Tag Archives: Motorcycle Club Romance

by | July 15, 2025 · 5:00 am

Xavier Teaser Tuesday

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Xavier cover

 

Kiss of Death MC

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: July 18, 2025

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Xavier may be an ex-con, but he’s strong, protective, and totally
sexy. He’s my hero.

 

Tillie: At the lowest time in my life, I realize I might have gained my very
own guardian angel. I never saw Xavier as more than a friend, but then he went
to prison for me. I’ll never forget his sacrifice. He’s the one
person I can tell anything, the one person I trust above all else. He’s
also the man I’ve built up in my little fantasy world as being the
perfect husband. Only problem is, I forgot he’s still a killer. How can
I be with a man who’s capable of taking a life? I’m torn between
my growing feelings for him and my fear of what it means to love a man like
Xavier.

Xavier: Did I have to kill the man who beat Tillie? No. But I’m headed
to prison anyway, so why not get an added bonus? Tillie defended me to anyone
who would listen, but I still never expected she’d be almost religious
in coming to see me every Saturday. I also didn’t expect to fall in love
with the beautiful, spirited woman. Seeing her smile now is worth the extra
time I’m spending away from my brothers in Kiss of Death and the comfort
of home. Unfortunately, my little Tillie is a magnet for trouble. Good thing
she has me to protect her, because there is nothing I won’t do for
Tillie. Nothing. If I have to kill for her again, so be it. Anyone who touches
her is dead. May God have mercy, because I won’t.


Warning: Adult situations, graphic language, and violence, which may be a
trigger for some readers.

 

 

Xavier tablet

EXCERPT

 

Xavier

“Hey, Sugar.” The one bright spot in my life was Tillie St.
Martin. Ironic because the night I found her was in the middle of the worst
damned storm I’d ever tried to drive through. That was also the night
that changed mine and Tillie’s lives forever.

I think I had a weird sort of connection with her from the second she looked
at me over her shoulder, soaked to the skin in ripped and blood-stained
clothing, with an angry-looking bruise forming on her left cheek. She was
walking down a two-lane country road at one in the morning. Nothing good
happens at one in the morning if you’re forced to walk on a deserted
road in the middle of a storm.

“I did it, Xave!” She grinned brightly at me through the
bulletproof glass. She had the wall phone to her ear and looked so happy my
heart was breaking.

Then I frowned. “Wait a minute. You’re not moving to San Diego
with that creep you were telling me about last month, are you?”

“What?” She jerked back, a scowl on her face. “You honestly
think I’m that stupid?”

I had a moment of panic. Clearly, I’d fucked up. I just wasn’t
sure how. “Of course, you’re not stupid!” I rubbed my hand
over the back of my neck. “But I’m not sure what I said to make
you think I’d think you were stupid?” She raised her eyebrows.
“OK, clearly, we need to start over.”

Then she broke out into giggles. “You’re so cute when you think
I’m irritated at you.”

“I kinda thought I’d said something to thoroughly piss you
off.”

“Pfft.” She waved away my words. “I could never be pissed at
you. You’re my hero after all.”

“Aww, Tillie. You have no idea… Seeing you smile, how much
happier you look now… You kind of gave me a whole new outlook on
life.”

“Oh?” She was still smiling but she looked genuinely curious. Not
like she was humoring me. “What’s that?”

“Sometimes, the outcome is worth the fuckin’ consequence.” I
grumbled out the words, but it was the fucking truth. Yes, I was in prison.
Would I rather be on the outside with my brothers? Sure. But I could pull my
weight with the club in prison same as I could out. Given that I had some good
connections here in Terre Haute, I figured I’d make the best of a bad
situation. Like I said, some things were just worth the cost.

Tillie’s face softened and she put her palm against the window. I put
mine over hers against the glass. I’d never actually touched her skin,
but I could imagine how her hand would entwine with mine. She was twenty-three
years old. Way to fucking young for me when compared to my thirty-eight years,
but her life experiences made her seem older sometimes.

“You ended my nightmare, Xavier. I will never take that for granted.
I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“Only thing I ever want from you is for you to be happy. You never have
to come back here, Tillie. I know this is a scary place sometimes. But if you
do come by occasionally, I hope you always have a smile this bright on your
face.” That got me another beautiful smile, but also a trembling chin
and two tears from her pale green eyes. “So. If you’re not moving
to San Diego with Dipshit, what’s got you all smiles, Sugar?”

She gave a watery laugh as she swiped at her tears. “I did it.”

“Well, yeah, you said that.” I grinned, trying not to chuckle but
failing miserably. “Gonna have to give me an antecedent to go with your
pronoun, baby.”

That really got an amused laugh from her. “Really? Antecedent?”

“Hey. You’re the author between the two of us. You should know
those kinds of words, what they mean, and how to avoid making me say
them.”

“Fine. It refers to buying a house.” She bounced in her seat
excitedly.

I grinned. “You’ll have to show me pictures when you get moved
in.”

“Oh, I will.” Her grin got even wider. “Want to know the
best part?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“I’m moving to Terre Haute.”

OK, this was unexpected. She lived an hour and a half away but had never
mentioned she was moving, let alone anywhere close by. “Honey, why would
you move to Terre Haute?”

“Two reasons.” She straightened, her smile still really wide.
“First, Terre Haute has way more affordable housing. I found a house for
half the price in Terre Haute than I could find in Indianapolis.”

“I could see that.” I tried to keep a lighthearted expression on
my face, but I could tell something was up. “But why get a place of your
own at all? I thought you were happy to stay with your folks.”

“Well, that’s the second reason.” She still smiled and still
seemed happy, but also… sad? Scared?

“Tillie…” I gave her a stern look, knowing something was
off. Every instinct in my body was now screaming at me. Not because I thought
she was in danger. Because, I knew with every fiber of my being, someone had
hurt her feelings. And that simply was not acceptable. “What.
Happened?”

 

 

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.

 

Author Contact Links

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

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

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by | June 24, 2025 · 5:00 am

Hammer Teaser Tuesday

Hammer cover

 

Hammer cover

(Dixie Reapers MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: June 27, 2025

 

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Get ready to dive into the gritty yet heartwarming world of the Dixie
Reapers.

Amelia: I know monsters. Hammer isn’t one, regardless of what he says. He’s a
born protector with a big heart, and he’s exactly what my family needs. Sure,
there’s a big age difference between us, but why should I care about other
people’s opinions? All that matters is that Hammer makes me happy. He’s just
what my sons need and he and the Dixie Reapers can protect me from my piece of
s**t ex. Anything else is unimportant. Now I just have to convince him that we
make a good team.

Hammer: I haven’t walked the path of righteousness by any means, but it
doesn’t mean I’m a heartless bastard. Found out I had a kid who’s now a
Prospect. Discovered I had a granddaughter, and now I’m a great-grandfather.
Adopted a kid who didn’t have anyone. None of that makes up for the shit I’ve
done in my past, or the fact I’ve been in and out of prison most of my life.
So why does the sweetest woman I’ve ever met see me as her savior and not the
monster I really am? Somehow she’s become mine, along with her teen boys. If
anyone ever said I’d be a family man, I’d have laughed in their faces. Guess
the joke’s on me.

Are you ready to experience a love story that challenges the boundaries
and proves that every heart deserves a second chance?

 


Warning: Hammer is intended for readers 18+ due to adult situations, bad
language, and violence. There’s no cheating, no cliffhanger, and a guaranteed
HEA!

 

 

Hammer tablet

 

EXCERPT

 

Amelia

I sat on the deserted Florida beach as dusk painted the sky in shades of
orange and pink, my boys flanking me like sentinels. The rhythmic crashing of
waves against the shore masked our hushed voices, nature’s white noise
ensuring no one would overhear plans that could get us killed.

We’d chosen this spot carefully — far enough from the tourist areas to
avoid casual onlookers, but public enough that Piston wouldn’t think to
look for us here. My old man hated beaches, hated sand, hated anything that
couldn’t be controlled. The vastness of the ocean offended him somehow,
as if the world had no right to be bigger than his ego.

The setting sun cast long shadows across the sand, stretching our silhouettes
into distorted versions of ourselves. How fitting. We’d been living as
warped reflections of a family for too long — smiling in public while wearing
concealer over bruises, making excuses for absences at school functions,
practicing cover stories until they flowed from our lips more naturally than
the truth.

“Do you think he knows we’re gone yet?” I asked, my voice
barely audible above the surf.

Neither of my sons answered immediately. They’d learned to measure their
words, to calculate risks before speaking. Another gift from their father.

The breeze coming off the water carried a chill that had nothing to do with
temperature. Until this week, I’d been biding my time and slowly
preparing. I’d learned the hard way what happened when we ran. Then
things changed and I knew I needed to get us out of there. Waiting
wasn’t a luxury we could afford. Watching Piston, the boy’s
father, slam my youngest son’s head against the kitchen counter had
severed whatever twisted loyalty I still felt toward him. I’d been with
the enforcer for the Devil’s Minions for seventeen years. At least
sixteen years too damn long.

I glanced at Chase’s profile, so much like his father’s it
sometimes made my heart stutter with fear. But where Piston’s features
were permanently hardened by cruelty and excess, my sixteen-year-old
son’s face showed a different kind of hardness — determination,
protectiveness, the kind of strength that built rather than destroyed.
He’d been taking the brunt of his father’s rage for years,
positioning himself between Piston and his younger brother whenever possible.

On my other side sat Levi, his slender shoulders hunched against the evening
air. At fifteen, he should have been worrying about homework and video games,
not researching safe houses and motorcycle club rivalries. The fading
yellow-green bruise around his eye made my stomach knot with guilt. I should
have left years ago.

“We’ve got about eighteen hours before he realizes this
isn’t a shopping trip,” Chase said finally, scanning the beach for
potential threats. Always vigilant, my oldest. “Maybe less if he checks
the bank account. Especially since he thinks we’re staying overnight
somewhere. When we don’t check into a motel, he’ll come looking
for us.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of time pressing down. Piston hadn’t wanted
me to have access to money — control was his favorite weapon — but I’d
been skimming cash from the household funds for months, hiding small bills in
a tampon box he’d never deign to touch. It wasn’t much but
combined with the emergency credit card I’d applied for in secret, it
might be enough to get us to safety.

“He’ll come after us,” I said, stating what we all knew.
Piston, aka John Minsley, didn’t lose possessions, and that’s all
we were to him — things to own, to use, to break when the mood struck him.

Levi’s fingers curled around mine, his palm clammy despite the cool
evening air. “We planned for that, Mom. The Devil’s Boneyard MC
–”

“Keep your voice down,” Chase hissed, though there was no one
within a hundred yards of us.

The mention of another motorcycle club sent ice through my veins. Trading one
MC for another seemed like jumping from the fire into a different kind of
hell. But Levi had done his research, had shown me the forum posts from women
who’d escaped abusive situations with their help.

“I know you’re scared,” I told them both, squeezing
Levi’s hand. “I am too. But we can’t stay. Not
anymore.”

The evidence of that decision was written on my youngest son’s face, in
the shadows under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and the bruising
from his father’s temper. It was etched in the scars on Chase’s
back from that time Piston had caught him trying to call for help. It was
branded into my own skin, hidden beneath long sleeves even in Florida’s
heat.

Behind us, beyond the dunes and the sparse vegetation, our packed car waited
— everything we could safely take without raising suspicion crammed into the
trunk. Old clothes, important documents hidden in tampon boxes and
hollowed-out books, the few mementos I couldn’t bear to leave behind.

The sky deepened to purple as we sat there, three refugees planning a
desperate escape from a man who would rather see us dead than free. But in
that moment, with the endless ocean before us and my boys beside me, I felt
something I hadn’t experienced in years — hope, fragile as sea foam but
just as persistent.

Chase stood abruptly, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the sand as
he paced a few steps away, never taking his eyes off our surroundings. At
sixteen, he already carried himself like a man who’d seen too much, his
shoulders set with a tension that no teenager should know. The ocean breeze
ruffled his brown hair — the same shade as mine — but his green eyes,
Piston’s eyes, scanned the beach with a vigilance that broke my heart.

“Someone’s coming,” he muttered, nodding toward a couple
walking their dog at the far end of the beach. “We should move.”

I watched as he shifted his stance, angling his body to place himself between
us and the distant strangers. The motion was so automatic, so ingrained, that
I doubted he even realized he was doing it. Years of protecting his brother,
of trying to shield me when he could — it had become instinct. And it made me
feel like a shit mother.

“They’re just walking their dog, Chase,” I said softly.
“They’re not his men.”

His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his tanned skin. “You
don’t know that. Piston has eyes everywhere.”

“We’ve been careful.”

“Not careful enough.” He glanced at his brother, his expression
softening marginally before hardening again. “Levi’s research is
good, but Piston will call in every favor, track every account, hunt down
every friend we’ve ever had.” He knelt in front of me, his voice
dropping to a whisper. “Mom, if we do this, there’s no halfway. We
either disappear completely or we don’t bother running at all.”

The fierce intensity in his eyes reminded me so much of his father that for a
moment, fear flickered through me — not of Chase, never of him, but of the
genetic legacy he carried. Would my gentle boy who used to catch and release
spiders from our bathroom eventually morph into the monster who’d sired
him? Or was that intensity, channeled through love instead of hate, the very
thing that might save us?

 

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 | June 16, 2025 · 5:00 am

Riot Teaser

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Riot cover

(Kiss of Death MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: June 20, 2025

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Violet Harrington has a haunted look about her that pulls at my
protective instincts like nothing has in a long time.

 

Violet — In my world, girls aren’t deemed useful for much other than to
be married off, creating a tie to a rival family. I did my job. I married the
man my family chose, and I got pregnant right away. Now my life is a
nightmare, wondering if this is the day someone will kill me, or worse, take
my son. When Caleb witnesses the abuse I live with, he gives me an ultimatum.
Leave his father, or Caleb will kill the man himself. That’s when my
lawyer introduces me to Quinn Devereaux, the man known as Riot. He asks me a
question I’ve never heard before. What do you need, Violet?

Riot — I was gone the first moment I laid eyes on the tiny woman with the
suspicious twelve-year-old guarding her like a pit bull. She’s my
service requirement assignment — to protect her and her kid from her husband
and father. Domestic abuse is never pretty, but her story hits way too close
to home. I’ll watch over them, and in the end, I’ll do whatever it
takes to prevent history from repeating itself. Even if it means I risk going
back to prison.


Warning: Riot (Kiss of Death MC 4) deals with issues of domestic abuse that
may be triggers for some readers.

 

Riot paperback

 

EXCERPT

 

Riot


Community service. What a fucking joke. I appreciated the fact I needed to pay
my debt to society. I did bad shit and deserved everything the judge gave me
and then some. Knuckles pulled some strings and got me out on parole three
years earlier than expected, and it had come with mandatory community service.
My lawyer told me Knuckles had friends in high places and not to look a gift
horse in the mouth. I understood. I also knew how to keep my mouth shut so I
had no intention of finding out anything more.

I’d only been out of prison three days. Now they expected me to go back
to the courthouse. Voluntarily. I didn’t know why, only that it had to
do with the aforementioned community service.

It was three o’clock on Friday afternoon. My instructions were to wait
outside in a specific area. Which wasn’t suspicious at all. I parked my
bike under a tree at the back of the building and waited. As a condition of my
parole, I had to carry a cell phone on me at all times. I had no trouble a
phone on me. The last thing I wanted was to go back to jail, so if being tied
to the fucking phone meant the powers that be could track my every move, so
fucking be it.

I had to chuckle. I wanted to stay out of prison, yet I was all in with
Knuckles and Kiss of Death MC. An outlaw club by their own admission. Yeah, I
was new and didn’t know all the guys yet, but there were two things we
all had in common. First, we’d all spent time in Terre Haute. Some more
than others. And second, we all knew and trusted Knuckles with our lives.
Knuckles had the keys to the yard in Terre Haute. He’d been the shot
caller on the inside. I thought he probably had more power in prison than most
people did on the outside. If he said he could keep me safe from the probation
officers with an ax to grind, I’d do what he said, when he said do it,
and count my blessings.

The point being, Knuckles was the one who set me up with this particular
lawyer. She’d represented me at my parole hearing and she was the one
who demanded my presence at the courthouse today. Knuckles said do what she
said to the best of my ability and without objection. The details were
supposed to be given to me when we met up. Apparently, this was a rush job or
something. Knuckles said she’d made a point for me to wear my colors and
ride my bike. Jeans, black T-shirt, motorcycle boots, and my cut proudly
proclaiming I’m a member of Kiss of Death MC and that we were a one
percent club. I personally didn’t like this idea, but Knuckles told me
not to worry. He’d kept my ass alive in prison. Just like he had most of
the other guys. No way would he toss me to the wolves now.

I glanced at my watch. Five after three. She’d told me three
o’clock sharp, but I’m just the ex-con biker. What did I know
about being on time?

At ten after, a little white Ford Fiesta pulled up next to me. I was leaning
against the seat of my parked bike, my legs crossed at the ankles and my arms
crossed over my chest. Classic badass biker intimidation pose. The windows
were tinted on all sides except the front. I couldn’t see the passengers
but I recognized the woman who got out of the driver’s side.

“Ms. Thompson. Wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.” I
wasn’t lying. Knuckles had explained everything to me on the way to
Nashville from Terre Haute, but I thought I’d have a little time to
process life on the outside before I got shoved back into the legal system.

“Nothing’s free in this world, Riot. You know that.” Lana
Thompson was an in-your-face powerhouse. She wasn’t the sneak attack you
didn’t see coming. She was the mortar fire you heard half a mile away
and hurried to get the fuck out of the blast zone.

“And it shouldn’t be. I ain’t complainin’. I just
wasn’t expecting my point of contact to be you.”

She gave me a superior smirk. “Oh, you and I will see a lot more of each
other, I assure you. I’m the reason you’re out, you know.
Well…” She shrugged. “Me and my other employer. He pays me.
Knuckles gets his people.”

“Impressive. Do I want to know who your other employer is?”

“Probably not. In any case, I wouldn’t tell you. You want to know
shit like that, talk to Knuckles.”

“Yeah. I’m good.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “When I
asked my parole officer about my community service, he said someone would
contact me. No one has. You sure this is countin’ toward my community
service?”

“Who told you to meet me here?”

“Knuckles.”

She grinned. “Looks like you have your answer.”

“I’m not sure Knuckles counts?”

“You said your parole officer told you someone would contact me. He say
who?” I could tell by the look on her face she knew the answer to this
question but I was committed now.

“He said to do whatever the fuck Knuckles told me to.”

“Uh huh.”

“You know, people would like you better if you weren’t so
smug.” I wanted to be irritated at the woman, but really, her making fun
of me was my own fault. The joke practically wrote itself. I raised my hands
defensively. “Knuckles told me to be here and I’m here. I was told
three o’clock sharp.” I gave her a pointed glance, then down at my
watch.

“Yeah,” she breathed with a sigh. “Sorry about that. Poor
thing’s balking hard.” She nodded to the vehicle and her
passengers. “Her son and I had to coax her into letting him do this and
we still had to practically drag her into the car.”

That got my attention. “What’s going on? What is it I need to
do?” Something inside me coiled tight. I knew without a doubt something
was about to happen that would change my life. Every instinct I had was
screaming at me to pay attention because I was about to get knocked on my ass.

“My client is about to testify that his father beat his mother. Kid
knows his mom is the underdog in this fight. His father’s a big shot
with a whole team of lawyers and she’s got me.” She grinned, but
that feeling in the pit of my stomach was getting stronger by the second.
“Caleb is a good kid. He’s so protective of his mother it almost
hurts. If his father gets Caleb alone, Caleb will do his level best to kill
the guy.”

I gave her a hard look for long moments, replaying her words to make sure
I’d heard her correctly. The weight of everything she was saying was
hitting me like a wrecking ball to the fucking head. This woman had chosen me
for more than one reason. “You fuckin’ bitch,” I bit out.
“Only reason I don’t kill you right here is because it’s not
worth goin’ back to prison.”

“Good!” Bitch Thompson, as I would now refer to her, said with
wide-eyed enthusiasm. “You don’t want to go back to prison.
That’s great! But the only way you stay out of prison is by doing your
community service, big guy, and this is it.”

“Why? Why me? There’s got to be hundreds of other people you could
use for this.”

“You don’t even know what I want you to do yet.”

“Got a pretty fuckin’ good idea. Is this supposed to make me feel
better about what happened and about what I did?”

Instantly, Lana Thompson was in my face. This was the side of her everyone in
the courtroom feared seeing. She’d used the same expression and tone of
voice at my parole hearing as she was using now. Only this time, she grabbed a
hold of my ear and yanked, twisting my earlobe painfully. Sure, I could have
made her stop. I could have seriously hurt her. But I didn’t hit women.
Not for any reason.

“No. It’s not supposed to make you feel better. It’s
supposed to keep that young man out of fucking prison. Now. What are you going
to do about this situation, hmm?” Lana’s voice was silky smooth as
she purred in a supremely satisfied voice.

“The fuck kind of question is that? Have you lost your fuckin’
mind?”

“Can’t you get out of a simple ear hold from a woman half your
size?”

“Lana, what the fuck’s your problem? I could fuckin’ break
you in half and you fuckin’ know it!” I felt like I was the butt
of some joke I didn’t get.

“Exactly!” I thought she might let me go, but she didn’t.
Instead, she twisted harder and I had to lean down to keep her from taking my
fucking ear off. “You’ll stand there and let me hurt you rather
than take a chance on hurting me.” Yep. Definitely the butt of the joke.

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” I snarled my question at
her. “I ain’t gonna hit you. I don’t hit women. Or kids.
Now, let go of my fuckin’ ear!”

To my surprise, she let me go and stepped back, grinning from ear to ear.
“Which was my whole point.” She called out to whoever was in the
car. “You see? Come on out.”

I rubbed my ear, trying to get blood moving again as well as ease the ache. As
I was working up to a scathing remark to Lana, the doors to the car opened and
a boy of about eleven or twelve got out of the back while a short, slender
woman emerged from the front. She wasn’t much taller than the boy and it
was a tossup as to who weighed more.

My heart thumped painfully in my chest and I froze. She had short, shaggy
curls in a riot of orange around her head and skin as creamy as milk. Her eyes
were the palest blue I’d ever seen and almost too big for her face. But
what had me wanting to howl in rage, what had me ready to murder some
motherfucking son of a bitch, was the bruise across her cheek, the finger-mark
bruises on her bare arms, and the cut on her lower lip that stood out like an
accusation.

I swallowed as I stood to my full height, still rubbing my ear absently. The
kid moved in front of his mother but stood his ground.

“See, Violet? This isn’t a man who’s going to hurt
you.”

“What do you need?” My gaze bore straight into Violet’s,
trying to pull the information I wanted out of her head so I could go kill
someone. Déjà vu but I didn’t care. I’d charge hell
with a water pistol and damned the consequences if this woman said to.

“I-I just w-wanted someone strong to be here to support my s-son.”
Her voice was melodious and soft. Like an angel whispering. She was obviously
nervous, that didn’t make her any less beautiful or courageous.
“M-my husband can be…” she trailed off.

“Where do you need me, Ms. Violet?” Because, parole or not, there
was no way I was leaving this woman to deal with some asshole on her own.

 

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.

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

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

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

 

 

 

 

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by | June 10, 2025 · 5:00 am

Beast Teaser Tuesday

Beast banner

 

Beast cover

(Riptide MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: June 13, 2025

 

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Her ex wants her dead. I’ll make him wish he’d never been born.

Piper — Discovering my ex was heir to the Las Vegas mafia totally freaked me
out, but we parted as friends. Or so I thought. Now he wants me dead. I barely
made it out of my house alive. I knew I couldn’t go back, so I called my
father in Georgia for help. His solution? He sent a biker to bring me home.
Imagine my surprise when the biker turned out to be my one-night stand from a
few months back.

Beast — A one-night stand with a sassy stripper in Las Vegas left me wanting
more. I couldn’t get her out of my mind, so a few months later I went
back to find her. That didn’t go so well. She’d disappeared, with
no forwarding address. Fate’s way of telling me to forget her?

I was getting ready to head home to Georgia when Ace called and asked me to do
a favor for Riptide’s FBI contact. His daughter was in San Diego, and
some thugs were gunning for her. She needed protection and transportation. I
was close enough to offer both in a hurry. Turns out Fate has a sense of
humor. I’m not sure how happy my little stripper was when I showed up to
rescue her.


Warning: This book contains violence, adult situations, bad language, and a
very protective alpha male hero. It is part of the Riptide MC series but can
be read as a standalone. There is no cheating, no cliffhangers, and a
guaranteed happily ever after.

 

Beast paperback

 

EXCERPT

 

Having a stripper in Vegas as your mom, you grow up fast. And cynical. All the
time I was growing up, my mom swore she had no idea who my father was, and I
believed her. I’d seen the endlessly changing parade of bed partners
while I was growing up. The list of possibilities for my father was probably
longer than the line up for free booze at a frat house party. When I turned
legal age, I did one of those DNA ancestry things, though, and I’d found
him.

An FBI agent. How ironic is that?

Turns out he was a pretty good guy though. He didn’t bat an eye when I
confronted him, just asked why he’d never heard of me before. I have a
feeling he already knew the answer to that one.

I wasn’t a “Daddy’s little princess” kind of girl —
too late to go down that road. He wasn’t the doting father type either,
so we got along okay. It helped that I lived in the West, and he lived in
Georgia. We’d only met in person once, but we kept in touch, and just
knowing I had one stable parent kind of made me feel almost normal. Almost.

Now it was time to find out just how much he cared. I tapped on his number in
my contact list and waited for him to answer.

“Hello, Piper. What’s up?” He sounded relaxed. Given the
time zone difference between coasts, he was probably settled in for the night
and watching whatever sport was currently being broadcast.

“Hey, Dad. Funny thing happened when I got off work tonight. Got a
minute to talk?”

“Sure.”

“Remember me telling you I’d been dating a guy named Drake, and it
didn’t work out so well?”

“Yeah. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. That would be really bad. See, what I
didn’t mention was the reason I bailed was because I found out Drake had
mob connections.”

“Mafia? Are you serious?” He didn’t sound relaxed anymore.
“Exactly what kind of connection are we talking about?”

I gulped. “He’s being groomed to take over his father’s
operations. As in he’ll be the next don. They run most of the illegal
activity in Vegas.”

Dead silence greeted my statement.

“Dad?”

“I’m here. Just trying to digest this. Ignoring the part where you
were dating a mafia kingpin, you split with that guy months ago, so what
happened tonight?”

“Someone tried to kill me. They said Drake ordered it.”

“That doesn’t make sense. He let you go and ignored you for
months. Why would he suddenly want you dead? No offence, but my experience
with those kinds of guys is they’re pretty casual about their affairs.
Once they’re done, they’re done and they move on, especially if
you were never involved in family activities.”

“Exactly what I thought we’d done. We said goodbye and both moved
on. I even took a gig in San Diego and left the area so I’m nowhere near
him. Haven’t seen him since the break-up. I have no idea what the hell
is going on, or why he suddenly wants me dead.”

“Did he ever discuss his business dealings with you, or did you ever
overhear anything you shouldn’t have?”

“No. I was clueless, until he suddenly decided to fess up. I had a
feeling he wanted out. He knew I wouldn’t hang around once I found
out.”

“Okay. We can figure that out later. Right now, we need to get you safe.
Where are you?”

I looked around. “Hiding under a willow tree a couple of blocks from my
house. Empty lot on the corner.”

“Right. I’m going to send someone to pick you up and bring you
here. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll call you back with details.”

“Thanks.” I let out a sigh of relief. Glancing down at my phone, I
realized it had been less than an hour since I’d left work. Amazing how
quickly life could change.

Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. Dad. I hit accept.

“Good news. One of the groups we use for security happens to have an
agent in your area. He should be there to pick you up in twenty minutes or so,
depending on traffic. Just a heads up, he’s on a bike. You okay with
that?”

“A bike, as in a motorcycle?”

“Yeah. He’s a big guy, lots of leather and tattoos. He looks a
little rough, but he’s decent and I told him to get you a helmet.
Luckily, he was out there on personal business and was just getting ready to
head back here to his home base. There’s a hamburger joint two blocks
east of your position. He’ll meet you there. I sent him a picture so
he’d recognize you. He’ll ask if you like the ocean. You answer
yes, but the riptides are dangerous. Got that?”

I knew the place he was talking about. I stopped in there occasionally for
takeout. Despite the shabby exterior they made damn good hamburgers. This was
starting to sound like a B-rated movie, though, with code phrases and
clandestine meetings. “Are you serious? About the ocean question?”

“You need some way to recognize each other. Code phrases work just fine
for that.”

“Okay. I got it. Yes, I like the ocean, but the riptides are
dangerous.” I paused. “Dad?”

“Yeah, Piper?”

“I appreciate this. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m glad I can help.” He made a sound
halfway between a chuckle and cough. “Not like I have a ton of kids
running around, and we’re just getting to know each other.”

“Thanks anyway.” I stood up and brushed the dried grass and dirt
off my backside.

“Call me when you’re safe with Beast.”

“Beast?” That didn’t sound comforting.

“Just what the guys call him. He looks like someone you’d cross
the street to avoid. Might look scary if you don’t know him, so Beast.
He’s an ex-SEAL and they tend to come with muscles.”

“Okay. A beast on a bike.” I tried to sound cheerful. “Talk
to you soon.” Disconnecting the call, I slung my purse across my
shoulder. I tucked the phone into my hip pocket so I’d feel it if it
vibrated. It occurred to me that Drake had this number. Once I was safely out
of California, I’d have to do something about that.

The burger joint was packed, but I managed to squeeze into a booth toward the
back. I had a good view of the parking lot out the window, and anyone looking
for me would have a hard time seeing me through the crowd at the front.

I ordered fries and a coke. Having someone take shots at me had killed my
appetite but I needed to order something to justify taking up a table. I was
pushing the food around on the plate when the sound of a motorcycle penetrated
the chatter of the dinner time crowd.

The biker pulled his machine up to the front of the building and dismounted.
Dad was right. That guy was huge. Tossing his helmet onto the seat, he raked
his hands through his hair and grabbed a duffel bag from under a cargo net on
the back seat before heading inside. The door hadn’t closed behind him
before his gaze rested on me, pinning me in place.

Picking up a toothpick from the counter, he stuck it in his mouth like a
cigar. A grumpy frown marred his rugged features as he strode between the
tables to where I was sitting.

Shit. I knew that face. And that body as well, although there were a lot fewer
clothes on it the last time I saw it.

And the last time I’d seen him, his name was Johnny, not Beast.

He slid into the seat across from me, his gaze pinning me in place. “So,
how do you like the ocean, Piper?” he asked.

 

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 Contact Links

Website

Facebook

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Goodreads

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

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by | May 20, 2025 · 5:00 am

Rebel Blitz

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Rebel cover

(Devil’s Boneyard MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: May 23, 2025

 

 

Are you ready to dive into a world where love and vengeance
intertwine?

 

Rio — I thought I had my future mapped out with the Army until two men
shattered that dream, leaving me medically discharged and lost. I journeyed
west, then returned east after a call from my superior, urging me to testify
against those who hurt me. When I stepped into a biker clubhouse along the
way, I never expected to find a place I could truly call home. Rebel makes
me want to trust again. He’s charming, bold, protective, and
understanding. I started my journey as a way to escape my past. I ended up
finding a family — and possibly love.

Rebel — The moment Rio walked into the clubhouse, she had my attention.
Proud, confident, and armed, she’s a storm ready to be unleashed. When
her past comes looking for her, I know I’ll do whatever it takes to
keep her safe. Those men have made a fatal mistake. They thought they were
hunters. What they don’t know is that I’m the predator, and they
aren’t walking out of my town alive.

 

Love isn’t just a feeling. It’s a battle worth fighting
for.

 

Warning: Rebel is intended for readers 18+ due to adult situations, bad
language, and violence. The story contains content some readers may find
difficult to read. There’s a guaranteed HEA, no cheating, and no
cliffhanger!

 

Rebel tablet

EXCERPT

I leaned against the wall near the bar, nursing my whiskey and watching the
usual Friday night chaos unfold. The Devil’s Boneyard clubhouse pulsed
with life around me — half-naked women draping themselves over patched
members, Prospects hustling drinks, the bass from the speakers vibrating
through the floorboards. Then she walked in, pushing the door open with more
force than necessary, like she needed everyone to know she wasn’t
sneaking in. The metal hinges had protested with a squeal that somehow cut
through the roar of Guns N’ Roses blasting from the speakers. For a
split second, a few heads turned — then most went back to their business.
Not mine. I kept watching.

Strawberry-blonde hair, fierce blue eyes, and a don’t-fuck-with-me
stride that parted the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea. Something electric
snapped in the air, and I knew my quiet night had just gotten a hell of a
lot more interesting.

She stood there in worn jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket that had
seen better days. Not trying to show skin like the club girls but somehow
commanding more attention. Her eyes scanned the room with military
precision, taking stock of every exit, every threat. I recognized that look.
Had worn it myself once.

The clubhouse wasn’t much to look at. Worn hardwood floors bearing
cigarette burns and knife marks that told stories of parties past. The walls
were covered in a collection of road signs, license plates, and probably a
bit too much Harley-Davidson memorabilia. The lighting was shit — dim
yellow bulbs — but it hid the stains well enough.

She wrinkled her nose, probably at the cocktail of smells — stale beer,
motor oil, leather, sweat, and the unmistakable scent of sex. Her shoulders
tensed as two hang-arounds brushed past her, but she stood her ground.
Didn’t flinch. Interesting.

Charming sat at his usual table in the corner, silver-threaded hair
catching the light as he nodded at something Havoc was saying. Even from
across the room, you could feel his presence. His years as president had
that effect. Men unconsciously straightened when he looked their way,
women’s voices dropped to deferential tones. Not out of fear — though
plenty feared him — but out of the kind of respect that can’t be
demanded, only earned.

I watched her clock him immediately. Smart girl. In a room full of
predators, she’d identified the alpha in seconds. Her eyes narrowed
slightly, assessing, calculating. But she didn’t approach. Instead,
she made her way to the bar, keeping her back to the wall, ordering
something I couldn’t hear over the music.

“Who’s the new blood?” Chaos appeared beside me, beer in
hand, voice unnecessarily loud as usual.

“Don’t know yet,” I said, not taking my eyes off her.
“But I’m about to find out.”

“She looks like she’d cut your dick off for saying hello
wrong.” He grinned, obviously considering this a challenge rather than
a warning.

“Then I better say it right.” I drained my whiskey and set the
glass down with a decisive clink.

Across the room, one of the club girls — a blonde with tits that defied
gravity and the IQ of a doorknob — was trying to chat her up. Probably
recruiting for the stable, or assessing if she would be a rival. The
strawberry blonde’s expression had gone from cautious to thunderous.
Time to intervene before something ugly happened.

I crossed the floor in long strides, noticing how several of the brothers
were now watching with idle interest. New female faces always drew
attention, especially ones that didn’t fit the typical groupie
mold.

“Tiffany,” I said to the blonde, not bothering with
pleasantries, “I think Java’s looking for you.”

She pouted, those silicone lips forming a perfect bow. “I’m
just being friendly, Rebel.”

“Be friendly elsewhere.” My tone left no room for
argument.

She huffed but retreated, her six-inch heels clicking against the hardwood.
I turned to the newcomer, close enough now to see the freckles scattered
across her face and the tension in her jaw.

“The recruitment pitch gets old fast,” I said, not bothering
with introductions yet. “You looking for someone specific, or just
lost?”

Her eyes — startlingly blue up close — locked onto mine. “Do I look
like the type that gets lost?”

Southern accent. Georgia, maybe. And an attitude I could feel from three
feet away.

I smirked. “No, you look like the type that walks into a biker
clubhouse alone on purpose. Which means you’re either crazy or have a
death wish.”

“Or I can handle myself.” Her hand shifted slightly, drawing my
attention to the slight bulge under her jacket. Carrying. Interesting.

“I don’t doubt it.” I gestured to the bartender for two
more drinks. “But even the best fighters might think twice about a
thirty-to-one ratio.”

The corner of her mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close.
“Thirty? I counted fourteen, and half of them are too drunk to stand
straight.”

I laughed, genuinely surprised. “You military?”

Something darkened in her expression. “Was.”

The bartender slid two whiskeys toward us. I pushed one her way.
“I’m Rebel.”

She eyed the drink suspiciously. “Original.”

“Says the girl who hasn’t given her name at all.”

She picked up the glass, sniffed it, then took a small sip. Testing.
“Rio.”

“Like the city?”

“Like the river. It flows where it wants to.”

I raised my glass in acknowledgment and took a swallow, feeling the burn
hit my throat. “So what brings you to our humble establishment, Rio
who flows where she wants to?”

Her eyes flicked around the room again, lingering on a group of Prospects
playing pool. “Just passing through. Heard this was where the action
is in this shithole town.”

“And what kind of action are you looking for?” I kept my tone
neutral, but we both knew what the question implied in a place like
this.

She met my gaze head-on, challenge sparking. “Not the kind
you’re thinking.”

“You’d be surprised what I’m thinking.”

A commotion near the door drew our attention. Two Prospects escorting a
belligerent drunk outside, his protests lost in the music. Rio’s hand
had drifted back toward her concealed weapon, her body tensing for
trouble.

“Relax,” I said, stepping slightly closer. “Just the
usual Friday night housekeeping.”

“I don’t relax in places I don’t know with people I
don’t trust,” she said, but her hand dropped back to her
side.

I studied her for a moment — the way she held herself, alert but not
skittish. Dangerous but controlled. “Smart policy.”

Across the room, Charming’s gaze connected with mine, one silver
eyebrow raised in silent question. I gave a subtle nod. Nothing to worry
about. Yet.

“Your President’s watching,” Rio said without turning
around. The observation impressed me — she’d maintained awareness of
the room without being obvious about it.

“He notices everything,” I confirmed. “Especially
strangers with hidden weapons.”

 

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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