Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Christmas Romance
Date Published: December 12, 2025
keeps.
Heather — Brick promised me a good paying job. I just didn’t know he
was working for a cartel. When their money went missing, I was hunted along
with him, used and finally left with the Hounds of Hell MC in Mercy to answer
for his crimes. If not for Player, I would have wound up dead or worse. He
claimed me as his old lady to keep me from being turned over to the cartel. He
shielded me, fought for me. And somehow, I started to believe I mattered
again. The cartel is still gunning for me, but Player’s not backing
down. He says I’m his, and I want to be. If we can survive this.
Player — I’m called Player for a reason. My life’s been a string
of one-night stands and bad decisions. Until Heather. She’s scared and
in over her head, but there’s something about her I can’t shake.
When Brick left her in Mercy, running from the cartel he stole from, I made a
choice. I don’t care what she’s done or what they think she knows.
Heather is under my protection now. And if anyone wants her, they’ll
have to go through me — and every single brother I’ve got.
Warning: Player contains adult language, explicit sex, violence, threats of
torture, stalking, and references to past emotional abuse. It also features a
dirty-talking alpha biker who will cross every line to protect the woman he
claims as his own.
Player
The Hounds of Hell clubhouse sat at the far end of Main Street, past the reach
of the twinkling lights and holiday carolers who’d turned Mercy’s
annual tree lighting into a full-blown event last night. Normally, the Hounds
didn’t bother with Christmas decorations because they were too much
trouble, too much cheer. But this year was different.
Deva, Razor’s old lady, made it clear even if the club wasn’t
going to feel like home, the place could at least look the part for the
holidays. No one was going to tell the president’s lady no. So now
mismatched strands of blinking lights clung to the porch like a half-hearted
apology, and the scent of pine fought to cut through layers of leather, smoke,
and liquor. Inside, the mood was anything but festive.
Since Player had lost a bet, one he still claimed was rigged, he’d
earned the honor of decorating the Christmas tree Deva had dropped off at the
clubhouse the night before. The tree was still boxed in Razor’s office,
fake pine branches and all, along with a tub of lights, ornaments, and exactly
one glitter-covered star Snow refused to touch.
Player had his hand on the doorknob, figuring he’d grab the box and let
Razor know he was making good on his punishment. But then he paused, hearing
Razor and Snow talking in low and clipped voices, the kind of conversation you
didn’t interrupt unless invited. Whatever was going down in there, it
wasn’t about garland or tinsel.
He heard the rumble of a bike pulling in out front. Curiosity made him let go
of the doorknob and head for the front of the clubhouse to see who’d
come calling.
The bike now parked out front belonged to Brick, a patch from the Mississippi
chapter in Biloxi. From what he remembered, the guy was all swagger and no
spine. Player didn’t like him, but Brick had never been dumb enough to
test anyone here directly. He’d visited Mercy a couple of times in the
past, but he always had the good sense to fly under the radar.
A second rider dismounted, swinging one long leg over the back of the bike. A
woman. No, not just a woman. A vision.
Her dark jeans clung to her like old sin, her boots dusted with grit from the
road. A leather jack hung too heavy on her slender frame. When she pulled off
the helmet, she shook loose long, glossy dark spirals of hair. She turned her
head enough for Player to catch a flash of wide green eyes and a full mouth. A
woman who looked like that should be all sass and fire, but there was a
wariness about her. Her gaze moved over the front of the clubhouse as though
being there filled her with dread. She expected trouble.
Was she with Brick? How had he gotten a woman who looked that good? Brick
looked like he’d crawled out from under a busted oil pan and
hadn’t changed his shirt since. He had a thick neck, and a gut
stretching the bottom of his cut. He wore his hair slicked back, as if he
thought he still had a full head of it. The man’s nose was twisted from
too many fights he probably hadn’t won, and a mouth that curved like he
was about to lie.
Brick turned and spoke to her. She nodded and followed him. There was a subtle
shift in her posture. Her shoulders were tight. She was bracing for a fight.
Player wasn’t buying those two as a couple. She didn’t belonged on
the back of Brick’s bike or in his bed unless money was involved.
Staying in the shadows near the main entrance, he folded his arms and watched
as Brick swaggered toward the clubhouse.
The main door opened, and Brick walked in with the woman, just in time to see
Razor and Snow walk back to the front of the house.
“Brick,” Razor said, voice flat. “Didn’t expect to see
you.”
Brick gave Razor a lazy grin. “I’m calling in that favor, brother.
Need a place to crash for a while. Lay low.”
Favor, huh? Player stepped toward the front door. Razor didn’t do
favors. Anyone who knew the man knew that. But Player had a pretty good idea
what favor Brick was talking about.
Back when Sadie had first showed up in Mercy, before becoming Axel’s old
lady, they’d found a tracker on her car, put there by the abusive Mafia
boyfriend she’d been running from. To throw him off, Ryder, Axel’s
twin, had driven the vehicle all the way to Mississippi. The Biloxi Hounds had
been the ones to help him make the tracker disappear without a trace.
If that was the “favor” Brick meant, it wasn’t much of one.
Ryder wouldn’t have needed a lot of help to lose the tracker. If Brick
was desperate enough to stretch the truth about something like that, there was
a lot more to why he’d shown up here with a woman on the back of his
bike.
Razor’s stare was ice cold. Apparently their president didn’t like
Brick any more than Player did. Player leaned against the wall, letting his
presence be known. Brick’s gaze moved toward him and back. Player
smiled.
Razor looked Brick over like he was already sorting out the lie.
“Funny,” he said. “I don’t remember owing you
shit.”
Brick tipped his chin up. “You don’t, huh? What about when Ryder
came down to Mississippi with that tracker you needed gone? Who do you think
helped him ditch it in the bayou, so no one found it?”
Razor’s gaze didn’t so much as flicker. “I remember Biloxi
helping him out. Didn’t know that meant you specifically.”
Brick gave a shrug meant to look casual. “I was there. Helped ditch the
thing myself. Figured that kind of help might buy me a place to breathe for a
few days.”
“You think you’re in the right place for that?”
Razor’s voice was low, dangerous.
Snow shifted beside him, arms crossed. Player watched the way Brick’s
gaze bounced between them, like he couldn’t decide who’d swing
first.
“You want a roof? I want answers,” Razor went on. “Why
you’re here. What kind of heat’s chasing you.” Razor’s
hazel-eyed gaze shifted to the woman standing behind him. “And her? She
yours?”
Brick gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Yeah. She rides with me.”
“Didn’t ask if she rode in with you. I asked if she’s
yours.”
“Heather’s with me,” Brick said, a little more force in his
voice now. “You don’t need to worry about her.”
“If she’s under this roof, she’s my business,” Razor
told him. “You want her here, then I need to know she’s not a
problem.”
Brick chuckled without humor. “She won’t be. She knows how to stay
quiet.”
Snow’s jaw muscle moved. Their VP didn’t like men who talked about
women as if they were property. Not in his clubhouse. Not since he met his
little blonde baker, Emily.
Snow remained silent, his gaze locked on Brick like he was already considering
the consequences of dragging the fucker out by his dirty collar. Player felt
the same way, and not only because Brick was an asshole. They’d all seen
worse. What bothered him was the way the young woman with him stood behind
him. She was keeping quiet, and she didn’t look down or even move.
Seemed like she didn’t want to draw attention. Was she afraid of
something? The only thing he knew for sure about her was she didn’t
belong with a man like Brick. Player couldn’t decide if that made her
more interesting or more dangerous.
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.
