Tag Archives: MC Romance

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | September 24, 2025 · 5:00 am

Viking Teaser

Dixie Reapers MC (#24) Bad Boys (#2)

MC Romance

Date Published: September 26, 2025

She brought a child and a secret. He promised protection—and
delivered passion.

Karoline: My world crumbled when I found out my brother was killed in action.
But the shock deepened when a social worker showed up with Athena—a
niece I never knew existed. With my brother’s last wish urging me to
seek out his best friend, Viking, I found myself at the gates of the Dixie
Reapers MC. What I didn’t expect? The dangerous, inked biker who once
teased me as a kid now makes my heart race… and my body ache.

Viking: I never thought I’d see Karoline again, let alone with a kid in
tow. The moment I laid eyes on her—all grown up and looking like
sin—I knew I was in trouble. But with threats from her brother’s
past closing in, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Karoline and her
niece safe—even if it means risking my heart and breaking every club
rule. But secrets don’t stay buried, and neither does desire.

If you love protective, possessive bikers, secret baby/child tropes, and
off-the-charts chemistry, Viking brings you a ride-or-die romance with heat,
heart, and a hero who falls hard and fast.

Excerpt

Karoline

Athena fell asleep on the couch after lunch, curled into a tight ball with
Hopper the rabbit clutched against her chest. I covered her with a soft
blanket, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way her
copper curls spilled across the cushion. She hadn’t spoken a single word
since arriving — not to me, not to the social worker. Not even a whisper.
Three hours into guardianship, and I was already wondering if I’d made a
terrible mistake thinking I could do this. She was so small, so vulnerable,
and so completely shut down that I had no idea how to reach her.

Lunch had been an awkward affair — me chattering nervously about nothing
while she stared at the peanut butter sandwich I’d made, taking tiny
mouse bites only after I’d demonstrated that it was safe to eat.
She’d followed me around the house like a silent shadow, those watchful
eyes taking in everything but giving nothing away. When I’d suggested a
rest on the couch, she’d climbed up without protest and simply curled
into herself, as if trying to take up as little space as possible.

My heart ached thinking about what might have happened to make her this way.
Kris would never have neglected her — of that I was certain. Had the woman
who’d been caring for her done something? The thought made my gut clench
in protest. I’d never understand people who could harm sweet innocent
children.

I glanced at the small pink suitcase the social worker had brought in, sitting
untouched by the front door. Maybe there were answers there. At the very
least, I needed to know what she had, what she might need.

Moving quietly so as not to wake her, I carried the suitcase to the kitchen
table and unzipped it. The contents were pitiful — a few sets of clothes,
most looking worn and slightly too small. A pair of pajamas with faded
unicorns. A toothbrush in a plastic case. A small stuffed dog that had seen
better days. I had a hard time picturing my brother neglecting his daughter to
this extent, which made me think it had been the caregiver’s fault. And
at the bottom, a plastic bag containing an envelope. My breath caught when I
saw my name written on the front — Kris’s handwriting, the familiar
slant of his letters making my eyes sting with fresh tears.

“Oh, Kris,” I whispered, running my fingers over the ink. It was
real, tangible proof that he had existed, that he had thought of me. That he
had trusted me with the most precious thing in his life.

With trembling hands, I opened the envelope and pulled out several sheets of
paper. The first was a formal-looking document — legal paperwork naming me as
Athena’s guardian and requesting that I adopt her in the event of his
death. It was dated just three months ago, as if he’d somehow known his
time was running short. Of course, I’d already handled paperwork like
this from the social worker, but seeing a copy my brother personally sent to
me hit me hard.

Behind this was a handwritten letter on lined paper, folded in thirds. I took
a deep breath and unfolded it.

Lina,

If you’re reading this, then I’m gone, and I’m so damn sorry
for that. I’m sorry for a lot of things, especially for not telling you
about Athena sooner. I wanted to. Every time we talked, every time I saw you,
I wanted to tell you about this amazing little person who has my stubborn chin
and your fiery hair. But I couldn’t risk it — not until I was sure it
was safe.

Athena is my daughter. Her mother was someone I met during a mission four
years ago. It wasn’t serious between us, but when she told me she was
pregnant, I stepped up. When Athena was born, her mother decided she
couldn’t handle parenthood and signed over full custody to me.
I’ve been raising her with help from friends when I’m deployed.

Here’s the part that’s going to be hard to believe, but I need you
to trust me. If I died during a mission — and if you’re reading this,
that’s what happened — then there’s a chance you and Athena could
be in danger. The work I was doing was classified, and there are people who
might think I told my family things I shouldn’t have. They might think
Athena knows something, or that I left information with her or her caregivers.

I didn’t. I never brought my work home. But these people don’t
take chances. So I need you to do something that’s going to sound crazy.
I need you to take Athena and go to Lief Hansen — Viking, as he’s
called now. He’s with the Dixie Reapers MC in southern Alabama.
He’ll know what to do. He’ll keep you both safe.

I know I’m asking a lot. I know you probably haven’t seen Lief in
years. But he’s family to me, and he’ll protect what’s mine.
And Lina — you and Athena are mine. My sister. My daughter. The two people I
love most in this world.

Just go to Viking as soon as you can. He’ll explain everything.

I love you, Christmas girl. Take care of my little one.

Kris

I stared at the letter, reading it again, and then a third time, trying to
make sense of the words. Danger? People coming after Athena? It sounded like
something from a spy movie, not real life. Not my life.

But Kris was dead. That part was all too real.

I glanced back at the couch where Athena slept, peaceful for the first time
since I’d met her. Could someone really want to hurt this innocent
child? Or me? It seemed impossible, paranoid even. Yet Kris had never been the
paranoid type. If he thought there was danger, there must be some basis for
it.

And Viking… Lief Hansen. The name sent a complicated flutter through my
chest. In my mind, he was still the golden giant who’d called me
“Little Kringle” and made my teenage heart race. But he
wouldn’t be that person anymore. According to Kris’s letter, he
was part of a motorcycle club now — the Dixie Reapers. I’d never heard
of them, but the name alone conjured images of rough men in leather, doing God
knows what.

Could I really just show up there with a traumatized three-year-old? What
would I even say? Hey, remember me, your old friend’s little sister? The
one who used to follow you around like a lovesick puppy? Well, my
brother’s dead, this is his secret daughter, and apparently, we might be
in danger from mysterious unnamed enemies. Can we crash with you?

It was absurd. All of it.

And yet…

I looked at the letter again, at Kris’s familiar handwriting. I need you
to trust me, he’d written. And I did. Always had. From teaching me to
ride a bike to helping me through my first heartbreak, Kris had never steered
me wrong. If he thought Viking was our best option, then that’s what we
would do.

I folded the letter carefully and slipped it into my pocket. Then I walked
back to the couch and knelt beside it, studying Athena’s sleeping face.
Her long eyelashes cast faint shadows on her freckled cheeks. Her tiny hand
clutched Hopper’s ear, keeping him close even in sleep.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I whispered, gently brushing a curl
from her forehead. “I promise.”

I had no idea how to protect us from whatever danger Kris thought might be
coming. But I knew who might. And no matter how awkward, how difficult it
might be to face Lief Hansen after all these years, I would do it. For Athena.
For Kris.

Tomorrow, we would find the Dixie Reapers.

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

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by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | March 4, 2025 · 5:00 am

Deuce Teaser Tuesday

Riptide MC, Book 2

MC Romance

Date Published: March 7, 2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

First impressions and all that… Sophia tried to nail me with a tire
iron.

Sophia:

All I wanted was a decent guy who would treat me right and be a good dad to
the kids I’d like to have someday. My first two dates from the
“premier dating app” were total duds. Date number three gave me
the creeps in person. Turns out my instincts were spot on. He slipped
something in my coffee, threw me in the back of a van, and headed out to
sell me! Lucky for me, dad’s a doomsday prepper. Taught me mechanics,
hand to hand combat… all the things you teach your little girl if you
think the world is going to hell. So I pried the door open with a tire iron
and jumped out. And landed at the feet of a 6′ 6″ tatted up
biker.

Deuce:

When Rattler and I stopped behind a van at a railroad crossing. a woman
came hurtling out the back like an avenging angel. Blood dripping from road
rash on her arm, she still tried to nail me with a tire iron. Turns out a
trafficking ring abducted her, and she isn’t keen on the idea of being
sold to the highest bidder. She has guts, I’ll give her that. After my
old lady split, I thought I was done with couples shit, but Sophia makes me
rethink my life. Sophia’s mine, and if those assholes want her back,
they’re going to have to go through me.

WARNING: Deuce contains graphic violence and adult situations. There is no
cheating, no cliff-hangers and a guaranteed happily-ever-after. Enjoy!

Excerpt

A fresh wave of dizziness assailed me, and my vision blurred.

“You don’t look so good.” George sounded concerned,
meeting my eyes for the first time since we’d met. “Some fresh
air might help. How about we step outside for a minute?”

“Good idea,” I mumbled. My tongue felt too big for my mouth.
What was happening?

I pushed myself to my feet, and George came around the table. Putting an
arm around my waist, he helped steady me as I stumbled toward the exit.
Thank goodness we’d picked a table near the door. The dizziness
worsened, and I was having trouble seeing.

“Can I help?” It was the girl from the counter. “Should I
call someone?”

By now, if George hadn’t been holding me up, I would have fallen flat
on my face.

“Can you get the door for us?” George sounded confident, like a
man who had things under control. “She just needs a little fresh
air.”

“No problem.”

She opened the door and I staggered outside, leaning heavily on George. The
fresh night air hit me in the face, but it didn’t make me feel any
better. My stomach started to churn. Add nausea to the list of
symptoms.

Someone wrapped an arm around me from the other side and helped George half
carry me across the parking lot. I turned my head, attempting to see who the
new person was but a fresh wave of dizziness assailed me.

“Parked the van over there away from the lights.”

That would be the new person. A guy. I didn’t recognize the voice.
Deep. Possibly sounding creepier than George. I tried to pull away but
whatever was happening left me too weak.

We stopped for a moment, and the creaking of metal hinges sounded loud in
the night.

“Up you go.” George grasped me by the waist. The touch of his
hands creeped me out, but I was too weak to protest.

“Careful. Don’t want to bruise her up. Hard to get full price
for damaged goods.” This comment came from the mystery man as I
concentrated on keeping the contents of my stomach where they
belonged.

“I know what I’m doing. Not like this is my first
time.”

I felt myself being lifted and placed down on a pile of material that
smelled like used motor oil. George’s presence disappeared, and I
heard the metallic echo of a door slamming shut.

I rolled over, and the sudden movement increased the nausea. I pushed
myself up on all fours, my head hanging down as I took deep breaths and
tried to steady myself. The smell from the questionable stuff under me did
not help with the nausea.

The floor shifted suddenly, and I lost my balance, falling to the floor. My
stomach heaved in protest, and I vomited up the bitter coffee along with the
lasagna I’d had for dinner before heading off to meet George.

Having emptied my stomach, I collapsed on my side, breathing heavily. The
nausea and dizziness retreated to a manageable level. I opened my eyes
cautiously.

I could see better now. It was dark, but as my eyes adjusted to the dim
lighting, I realized I was in some type of vehicle, and it was moving. I
recalled the words of the mysterious second man. A van – like a
delivery truck. There was a wall. I couldn’t get upfront to where the
guys were sitting. And I was damn sure I didn’t want to go where they
were taking me.

I pushed myself upright into a sitting position. Despite the lingering
dizziness in my head, one thing was abundantly clear. I needed to get out of
here.

I used a handful of whatever I was laying on to wipe my face, gagging at
the smell. Standing seemed like a bad idea, with the van lurching back and
forth. It needed a decent alignment. Or some new shocks. Whatever. Not my
problem.

I crawled to the back of the vehicle. I was still weak, but as my head
slowly cleared, I realized I must have been drugged.

The bitter tasting coffee. George must have slipped something in my coffee
when I went to get the rags to clean up his mess. Had the mess been
intentional to get me out of the way so he could spike my drink?

These guys knew what they were doing, and that spurred my need to escape.
There were two of them and one of me. Even if I managed to throw off the
effects of the drug, there was no way I could fight off two full grown men.
My imagination went into overdrive. I had to assume wherever they were
taking me was not public. They could do whatever they wanted and there would
be no one to hear me scream.

Fear-fueled adrenaline overpowered the remaining drug in my system. I
scrambled my way to the back of the van and clawed at the doors.

I screamed as loud as I could. Surely someone would hear me and go for
help. Or call the cops. People didn’t seem to want to get involved
these days, but surely a woman screaming from inside a van would get some
kind of response.

“Scream all you want. No one else can hear you,” George shared
with an repulsive chuckle.

Weren’t these delivery vans supposed to have a release on the inside
so people didn’t get trapped in them? I got unsteadily to my feet and
reached up as high as I could, sliding my hands down the doors. It had to be
here somewhere.

Two thirds of the way down, I found it. My heart sank. There was a latch
all right, but someone had broken it off. When I tried to push it, the latch
swung loosely around in a circle without any effect on the doors.

I screamed in frustration and banged on the doors until my hands felt raw.
Sinking down on my haunches, I let out a helpless sob.

I pulled myself together. I wasn’t going to just sit here and wait
for whatever sick plans these guys had for me. I crawled across the floor,
feeling frantically for something, anything, that I could use to pry the
doors open.

In the front corner, I found it. A tire iron. Gripping it tightly, I made
my way to the back of the van just as it lurched to a stop.

I could hear loud engines, other vehicles pulling up behind the van. I
screamed again. And again. Surely they could hear me, but I wasn’t
going to count on it.

Standing was a whole lot easier now that the van was still. I inserted the
sharp edge of the tire iron between the two doors and pried. Nothing
happened. I screamed in frustration and jerked harder on the tire iron.
Nothing.

I could feel time running out. Fear of what George and his buddies had in
store for me intensified with each passing moment. I had to get out of here.
No knight in shining armor was going to ride in on a white horse and save
me.

I moved the tire iron down so that it was in line with the broken release
and threw my entire body weight against it. For a second, it held fast. Then
the lock gave way with a loud screech of bending metal.

The doors burst open.

Off balance, and still gripping the tire iron with both hands, I fell out
of the van and landed on the pavement with a painful jolt. I rolled over and
staggered to my feet.

Less than a car length away, staring at me from the back of a shiny red and
chrome motorcycle, was the most dangerous looking man I’d ever
seen.

About the Author

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little
rescue dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and
too many fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act
normal, but finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008,
and her fate was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage
Publishing and just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first
submission. Since then she has published more than thirty stories in a
variety of sub-genres, all with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys
spending time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not
playing with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming,
playing guitar, singing and of course, reading.

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

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

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by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | February 4, 2025 · 5:00 am

Razor Teaser Tuesday

Hounds of Hell MC (#6)

MC Romance

Date Published: 2/7/2025

Publisher: Changeling Press

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

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

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

Excerpt

Deva

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About the Author

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

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

Author Contact Links

Author on Facebook

Author on Amazon

Author’s Website

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

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by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | December 18, 2024 · 5:00 am

Parson Blitz

(Scorned Devils MC 3)

MC Romance

Date Published: December 20, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

Building a hundred walls will not prevent Parson ripping away each brick to
get to the man who is his.

Parson: Raised in a religious family who accepted Parson’s
homosexuality, he struggles to understand Langston Gillman’s inability
to embrace who he is, what he feels. Pars put off patching with the Scorned
Devils MC in fear of losing his lover. Never again. Parson will patch with
the club and he means to have the man he desires. Pars vows to pursue Lang
until he stands vulnerable and ready to surrender.

Langston: Bullied as a child, Langston has reached the age of fifty-two
loathing his gayness. He navigates life by planning every moment of each
day. Still, occasionally he is unable to rid himself of his need for a man.
Unfortunately, Lang desires bad boys. When one particular bad boy rides into
his life on a Harley, his presence leaves Lang confused and angry. Langston
finds himself yearning for more with Parson. Problem is the biker not only
refuses to cut ties with Scorned Devils, the local MC, he will not be hidden
by Langston.

Rules are made to be broken, and Parson will not live his life in denial.
He intends to turn Lang’s world upside down, no matter the
consequences.

Excerpt

Parson

Calmness was the keystone of Parson’s life.

Today he sat beside his cousin, Mark, in a pew near the back of The Church
of the Trinity Episcopal church, praying to find rekindle that trait.
“I’m not asking for confession, and I don’t need a priest.”

Mark Turner was a deacon and while he could hear confession, only the
priest could give absolution. Parson didn’t need that. “I’m not seeking
the sacrament, because I’ve not done anything I regret.”

The deaths of the Bayside Specter president and VP had been a necessity, a
matter of survival, and Pars experienced no remorse over the sordid
affair.

“Good, because Father Tyson is preparing for Sunday service.”
Mark stared. “What do you want, Randall? Sorry, you prefer
Parson.”

“Right. Nothing, man. I’m torn about the relationship I’m in. Or was
in.”

“You’re not living with — what’s his name, Langston? —
anymore?”

“No.” Pars had done the one thing Langston Gillman would never
accept. “He’s being unreasonable.”

“Have you spoke truthfully with him regarding your
feelings?”

Mark was aware — hell, the whole family knew — Parson was openly gay.
None held his relationships as a sin, believing his love life was between
him and God.

“Does he know you love him?”

“No.” Parson twisted on the hard bench to better see Mark.
“What makes you say that?”

“Lord help me. You’re thirty-one and you’ve never been in a
relationship this long. What else could it be?”

Parson ignored Mark’s comment because, damn, Parson hadn’t thought about
that. Yeah, he cared greatly for Lang, but love? “He kicked me
out.”

“Let me guess — because you belong to the motorcycle club that runs
around, or as some believe, runs, the city of Coatesville.”

“He doesn’t like that I’m a member of the Scorned Devils MC, but I
can’t allow him to dictate who I can hang out and be friends with. Because
of his feelings, I put off patching.” Parson picked at his fingernails.
“Done playing games. I am who I am. Patched last week.”

“I see.”

Sunday parishioners started entering. Parson still needed to see Dread and
talk about meeting with the city officials at Cutters tomorrow regarding
plans for the Christmas toy drive. “Hey, thanks for letting me
vent.”

“Wish you weren’t an only child.” Mark sighed. “Not sure I
was much help, but if you ever need to talk to someone aside
from…”

“They’re my brothers, Mark. They’d never see harm come to
me.”

“That’s what concerns me. What lengths would your brothers go to in
keeping you safe? I’m not blind to what happens with motorcycle clubs,
Pars.” Mark stood. “I’ve heard about unsavoriness taking place in
our community.”

Talk of the Specters’ bikes being destroyed at the Midway and rumors behind
the incident had finally died down. There were other disputes, and if the
perpetrators were wrong, yeah, they got beat down. Without knowing what his
cousin might have heard, Parson couldn’t claim all the stories were lies. He
wasn’t going to get in to it now. Glancing down at his watch, Parson headed
for the door. “Damn, Mark, I gotta run.”

When Parson reached Hell’s Lair, the gate sprung open immediately. Damn
Spinner, anyway. He was always on the computer, watching the comings and
goings of everyone. Shit, it was Spin’s turn to keep an eye out for unusual
activity around the Scorned Devils MC compound. Spin hadn’t come back to his
place last night which, meant he’d camped out in the loft. As annoying as
Spinner could be, he kept Parson’s thoughts from drifting to Langston.

Parson spied Dread with his feet propped on the desk as he entered the
office. “Hey, man. What’s up?”

“Nothing much.” Dread scrutinized Parson. “You’re early for
a Sunday.”

Pars usually hit the clubhouse after church. Today, he’d skipped services.
“I was hoping to talk to you before you got busy.” Sitting across
from Dread, he sighed loudly. “Is there another place we can hold
meetings with the city council?”

“For years those fuckers have let us do the all the organizing for
this event. Mostly they sit at meetings pretending they want to be there.
They take credit at the end of the parade when all we get to say is — Santa
Claus has come to town.” Dread studied Pars. “Hey, it’s for the
less fortunate children. Shit, we’re the local MC some of those same members
would like to see disappear. Don’t really want them in my restaurant unless
they’re paying customers, but it is what it is, Pars. Sure as hell not
having them here if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

“Wouldn’t expect that, but there are other places in town.”

“None I want to be involved with.”

“Look, Dread, Cutters is…”

“Langston is off on Sundays and Mondays. You won’t have to deal with
any shit.”

Parson’s chest deflated when he relaxed against the chair back. He wasn’t
sure Dread noticed. “Great.”

Standing, the VP walked to the office door and closed it. “No need for
everyone to hear your business.”

Fuck, Pars was going to get an earful.

“I don’t know what happened and I don’t really give a damn. I know
Langston’s been a prick this last month.” He stood right in front of
Pars. “I see the fire in your eyes but I’m not the one you want to go
toe to toe with today, or any day, about me calling a prick a prick. He’s
been hell to deal with.” Backing up a step, he glared. “Fuck
Langston. Or don’t. Whatever you choose, straighten your shit out because
not every meet will be held on Monday. We have to consider the needs of a
lot of people. If you can’t handle this, let me know now.”

“I got this.”

“Perfect.”

Pars got up to leave but Dread stopped him. “Another MC is joining us.
They don’t have a drive where they are.”

“Who?”

“The Immoral Sinners out of Harrisburg.”

“Don’t know any of them well, but I do hear they are unruly as
hell.”

“Yeah, I know. They’re small, but troublesome.”

About the Author

Growl and roar — it’s okay to let the beast out. — J. Hali Steele

J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay
warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of… Well, she can’t
do those things but she wishes she could!

J. Hali’s a multi-published Amazon bestselling author of Romance in
Paranormal, Fantasy, and Contemporary worlds which include ReligErotica and
LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters and angels collide —
and they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can
be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap, and a cup of
coffee.

Author on Instagram/Facebook: @jhalisteele

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

Pre-Order Today

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Tagged as J. Hali Steele, MC Romance, Parson

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | July 26, 2024 · 5:00 am

SIN New Release Blast

Death Riders MC

MC Romance

Date Published: 07-23-1124

Publisher: Evernight Publishing

Adira Dobias thought she had the perfect life along with a perfect
fiancé. When she discovers her supposedly pious parents aren’t
the God-fearing people she thought them to be, it sends her running. She
arrives in Cardinal, at the home of a childhood friend, in order to figure
out where to go next.

When she applies for a job at a strip club, owned by the Death Riders, Ares
hires her on the spot. He thinks she is the woman he and Hunter have been
searching for. The perfect woman to belong to both of them.

It was only supposed to be fun, but somewhere along the way, Adira’s
heart got entangled. When a misunderstanding leads to disaster, the two men
have to work fast so they don’t lose the woman they’ve fallen
for.

Dedication

For everyone who has enjoyed the Death Riders stories. This one may not
have a paranormal twist, but I hope you like it anyway.

Teaser

As he cleaned up the interview table the door opened and a young woman
entered, hovering in the doorway. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back.
Big blue eyes looked around, wide-eyed and innocent. She wore jeans and a
t-shirt, and had no make-up on her face. And she didn’t need it
because she was fucking gorgeous. His dick also noticed, very interested in
what she was doing here.

“Can I help
you?” he asked.

“I…um, well,
I was here to apply for the job.”

Her voice was soft. Melodic. He bet she’d scream beautifully with
pleasure, and he wanted to be the one who gave it to her. Wanted her to cry
out his name when she came. She looked like a fucking angel with a body made
to sin. Narrow waist, long legs. Tits more than a handful. He really wanted
to get her naked and under him.

“Certainly,”
he said, smiling. Hoping to relax her. “I’m Ares. I own The
Pussy Willow.”

She gave a self-conscious wave. “Nice to meet you. I’m Adira.
Am I too late for an interview?”

He shook his head.
“Not at all. How did you hear about the job?”

Her fair complexion flushed red. He didn’t remember ever seeing a
woman blush before and it fascinated him.

“I was in a coffee
shop and I eavesdropped on two women talking.”

That amused him.
“All right.”

He strode closer, and the scent of warm spice hit him, making his mouth
water, and he realized it was her. He licked his lips, wondering if she
tasted like sugar, spice and everything nice. “Do you have any
experience being a hostess?”

Disappointment dulled her eyes. “No. I don’t have a lot of work
experience. I-I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

She turned to leave and he hurried to push the door closed, preventing her
from disappearing. By doing that, however, brought him flush against her
body, her back to his chest. The contact had his heart galloping and his
cock going rock hard in an instant.

“Don’t go,” he murmured softly. A little tremor rolled
through her body and he hoped to fucking God it was because she felt what he
was feeling. “I don’t care if you don’t know how to greet
customers. I can teach you everything you need to know.”

About the Author

I write about the very ordinary woman thrust into an extraordinary
circumstance, so my heroines will probably never be lawyers, doctors or
corporate high rollers. I try to write characters who aren’t cookie
cutters and push myself to write complicated situations that I have no idea
how to resolve, forcing me to think outside the box. I strive to create
characters who are complex and full of flaws. Heroes and heroines who find
redemption through love.

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