’t help runaway teens for nothing.
They either made us drug mules, thieves, or prostitutes. I couldn’t
think of a way to escape. Everyone I’d ever trusted had betrayed me.
Why should that change?

If things had been different, if my family had cared even a little, I never
would have run away. Living at home had been awful, but my life on the
streets was far worse.

“You stupid, worthless cunt! Where’s my money?” he asked
for the fifth time. As if my answer was suddenly going to change.

“I told you I don’t have it. I couldn’t find any work
today, Gio.” Or more accurately, I hadn’t found a mark. Stealing
was my forte.

He leaned in closer. “Then you have a choice, Nari. You can pay the
money by spending a few nights at the house on Spruce, or you find a high
paying job before morning. Which is it going to be?”

I swallowed hard. It wasn’t really a choice at all. I refused to go
near drugs, and I really didn’t want to be a whore. I couldn’t
understand the girls and women who chose that path. I didn’t look down
on them for it, but it wasn’t something I’d ever voluntarily do.
Of course, if I wanted a legal job, there was always the strip club. Except
I hadn’t really been blessed in the curves department. I didn’t
even need a bra. Who the hell would pay to watch me take my clothes off?
Now, letting him use me as a whore in his brothel? That was a different
story. Those men didn’t much care what a woman looked like, and I knew
he wouldn’t be sending his top customers my way. All they wanted was a
living woman to fuck, although it wouldn’t surprise me if some
didn’t even care if I was alive when they fucked me. I’d learned
the hard way just how screwed up people could be.

“I’ll find a job,” I said. “Please, Gio. I really
tried.”

He finally released me and stood. “Fine. By sunrise, you better have
something lined up. If not, don’t bother coming home. You either take
your ass over to Spruce, or you better run.”

As if running would do me any good. He’d track me down and things
would be even worse. But I had to try. I refused to go down without a fight,
or at the very least a last-ditch effort. If only I’d known I was
heading this direction the moment I walked out of my dad’s house. Not
once had I seen my picture on the news or in any papers. He’d never
bothered to search for me. Why would he when he had his precious Joon?

Maybe I could go home. Or at least back to my hometown. I didn’t
think Gio would ever think to look for me there. He knew how much I hated
that place, and the hell I’d been through while I lived at home. Yeah.
I should go back. I didn’t bring in enough money for him to chase me
across state lines.

I waited until Gio left, then packed a small backpack. It wasn’t like
I owned much anyway. Grabbing the little bit of cash I’d managed to
hide, I shoved it into my satchel and left the house for the last time. One
way or another, I was leaving this place behind. I didn’t care if I
had to hitchhike all the way back to Mississippi.

Every step made pain explode through my body. I stopped to put on my hoodie
and made sure my face was mostly covered. I didn’t need anyone seeing
the marks on my body and stopping to ask questions. A rumble of a motorcycle
came up behind me and slowed. I quickly glanced toward the street and
realized the man was eyeing me.

I assessed his overall size and wondered if I could outrun him. Men
prowling the streets for women always spelled trouble.

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” he asked.

I took in every detail of his appearance, from his Native American genes to
the leather cut declaring him part of the Reckless Kings MC. I hadn’t
heard of them, but there was a group of bikers in my hometown. They’d
been a little scary, but I’d never heard of them hurting kids or
anything. Was his club the same? Just because he looked rough and little
scary didn’t mean he was a bad guy. Sometimes, the ones who looked
like wholesome decent men were the most vicious.

He sighed and inched the bike closer. “Look. My name is Crow.
I’m not going to hurt you, but it looks like you’re in some
trouble and trying to get out of here. So you can get on the back of my bike
and I’ll take you as far as I can. Or you can keep walking and hope
whoever you’re running from doesn’t catch up. With the way
you’re moving, I’m going to assume someone beat the hell out of
you.”

I winced. He noticed that? “I’m going to
Mississippi.”

“What part?” he asked.

“Ever heard of a club called the Hades Abyss? I’m going to that
town,” I said.

He nodded. “I know them. Get on and I’ll make sure you get
home. It’s a little out of my way, but it’s fine.”

Without another thought, I climbed on behind him and put my arms around his
waist. It wasn’t my first time on a motorcycle, even if it had been
years ago. It also wasn’t the first time I’d put my trust in a
stranger. He’d either keep me safe, or I’d trade one abusive
asshole for another.

“I’m Nari,” I said. “Thanks for the
ride.”

“Sure thing, kid. Hold on tight.” He twisted the throttle ,
revving the engine, then eased the bike forward. As he picked up speed and
shifted gears, the wind whipped the hood off my head. I closed my eyes and
pressed my forehead to his back. For the first time in forever, I felt
free.

I didn’t know if I’d made the right choice, but there was no
going back now.

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’s Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook: @harleywylde

Author on Twitter: @HarleyW_Writer

 

Publisher on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram: @changelingpress

 

Preorder Today

 

Ghost Moon by Kathryn Knight #blogtour #excerpt #paranormal #pnr #suspense #giveaway #rabtbooktours @k_knightbooks @RABTBookTours

Paranormal Romantic Suspense

Date Published: 04-03-2020

Publisher: Wicked Whale

 

 

When Lark Cavanaugh’s life in New York City falls apart, she’s left reeling from a staggering betrayal. She escapes to Cape Cod, where a distant relative has left her an old house with a tragic past. Rumors of a
haunting presence plague the abandoned home, but Lark doesn’t believe in ghosts…until she has no choice.

After completing his military duty, veterinarian Jesse Holt returns to his small hometown to take over his father’s practice. He soon finds himself drawn to the alluring redhead now living next door, but she has made her intentions clear—she’s moving back to the city as soon as
possible. When frightening events threaten her safety, though, he can’t deny his protective instincts.

Unable to fight their feelings, they give in to desire…but another battle looms. Lark’s arrival has awakened a decades-old mystery, and the truth of what happened at Holloway House will only be revealed when it claims yet another life.

EXCERPT

She bolted upright in bed, the series of thumps that had awakened her still ringing in her ears. Fumbling for the light, she pulled the covers against her chest, as though that could offer some protection against whatever had made the noises. What the hell was it? She scanned the room, her pulse skittering in jagged bursts. Why was this happening to her? Hadn’t she been through enough?

Nothing in the bedroom appeared to be the source of the disturbance, but her instincts told her the sounds had originated from somewhere else in the house. And it definitely wasn’t the cat this time—he was still at the vet’s.

Reaching for her phone, she sucked in a breath as she noticed the time…1:06 a.m. Exactly the same time she’d been awoken last night. She glanced back up to the hallway door as she jabbed at the screen, pulling up the keypad just in case she needed to call 911. In addition to occurring at the same time, though, whatever she’d just heard sounded similar to last night’s mysterious disturbance, and that hadn’t been an intruder. Not a living one, anyway.

As if on cue, a haunting moan shivered through the air. Her lungs froze as a fresh spike of fear pierced her chest. Oh, God. There really was something wrong with this house. Fighting the urge to dive back under the covers and hide, she slowly climbed out of bed, unsure what exactly she was going to do. Check the house, for starters, she decided. Her mind was still begging for a more reasonable, less terrifying scenario. A quirky appliance, maybe?

With each tentative step, she paused, waiting for something else to happen. As she made her way into the hall, a chill enveloped her, and she crossed her arms, rubbing the goosebumps rising on her skin. Below her, the stairway unfurled into shadows cast by the upper hall light.

A loud crash rang out behind her, and she jumped, a scream tearing from her lips.

About the Author

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Kathryn Knight writes books filled with steamy romance, dangerous secrets, and haunting mysteries. Her novels are award-winning #1 Amazon Bestsellers and RomCon Reader-Rated picks. When she’s not reading or writing, Kathryn spends her time exploring abandoned places and searching for ghosts. She lives on beautiful Cape Cod with her
husband, their two sons, and a number of rescued pets.

 

Contact Links

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Purchase Link

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iBooks Audio

 

ENTER THE GIVEAWAY

 

Dolly’s Ruse by Mikala Ash #promo #steampunk #murdermystery #romanticsuspense #comingsoon #excerpt #rabtbooktours @changelingpress @RABTBookTours

(Sisters Three)

Steampunk, Murder Mystery, Romantic Suspense

Date Published: Oct 20, 2023

 

London is under attack!

At Allenby Hall the net tightens around Dolly Preston and her gentleman friend, Pascal Baudelaire. Lies abound. Who can she trust?

The chaos in the heart of the empire requires Agent of the Queen, the predatory Miss Clayton, to make an ultimatum. The snowstorm ends, and Molly, caring for the wounded Mr. Allenby, is in for a shocking disappointment as events reveal the truth behind the Lewellen murder.

While London burns, Dolly risks her new relationship with the honourable Tom Gold by revealing her extreme carnal desires. The three Preston sisters deal with the threat to their family’s future in their own inimitable styles, but will they succeed?

 

EXCERPT

 

Copyright ©2023 Mikala Ash

 

I cleared a circle on the fogged glass and peered out at a vast sheet of
white: the snowbound grounds of Allenby Hall. Above the distant ice-shrouded
trees, the pale outline of the sun was visible through thin, leaden clouds.
It was a beautiful scene worthy of any Christmas postcard, but for all that
it was a cruel deceit. The picturesque vista cloaked a deadly reality, for a
fathom of snow entombed the landscape and smothered the helpless creatures
beneath. That was my melancholy state. I felt trapped, unable to extricate
myself from a suffocating fate.

Instead, I should have been happy, or at the very least satisfied. The
fornication, my stock in trade, had been as unrelenting as the snowfall.
Indeed, during the last week all my lusty holes had been filled countless
times over.

“At last,” I murmured. “It has finally
stopped.”

“Come back to bed,” Anthony Jamieson implored.
“It’s too bloody cold to be out. The fire in the hearth has
died, but not the furnace in my heart.” He chuckled at his saucy
wit.

“My heart is incandescent with desire,” added Mathew, not one
to be outdone by his twin brother. “My cock is harder than an oak and
is impatient for your attention. Lying in such a state next to my brother
is, however, unbecoming in a gentleman of my manly nature.”

Though my quim pulsed with lust, I ignored their bantering. The Jamieson
twins, impecunious younger sons, were customers of long standing. Having
found me at Mrs. Q’s bawdy house, they often and enthusiastically
indulged their love of sodomy, my particular speciality, whenever they were
in funds, and were as generous as they could be. They had even invited me to
move from Mrs. Q’s to rooms in the fashionable West End, where I would
be theirs exclusively, their own private whore. My objections had simply
been financial — they would not be able to afford both the rent and the
extra they gave me to pass onto my impoverished Mama and my two half-sisters
Holly and Lolly. My and my full sisters’ goal was to get them out of
the Whitechapel slum in which they lived, and away to the country. Then I
had a flash of inspiration, and suggested the twins invite a third gentlemen
into the scheme to defray the costs.

Anthony interrupted my recollections. “I’m afraid our rampant
displays of lust have scared away your Frenchman, Dolly.”

He referred to that third gentleman, Pascal Baudelaire. He had come into my
life on a search for my sister, Molly, because of her nascent relationship
with an engineer, Mr. Lewellen, who had been brutally murdered. Molly had
stumbled upon the poor man. The fiend James Polk, who had minutes before
found the dying man, watched from the shadows, and had mistakenly believed
Lewellen had told her something as she comforted him in his last moments.
That mistake had set off a tumultuous couple of weeks, replete with gruesome
murders, violent kidnappings, daring robberies, and shootings with a roiling
undercurrent of espionage. Hardly the usual fare of an East End whore or toy
manufacturer, which was Pascal’s family business. He too had shared
our adventure by being kidnapped and losing a finger to the maniac’s
knife.

Pascal also enjoyed the depths of my arse, and I had brought him to Allenby
Hall while I visited my sister who was recovering from that same ordeal. The
twins, friends of Mr. Allenby, had unexpectedly shown up just in time to be
caught by the snowstorm.

With the intention of making the twins’ plan a reality I introduced
Pascal to the joys of group copulation, and the idea of sharing the cost of
the rooms which the Jamiesons proposed. He had been cautious at first but
had soon given himself up to the novelty of enjoying my holes in the company
of others, a new experience for him. He quickly agreed to the proposal so
when he visited London, he could use me with the two Jamiesons, rather than
the untold hundreds who visited me at Mrs. Q’s. His contribution would
allow the twins to finance my plan of relocating Mama. All that planning,
unfortunately, would be for naught. It wouldn’t be possible because of
that bitch, Miss Clayton.

“Though the bed is large, I think Pascal was afraid of accidently
touching my impressive member,” Mathew added with a mischievous
chuckle. “He should realise that I have eyes only for you,
Dolly.”

“I rather think, after our latest debauch,” Anthony mused
drowsily. “He has retreated to his own room to recuperate before Dolly
once again roused him into action. He is an impressive stallion, I must
admit.”

That he was. I sighed, feeling his future departure most keenly. Not from
this bed, but from my life entirely. A surge of guilt rushed though me. I
hadn’t told the twins of the disaster that had befallen me and Pascal
— that he would be soon leaving England, never to return. They would have
to give up the idea, and I would lose any chance of escaping Mrs. Q and
saving Mama.

Our sojourn here in Molly’s employer’s country estate had not
been all fun and games, hugs and kisses and inevitable bedroom antics. Our
stay had been overshadowed by the consequences of the Lewellen murder in
London, and the unexpected appearance of two Agents of the Queen, the
catlike Miss Clayton and her equally predatory Miss Felicity Cressy.

They suspected Pascal of being a foreign agent attempting to steal military
secrets from Mr. Allenby’s factory. Miss Clayton had ordered me to spy
on him, a repellent task which I’d soon whispered to him under the
bedclothes. Despite the cost of ending my dream, I’d begged Pascal to
leave England as soon the snowstorms had relinquished their bitter hold. He
resented the need, having protested his innocence, but had agreed, albeit
reluctantly, that the more distance between him and Miss Clayton the
better.

Feet padded behind me as one of the twins grabbed me by the waist, lifted
my silk bathrobe, and with his feet and knees he pushed my legs apart so his
determined cock could find my semen-filled cunny. Our debauchery had caused
us to run out of Cumberland prophylactics, which meant yet another douche
with Mrs. Q’s secret potion.

He draped a blanket over both our shoulders to keep us warm while he fucked
me. Was it Anthony or Mathew? I couldn’t tell. They were truly
identical in every respect, even to the size of their manly organ. The only
way to tell Mathew from his brother was to insert my finger in his arsehole
while he fucked me. He didn’t enjoy it, while his brother did. Whoever
it was, his thrusts were urgent and powerful, and I soon rested my forehead
against the cold pane and lost myself to his plundering.

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development
consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by
night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is
concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags
of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

Author on Facebook

 

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

 

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Crucible by Franca Storm #promo #releaseday #giveaway #dark #romanticsuspense #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours

 Dark Romantic Suspense

Date Published: 10-11-2023

 

 

Some burn in the fire, others are forged in it.

 

I’m justice.

I’m deliverance.

I’m punishment.

Ultimately, I’m a dealer of death.

It’s exactly what they need from me.

To push back the enemy.

To keep them all safe.

I’m always one step ahead.

Until her.

She wasn’t meant to be here.

She’s tempting a cruel twist of fate.

Now he’s got her in his crosshairs.

He’ll feed off her vulnerability.

He’ll make her a victim of his obsession.

If I can’t pull her out, she’ll drown in the dark.

She’ll become as twisted as the rest of us.

 

About the Author

Franca writes emotional and gritty reads about alphas with a dark side and the kickass women who turn their worlds upside down.

A Marvel and DC fan, you’ll often find her binging on superhero shows and movies. Away from that heart-pumping action, she’ll relax with a good book, or work on conquering her next 1,000-piece puzzle.

She writes to alternative and hard rock with her storyboard of inspiration by her side and some tasty snacks along for the ride. A cross between a pantser and a plotter, she’s happiest when she’s fully immersed in crafting her fictional worlds.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

Pinterest

Instagram

TikTok

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

ENTER THE GIVEAWAY

Cyrus by Marteeka Karland #comingsoon #preorder #motorcycleclubromance #excerpt #romanticsuspense #rabtbooktours @MarteekaKarland @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

Iron Tzars MC, Book 8

 

MC Club Romance

Date Published: September 8, 2023

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Odette — My life has gone down the toilet. I accidentally got myself
involved with a married man and had an… accident. Don’t get me
wrong, I didn’t love the cheating bastard, but I hate that I got
played. Naturally I did what any self-respecting eighteen year old would do.
I went to a karaoke bar and got wasted. Not my finest moment. So, when I
land in the arms of a man I’ve fantasized over for the past two years,
I’m not even surprised. My luck is just that bad.

Cyrus — The first time I met Odette she was only sixteen and already more
trouble than I knew what to do with. She’d been about to make a
mistake with a prospect from her brother’s club when I intervened. The
next time I see her, two years later, she’s singing like an angel,
drunk off her ass. I have to get her out of that bar. Taking her home with
me to our club doctor feels like the right thing to do. Deciding she’s
mine to care for and protect might make me a possessive bastard, but I
don’t like the word no so I’m not giving her the chance to
object.

 

WARNING: Graphic violence and adult situations that may be triggers for
some readers. Features a protective hero and a determined heroine. Eventual
happy ending and NO cheating, as always.

 

 

EXCERPT

 

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2023 Marteeka Karland

Cyrus

Odette Muse was trouble with a capital T-R-O-U-B-L-E. She was also the much
younger half-sister of a man I knew when we were in the Air Force together.
Last I heard, he still lived in Palm Beach, Florida, and rode with a club
called Salvation’s Bane. I’d met Odette there where she was
trying to sneak into the compound with a prospect she was way too good for.
At sixteen she’d been a free spirit. In love with life and all the
pleasures of the flesh, so to speak. That had only been two years ago, but
it was a memory that was clear as fucking crystal. I’d stopped her
from fucking that prospect by dragging her back to her brother, but I had no
doubt she’d found someone else. Hopefully a man more worthy of her
beauty and passion. As well as closer to her own fucking age. Though now, at
eighteen, I suppose it didn’t matter as much.

I clenched my fists as I made my way toward the stage like I was in a
trance. Emotions were elusive for me. Things better left in a sealed box
inside my mind. Not today. Rage like nothing I’d ever experienced
poured through me like molten lava. Hot and viscous. It clung to my insides
and seared me from the inside out as I watched other men watching her.
Touching her when she danced near them as she sang fucking karaoke. I
wasn’t good with emotions. Mine or anyone else’s. So this punch
to the gut was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.

Odette was better than this. She should sing her own songs. Be in a famous
band. Anything other than being the main entertainment at fucking karaoke
night in a backwoods bar. I was torn between jerking her off the stage and
taking her out back to spank her delectable ass, or killing any motherfucker
who touched her. Maybe I’d do both.

I’d just reached the stage when the song ended. She stood there with
a huge smile on her face, holding a microphone while she waved at the
cheering crowd. Odette jumped straight up, throwing her arms in the air in
joy, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. What the fuck
was she doing here? And why wouldn’t Blade give us a heads-up if he
knew his sister was coming this way?

She stumbled sideways and nearly fell on her ass. Thank God I was there to
catch her or she’d have broken her fool neck falling from the stage.
Like she hadn’t just fallen off the stage right into a strange
man’s arms, Odette laughed and threw her arms around my neck. I could
smell the alcohol on her the second she dropped into my arms but also her
own faint scent of honeysuckle. That scent had haunted me ever since the
first day I met Odette.

The little nymph buried her face in my neck and inhaled. “Ain’t
smelled a man like you since I tried to nail me a biker.” God, that
sultry voice! The woman had me hard as a fucking rock with just her fucking
voice. And her scent. And the softness of her skin. The crowd roared and the
people next to us pawed at her. She seemed oblivious as she nuzzled her face
against my skin. “So delicious…”

“Snap out of it, Odette!” I growled at her. No clue if she
heard me or not, but I doubted she did. Even if it wasn’t so loud I
couldn’t hear myself think in there, especially once another song
started up and the next singer belted out her song as loud as Odette had, I
was pretty sure Odette was completely wasted. Anything I said or did until
she sobered up would be a waste of time and breath.

 

About the Author

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.

 

Author’s Instagram and Twitter: @MarteekaKarland

Publisher on Facebook, Twitter & Instagram: @changelingpress

 

Preorder Today

 

Crucible by Franca Storm #dark #romanticsuspense #coverreveal #comingsoon #preorder #darkromance #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours

 

Dark Romantic Suspense

Date Published: 10-11-2023

 

 

Some burn in the fire, others are forged in it.

 

I’m justice.

I’m deliverance.

I’m punishment.

Ultimately, I’m a dealer of death.

It’s exactly what they need from me.

To push back the enemy.

To keep them all safe.

I’m always one step ahead.

Until her.

She wasn’t meant to be here.

She’s tempting a cruel twist of fate.

Now he’s got her in his crosshairs.

He’ll feed off her vulnerability.

He’ll make her a victim of his obsession.

If I can’t pull her out, she’ll drown in the dark.

She’ll become as twisted as the rest of us.

 

About the Author

Franca writes emotional and gritty reads about alphas with a dark side and the kickass women who turn their worlds upside down.

A Marvel and DC fan, you’ll often find her binging on superhero shows and movies. Away from that heart-pumping action, she’ll relax with a good book, or work on conquering her next 1,000-piece puzzle.

She writes to alternative and hard rock with her storyboard of inspiration by her side and some tasty snacks along for the ride. A cross between a pantser and a plotter, she’s happiest when she’s fully immersed in crafting her fictional worlds.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

Pinterest

Instagram

TikTok

 

Preorder Link

Amazon

 

DOC (Desert Rebels MC, Book 8) by Tory Richards #promo #romanticsuspense #newbooks #releaseday #giveaway #rabtbooktours @ToryRichards @RABTBookTours

Book 8 Desert Rebels MC series

Romantic Suspense

Date Published: 08-01-2023

 

 

Doc has been a member of the Desert Rebels for a long time. He had his own clinic until a sweet, beautiful nurse came on board and ruined everything.
Harlow is married and a complication Doc didn’t need. He tried; he really did. But after a while he couldn’t stand working beside a woman he wanted
more than he needed air to breathe.

Giving his practice up seemed the only solution, but life has a way of kicking you in the ass when you least expect it. Harlow becomes friends with some of the old ladies and suddenly she’s frequenting the clubhouse and club owned bar. There’s only one way Doc can survive being around her.

Make the beauty hate him any way he can.

About the Author

Tory Richards is an author who writes smut with a plot. She’s an Amazon bestselling author in erotic romance and romantic suspense categories. Born in Maine, she’s lived most of her life in Florida where she went to school, married, and raised her daughter. She’s retired from Disney and spends her time with family and friends, traveling, and writing.

 

Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Blog

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Purchase Links

Amazon

Kobo

iBooks

Smashwords

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