Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: July 17, 2026
Griffin -- Veda Garrison should have run from me. Instead, she aimed a gun at my chest and dared me to betray her. Big mistake, sweetheart. Now she’s mine to protect, mine to crave, and mine to keep alive. Her evidence could destroy a trafficking ring, ignite a war with the Steel Serpents, and expose men powerful enough to own the law. They want Veda? They’ll have to come through me.
Warning: Adult themes including kidnapping, sex trafficking, and political corruption, which may trigger some readers. Protective ex-con hero, HEA, and, as always, no cheating, no cliffhangers.
EXCERPT
Veda
Four months of work fit inside a hollowed-out pen pressed against my sternum. Ten minutes ago, I decided this was the last night I would ever set foot inside Enclave Éclipse. The back office held its usual smells. Lemon furniture polish from the cleaning crew that came through Tuesdays and Fridays, the dry-paper musk of ledgers stacked four deep on the metal shelving, and underneath all of it the faint sour note of Carl Pruitt’s cologne, which he reapplied every afternoon at three like a man trying to mask his lover’s perfume before he went home to his beautiful wife.
Carl’s desk sat in the middle of the room, the dominant feature. Oversized, mahogany veneer, the leather chair behind it big enough for a man twice his size. The bottom drawer was the one I had photographed last, the one where the master ledger lived under a false bottom that any auditor with a ruler would have found in nine seconds. Carl was not bright. He’d been skimming his bosses for a year and change, and that, I suspected, was about to matter to Carl in a very huge, very permanent way.
I crouched behind the second shelving unit with my knees pressed together, trying to keep my breathing slow and shallow when I heard the front buzzer go. Then the hallway door. Then the murmur of voices that did not belong to Carl.
I froze when the office door opened and four men walked in. Carl came first, walking on his own but not by choice. His collar was already dark with sweat and his hair stuck to his forehead. Behind him came two men I had never laid eyes on. But the man who entered last almost made me whimper in fear.
I’d seen Iron twice before, both times here at the club and only from a distance. He was broader up close. The tattoos that climbed up the side of his neck disappeared into his short beard and over his shaved head. His gaze swept the room and stopped at the desk. He noticed the open ledger on top of it that I hadn’t had time to put away. He noticed the chair. He didn’t notice me, because I sat very still and I had picked my hiding place in week two for a reason. Thank God I had a small, wiry frame.
“Sit,” Iron said.
Carl sat. The leather chair sighed under him.
Iron walked to the desk. He looked down at the open ledger. He looked at Carl. He did not raise his voice. In fact, he used all the inflection he might if he ordered a cup of coffee. “Someone’s been going through the books,” Iron said, still not raising his voice. He tapped a thick finger on the open ledger. “These numbers are wrong.”
Carl’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I keep everything --”
“You’ve been skimming, Carl. That’s fine.” Iron smiled, a bare flash of teeth. “Everyone’s got their hand in the cookie jar. But someone else has been keeping their own set of numbers. And that’s not fine.”
“I don’t -- I swear to God, I wouldn’t --” Carl’s voice cracked.
Iron snatched Carl by the hair and slammed his face into the desk with a wet crack. Carl’s nose sprayed blood across the ledger pages. Iron hauled him up by the hair, Carl’s feet barely touching the floor, and slammed him down again. This time the sound was different, duller, and Carl’s legs kicked once and then stopped moving entirely. Iron let go. Carl slumped sideways in the chair, his head lolling, one hand flopping limply against the desk edge before he slid to the floor.
I pressed my hand flat over my mouth and watched Carl’s hand from my hiding place. I kind of felt bad but Carl was a swine and he deserved everything about to happen to him.
Iron turned to one of the other men. “Clear the hallway.”
The man nodded and left the room. Seconds later, I heard the thud of something heavy hitting the wall, a muffled shout cut short, then the scrape of something being dragged. The door opened again, and the man returned with two of the hallway workers, a young man with a sleeve of tats and a woman with her dark hair in a tight bun. Both had their hands bound behind them with zip ties, both looked like they’d been smacked around. Terrified didn’t begin to describe the pair.
“Against the wall,” Iron said.
The two men pushed the workers to the far wall. The woman tried to speak, her words slurred through what was probably a broken jaw. “Please -- we didn’t --”
The shots came before she could finish. I couldn’t be sure because I didn’t have a direct line of sight, but I thought they’d both been shot in the head. Blood spread across the laminate wood flooring in a dark pool.
Iron’s men began pulling files from the cabinets, sliding hard drives into a duffel bag one of them had brought in. They worked methodically, opening each drawer in turn, checking the contents before removing them. One of them moved to Carl’s desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out the master ledger. He handed it to Iron, who fanned the pages with his thumb, then nodded and set it aside.
My pen camera had gotten it all. Every page, every column of numbers, every name. Four months of surveillance distilled down to what would fit on a micro SD card.
Iron turned in a slow circle. Again, I couldn’t see everything but I imagined he gave the room a final once over. Then, without changing his tone, he said, “They’re still here.” The other men stopped what they were doing.
“Someone was in this room tonight,” Iron continued. “They were going through these books when we arrived. They’re still in the building.” He looked at the two men. “Find them.”
I held my breath. My fingers pressed harder against my lips. One of the men spoke up. “You want us to check the whole place?”
“I want you to find them,” Iron snarled. “Start with the offices and work out.”
The men nodded and left the room, moving into the hallway. Iron remained behind, standing over Carl’s body with his arms crossed. I could see him now. He looked down at the ledger on the desk. There was no way to miss Carl’s blood smeared over the cover. He turned his gaze back to the door, then at the window on the far wall.
One of the men returned. “Garage is clear. Kitchen’s clear.”
“Keep looking,” Iron said.
The man left again. Iron pulled out his phone, sent a text, then put it away. He paced the length of the room once, then again, his boots leaving prints in the blood on the floor.
I needed to get out. I needed to move. But Iron was still in the room, and the two men were searching the building, and if I stepped out from behind this shelving unit I would be exactly as dead as Carl.
The second man came back. “Rest of the building’s clear. You want us to check the roof?”
Iron shook his head. “They’re still here.” He looked at the door. “They’re good at hiding, but they made a mistake. They left this ledger open when they heard us coming in. They didn’t have time to put it away.” He tapped his finger on the desk. “They’re still in this room.”
My heart stopped for a full second, then kicked back into double-time. This was it. In mere seconds I’d be dead. Or worse.
The men looked around, confused. “There’s nowhere to hide in here except --”
“Under the desk,” Iron said. “Check under the desk.”
The first man dropped to his knees and shined a flashlight under Carl’s massive desk. The beam swept in a wide arc, illuminating the empty knee well. I was still behind the shelving unit, pressed flat against the wall, my knees pulled tight to my chest.
“Nothing,” the man said.
Iron’s jaw tightened. “Check again.”
The man ducked his head lower, shining the light into every corner of the space under the desk. “I’m telling you, there’s nobody there.”
Iron nodded, finally satisfied. “Get the rest of the files. Then we burn the place.”
The two men returned to the filing cabinets. They worked quickly now, pulling out folders and stacks of paper, dumping them into the duffel bag. One of them returned to the hallway and came back with a plastic jug. He unscrewed the cap and began pouring a clear liquid across the floor. The sharp chemical reek cut through the air. Smelled like gasoline or something similar.
My eyes started to water. I pressed my sleeve against my nose.
Iron watched his men work, then checked his watch. “Two minutes,” he said. “Then we’re gone.”
They finished packing the duffel and stepped into the hallway. Iron paused at the door, took one last look at the office, then pulled it closed behind him.
I waited silently, not daring to move or even breathe too much in case I coughed on the fumes. I heard the front door of the building open and close. I heard the rumble of engines starting outside. Then the fire started with a hollow whomp. Smoke began to push under the office door in a gray curl.
I couldn’t stay behind the shelving unit. Smoke was already thickening along the ceiling, and the acrid smell burned my nostrils. I needed to get to the window on the far wall. Surely to God the men had all left before the building was completely engulfed.
The smoke got thicker, pushing through the office doorway in billowing gray clouds. Flames licked at the door facing, eating through the wood with hungry crackles.
I crawled, keeping low beneath the smoke. The heat pressed against my skin. My eyes stung. I ripped off my jacket and wrapped it around my right forearm, creating a makeshift pad to protect myself. The window on the far wall was my only way out. A narrow rectangle set high in the exterior wall, just wide enough for my shoulders if I turned sideways.
I hurried to the window. Grabbing an ornate wooden paperweight, I hurled it at the glass. The window shattered with a musical crash. I cleared the jagged edges as best I could, then hoisted myself up.
Bits of glass from the window frame bit into my palms. I got my upper body through, then twisted to bring my legs after me. The drop was about ten feet to asphalt of the alley below. I went through feet first, pushing off from the window frame with my hands.
The fall seemed to last forever. My stomach lurched. The ground rushed up to meet me. I hit the pavement, stumbling forward. Pain shot up my legs and I fell forward, rolling until I hit the brick wall of the building on the other side of the alley.
Above me, flames licked at the edges of the broken window. The fire had taken hold of the building’s interior. Smoke filled the alley as more of the building caught fire and hot wind swirled around me, the fire creating its own down draft. My eyes watered and stung, and I coughed with every intake of breath. In minutes, the entire structure would be engulfed and I needed to be far away from here.
I scrambled to my feet and backed against the wall, putting distance between myself and the burning building. Embers now swirled in the air like orange snow. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.
I hurried to the side of the building where I’d stashed a .38 revolver I’d purchased at a gun show a few months back. I’d always known there was a good possibility I’d get caught and had protected myself the only way I could think of. Didn’t do me a lot of good outside the building, but they had metal detectors we had to pass through before entering. I’d stashed the weapon out here knowing that window would be my best way out in a bad situation. Thankfully, the weapon hadn’t been noticed by anyone. I pulled it from my hiding place and clutched the weapon to me like a lifeline.
The alley stretched about fifty yards in either direction. To my right, it dead-ended at a brick wall. To my left, it opened onto the street that ran past the front of the Enclave Éclipse. Going that way meant risking being seen by whoever responded to the fire and I didn’t know if I could see a threat coming with my eyes burning and stinging.
The sirens grew louder. I couldn’t be here when they arrived. I had no doubt Iron had killed everyone in the building. If anyone other than me escaped, they’d be getting as scarce as I wanted to. Everyone who worked there knew shady shit got done inside that building. Most of them kept their heads down, collected their cash, and ignored everything else. No one wanted to get caught up in this mess. On either side of the law.
Halfway to the street, I heard the distinctive rumble of a motorcycle engine, cutting through the wail of sirens. The sound grew louder. I froze, pressing myself against the alley wall again. The smoke still hampered my vision and I couldn’t be certain I headed away from danger rather than straight into it.
I huddled against the alley wall, gun at the ready, though I doubted the way I trembled would encourage the guy to keep his distance if he confronted me. Half blinded by the smoke, I doubt I could have hit anything from any distance. The pen camera was still tucked into my bra, the micro SD card secure inside it. I absolutely could not lose that drive.
I took a breath and closed my eyes briefly. Sweat trickled from my hairline, mixing with the ash and soot on my skin to drip into my eyes. I raised my hand to swipe at the drops. I saw the blood before I touched my face. My palm must have caught the edge of the window as I climbed out because a gash split the meaty part of my palm. I didn’t think it was too deep, but I definitely needed to clean and bandage it.
I had no car. I’d taken the bus here, like I did every night. I couldn’t go to the police because two of the names on my list were Williamson County deputies, and I had no way of knowing how many were dirty. I couldn’t go home because Iron knew someone had been in that building, and he would start pulling threads until he found me.
The sirens in the distance weren’t coming for me. They were coming for the fire, and eventually for the bodies inside. By the time the first responders arrived, I needed to be gone and the guy on the motorcycle made that seriously difficult.
I’d gotten myself into this situation because of my sister. Tessa Garrison. Twenty-one years old. My only family after Mom checked out. She worked at the Enclave Éclipse for six weeks as a cocktail waitress and then disappeared. The police finally let me file a missing persons report a month after she vanished, only to close it two weeks later with a professional shrug. With no leads and no evidence of foul play, the officer working her case decided maybe she didn’t want to be found.
So I took matters into my own hands. I got a job as a bookkeeper at a tax preparation office three blocks from the Éclipse. I made a lifted key when the night manager left his key ring on the bar during his smoke break. The guy had two keys for the club on the same ring and, thankfully, hadn’t noticed one being gone in the bundle of keys he kept. I bought a hollowed-out pen camera from a guy who sold spy gear out of his van behind the flea market. I took photos of every ledger, every receipt, every name that passed through Carl Pruitt’s sweaty fingers I could manage to get my hands on.
Finally, I found what I searched so hard for. The one transaction that shouldn’t have been there. Five thousand dollars, cash, entered the same night Tessa disappeared. I never found Tessa’s phone and her body never turned up. But I found enough to know she’d likely been taken. And the people who took her were the same people who owned the Enclave Éclipse, who paid off deputies to look the other way, who thought they could make problems disappear with cash and threats. People like Iron.
The fire was fully involved now, visible flames from the window I’d originally jumped from licked up the wall in an orange glow. I needed to get out of here. Fast.
Taking a breath, I hurried down the alley, the driving certainty that danger hunted me nearly throwing me into a panic. As I stumbled out of the alley onto the sidewalk I collided with a large, solid body. Strong hands gripped my shoulders, steadying me, or I’d have fallen on my ass.
“Easy there.” I shied back, backing up several steps to stand against the building. I couldn’t see the guy clearly. His form resembled a blurry blob, with the occasional glimpse of a person‑shaped blob. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you. Are you OK? Were you in the building?”
The guy’s question made me grip my gun all the harder. Iron knew someone was inside the room, or, at least, the building. If this guy was one of Iron’s men, I’d have no hope of fighting him off. I raised my gun, tightening my grip. I still didn’t know if I could actually pull the trigger. I mean, I could, but hesitating would be just as bad as not shooting. Either way, I’d be dead.
The figure took a step forward, then another, his movements careful and measured. I raised the gun, pointing at the center of what I hoped was his chest. My finger settled alongside the trigger. I didn’t trust myself not to shoot accidentally and hurt someone innocent.
“Don’t come any closer,” I called, my voice steady despite the fear crawling up my throat. My hand trembled wildly as I held the heavy firearm. My other hand burned, but I had to bring it up to hold the gun relatively steady.
The figure stopped. For a long moment, we faced each other in the alley. The fire cast jumping shadows across the pavement. The sirens wailed, almost on top of us now.
“You’re bleeding.” He spoke in a calm voice. “And the cops are thirty seconds out. You want to explain why you’re standing outside a burning building with a gun, or do you want a ride somewhere that isn’t here?”
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.
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