Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: January 16, 2026
never been more dangerous.
Cora — Survival is my full-time job. Delivering groceries to the Kiss of
Death MC should’ve been just another stop… until Rancor stepped
out of the shadows and looked at me like he already knew my secrets. His quiet
strength is wrapped in scars and heat. He’s the kind of man who could
break the world but touches me like I’m the only soft thing he’s
got left. I should run. Instead, I keep driving through those gates, craving
the one man who makes me feel safe in ways I don’t dare say out loud.
Rancor — I buried my heart years ago. Grief, violence, and prison killed
anything left inside me, and I was glad. It meant I didn’t have to feel
anything. Then Cora walked into the compound and cracked me open with a single
glance. She’s brave without meaning to be, a storm in a small frame, and
the first woman to make me feel anything since the night my life ended. One
touch, and I knew I’d protect her with my last breath. One kiss and I
knew I’d kill for her. I’ve already lost too much to lose her,
too. Especially not to the same family who already ruined my life.
Cora
The gates of the Kiss of Death MC compound loomed ahead, iron and rust and
threat. I knew the place was called Kiss of Death because there was a big-ass
sign on the gate. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel of my beat-up
sedan. No one wanted to deliver here, and for good reason. My second delivery
here felt even worse.
The first time I could blame ignorance, on not knowing better. This time I
drove through those gates with full knowledge of what waited inside. At least,
I hoped I did. The people inside these gates had been nothing but kind to me.
Tipped well, too. I still found it hard to let my guard down in a place
literally named Kiss of Death.
The sedan’s engine coughed as I pressed the accelerator. The sound
seemed too loud, even in a place that could get noisy. The rumble of a bike
starting up had me jumping. As the guy caught sight of me, he froze and shut
down the bike. Next thing I knew he was rolling backward, pushing the bike
with his feet until he returned to the inside of the garage. I rolled forward,
past the gates.
Camo netting stretched between the buildings, creating shadows in the
afternoon light. The warehouses formed a perfect square like some kind of
military precision in architecture. If I didn’t need the money, I
definitely wouldn’t be here.
The main building rose ahead. I’d been directed there last time, so I
aimed for the same spot. I thought about the envelope from my first delivery.
Cash, all of it, with a tip that equaled half the order total. That money had
bought groceries for a week, gas for two. It had been the difference between
making rent on time and asking my landlord for another extension I
wouldn’t get.
The parking area materialized ahead. I pulled in next to a row of motorcycles,
their chrome catching the filtered light through the netting. My sedan looked
all kinds of wrong among them.
I shifted into park and killed the engine. The silence felt worse than the
noise. Now I could hear everything. Distant music from somewhere inside the
compound. Male voices, laughing. It all sounded so normal I wanted to laugh at
myself. Obviously they’d been grateful to get someone to deliver here
and had treated me well. The phone app tracked my movements, kind of like a
safeguard, so I really had little to worry about. I hoped.
My fingers fumbled with the door handle. Metal, cold against my palm. I pushed
it open and the hinges squeaked, announcing my presence to anyone within
earshot. The air outside tasted different than in my car. Heavier. It carried
scents I couldn’t identify; motor oil and something sharp underneath,
something that made my lizard brain want to run.
Movement from the clubhouse caught my eye. Hannah bounded out waving as she
hurried to me. She’d been the one to meet me last time.
She hurried toward me with an easy confidence and a bright, genuine smile I
envied. Her dark hair caught the filtered light, pulled back from her face in
a way that revealed high cheekbones and those striking hazel eyes. She wore
jeans and a simple T-shirt, and a black leather vest. I’d noticed last
time the vest was similar to her husband’s, though the back proclaimed
her as “Property of Knuckles” where his simply said “Kiss of
Death MC” and “Nashville, TN”. It sounded barbaric, but this
woman didn’t seem oppressed in any way. In fact, when I met her the last
time, her husband had dropped a kiss on top of her head as he’d passed
her and hadn’t let Hannah carry anything from the car.
I raised a hand in an awkward wave, immediately feeling stupid for the
gesture. But Hannah’s expression softened further, and she picked up her
pace. I moved to the back of my car and lifted the trunk lid, ready to help
her unload.
“You came back.” Hannah’s voice held a warm welcome that
seemed impossible in this place. She stopped a few feet from my car, close
enough to be friendly but far enough to respect boundaries. “I
wasn’t sure you would.”
“The order came through.” I tried to keep my voice steady,
professional. “Same as last time.”
“And you accepted it.” Something shifted in her expression, a
subtle approval that made me stand a little straighter. “Most drivers
reject anything with our address. The guys haven’t done anything, but
this many ex-cons in one place makes people nervous, I guess.” She
frowned. “People tend to overlook the good they do. Not every person
guilty of bad things are bad people.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You know, I never thought about it that
way. But you’re right. I shouldn’t judge people unless they give
me reason to.” I looked away, suddenly ashamed of myself.
“I’d be in a world of hurt if people judged me by what they saw on
the surface.”
“Hey.” Hannah moved closer, reaching out to touch my shoulder
gently. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. We truly are
grateful someone is willing to give us all a chance.” She smiled,
squeezing my shoulder gently before dropping her hand.
“Um, can I ask a question?” I didn’t know why I asked her,
but once I had, I intended to follow through.
“Of course.” She looked pleasantly curious.
“I saw a guy when I first came in today. He came out of that
building,” I pointed back the way I’d come. “But he turned
off his bike and rolled back into the shadows.” I swallowed hard. If
I’d gotten too nosy I might well have crossed a line I shouldn’t
have. But it was odd! Also, I might be feeling a little paranoid. But to my
surprise, Hannah only smiled.
“The guys know this place isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. They
also know that some people are scared of the noise, to say nothing of the men
themselves. There’s not one of them who doesn’t look scary as
hell.” She grinned. “But every single one of them sat through and
energetically participated in the Christmas party they had for the women and
children in the shelter they help protect. The kids adore them all.”
Before I could respond, movement behind her drew my attention. Another figure
emerged from the clubhouse, moving with a deliberate slowness that made every
step feel intentional.
My breath caught. He was big. Tall and broad-shouldered, and big in the way
that suggested power held in careful check. His shoulders stretched a gray
T-shirt to its limits.
His head was shaved clean, and somehow, the man was more intimidating for its
starkness. But it was his face that made my fingers tighten on the grocery bag
I still held. Weathered. Lined with stress that had carved deep grooves around
his mouth and between his eyebrows. He looked like a man who’d forgotten
how to relax, if he’d ever known.
He approached with that same measured pace, each footfall deliberate. The way
he moved reminded me of documentaries I’d seen about predators. Not
rushing. Never rushing. Because predators didn’t need to hurry when they
knew their prey couldn’t escape. My heart, which had just started to
calm, kicked back into overdrive.
“Cora, this is Rancor.” Hannah gestured between us, casually as if
introducing neighbors at a barbecue. Thank God she didn’t notice my
discomfort because how embarrassing would that be? “He’s going to
help with the groceries.”
His gaze met mine, and I forced myself not to look away even though every
instinct screamed at me to drop my gaze. His eyes were dark, nearly black in
the shadow of the camo netting, and he studied me with an intensity that made
my skin prickle.
“Ma’am.” His voice was quiet and rough, as if he
didn’t use it much.
“Hi.” The syllable came out higher than I wanted. I cleared my
throat. “There are a lot of bags.” Brilliant conversational
skills, Cora. Truly impressive.
But Rancor just nodded, a single dip of his head, and moved past me to the
trunk. He smelled like soap and motor oil, the combination oddly intriguing.
I stepped back, giving him room.
He reached into the trunk and pulled out several bags at once, hoisting them
like they weighed nothing. His forearms flexed, muscles shifting under skin
decorated with what looked like a burn scar. Then he turned and walked toward
the clubhouse, that same deliberate pace.
“So.” Hannah’s voice pulled my attention back to her.
She’d moved closer, filling the space Rancor had vacated. “You
deliver every day?”
“Most days.” I watched Rancor’s back as he walked away, the
way his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders. “Depends on the
orders.”
“That’s a lot of driving.” Hannah leaned against my car,
comfortable in a way I envied. “You like it?”
Did I like it? I liked eating. I liked having electricity. I liked not being
homeless. My job met those ends.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Flexible schedule.”
Hannah’s smile widened. Not mocking. Understanding. “Money
talks?”
“Sometimes, I guess.” No point in pretending otherwise. My car was
clean, inside and out, and I took care with my appearance. I didn’t have
anything fancy, nor did I know how to do makeup or anything, but I kept myself
clean, my clothes washed and pressed. Obviously, I didn’t have much, but
I had pride.
Rancor emerged from the clubhouse, empty-handed now, heading back toward us.
My pulse quickened at his proximity. Stupid. His presence made my pulse jump
and my body betray me. I’d seen good-looking men before, both nice guys
and dipshits. For some reason, though, this guy just did it for me when he
shouldn’t. Story of my life. Wanting things I had no business dreaming
about.
He reached the trunk and grabbed another few bags. This time when he lifted
them, his eyes cut to mine briefly. Just a flicker of contact, there and gone,
but it jolted through me like touching a live wire. I looked away first.
Examined my shoes as if they held the secrets of the universe.
“Where are you from?” Hannah asked, still making conversation like
this was normal, like we were normal people in a normal place.
“Here. Nashville.” I shifted my weight. “Well, just outside
the city.”
“You grow up here?”
“No.” The word came out clipped. I didn’t elaborate. Hannah
didn’t push. She seemed to have a way of paying attention to my body
language and feeling me out.
Hannah glanced toward Rancor, who was emerging from the clubhouse again. When
she looked back at me, something knowing glinted in her hazel eyes.
“I’m glad you came back. Hopefully I can make a friend because you
did.”
Rancor collected the last of the bags. His fingers brushed the trunk’s
edge near where mine rested. We weren’t touching, but we were close
enough that I felt the heat of his skin.
He straightened with the final bags and paused. Looked at me full-on, not just
a glance but actual eye contact that held for three long heartbeats. Then he
walked away, and I remembered how to breathe.
When I finally brought my attention back to Hannah, I found her watching me
with that same knowing expression, approval written in the curve of her mouth.
I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with danger and everything to
do with desire I had no business feeling.
Rancor must have set his load down somewhere because he now stood near the
clubhouse door, hands loose at his sides, watching us. Watching me. The weight
of his gaze pressed against my skin like humidity before a storm.
Hannah shifted closer, close enough that her voice dropped to something almost
conspiratorial. “You know,” she said, quiet enough that Rancor
probably couldn’t hear her. “You couldn’t pick a better
protector than any of the men from Kiss of Death.”
The words hit me wrong. Too direct. Too knowing. Like she’d reached
inside my head and pulled out thoughts I hadn’t fully formed yet.
“I’m just delivering groceries.” I kept my voice light,
aiming for casual and probably missing by miles. “I don’t need
protection.”
But even as I said the words, I felt the lie in them. I was one bad
day’s work away from being homeless. I lived in a really shitty part of
town because I couldn’t afford anything better.
Hannah’s smile suggested she heard everything I didn’t say.
“Of course.” I didn’t know what to do with the implication
hanging between us. That I needed protecting. That I might want protecting.
Or, more aptly, that the men here, Rancor specifically, could provide the
safety I longed for.
The idea should have offended me. I’d spent years learning to protect
myself, to need no one, to be self-sufficient in every way that mattered.
I’d always been stubborn. At least, I had been after I left my
parents’ sphere of influence.
Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double
life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife
by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in
spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable
heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful
ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are
speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined
with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a
sigh from her readers.
Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband
with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for
preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts
(which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with
Marteeka’s latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her
website. Don’t forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you
with a potpourri of Teeka’s beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph
events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.
Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland
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