Category Archives: Teasers

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | April 2, 2025 · 5:00 am

Warrior Queen Teaser Tuesday

Warrior Queen banner

LGBTQ+ Steampunk Romance

Date Published: April 4, 2025

A volatile cauldron of magic, love, and the empire may be on the edge of a
precipice, but witches, humans, and automatons indulge in pleasures of the
flesh.

Victoria has been dubbed by her adoring public as their Warrior Queen.
Destroying her Continental enemies is nothing to the challenge she faces
now. For years, the Lunarians, goblins from the moon, led by the powerful
witch Mon Ilson, have been murdering humans and stealing the bodies for his
followers to “adopt.”

Beautiful witch Selena Whiteheart, Mon Ilson’s human agent on Earth,
is closely watched by Home Office Agent Harry Kincaid, whose loyalty to the
Queen suppresses his ability to show Selena his true feelings. Spiritualist
Miss Cordelia Warrington has been exploring the carnal attributes and
mechanical stamina of Adam, her automaton butler. Now Selena needs
Cordelia’s help, and allows herself to be entertained by the amorous
pair in a steamy ménage à trois.

Meanwhile, Agent of the Queen Rachel Clayton is instantly attracted to the
hauntingly handsome Major Guy Tremayne, hero of the Coronation Island
disaster. Can he be trusted? She throws all caution to the wind to find out.
At a crucial moment the Queen is cruelly betrayed and threatened with
assassination. Selena, Rachel, and Victoria all face difficult choices as
love and lust compete with their duty to the Empire.

Author’s Note: Enjoy Warrior Queen as a standalone tale or as part of
a continuing narrative.

EXCERPT

Thwack!

The sound of two cane sticks striking each other reminded me of how a scant
two hours ago the Home Secretary had slapped my posterior as he ravaged me.
Pressed for time he’d unceremoniously bent me over his Whitehall desk,
pulled down my culottes and drawers, grabbed my shoulders for leverage, and
drove his prodigious erection into me with frightful force. A few minutes
later he flooded my quivering cunt with his lava hot seed. It had been a
perfunctory fuck, short and sharp, and my climax perversely
satisfying.

My cunny still retained a fair quantity of his ejaculation, and I shifted
in my seat contriving to put pressure on my fleshy nether lips to keep it
from escaping. My apparently not-so-subtle contortions did not escape the
notice of the fine-looking man sitting opposite me. I’d quite
forgotten about him as I relived the morning’s carnal adventure. He
cleared his throat which brought me back to the here and now.

I was sitting in a Buckingham Palace anteroom, and I felt my cheeks warm
under the scrutiny of this ruggedly handsome and smartly uniformed officer.
When I’d first arrived, he’d introduced himself as Guy Tremayne.
He was in fact the famous Major of the Southern Royal Air Corps who’d
distinguished himself by leading the survivors of an airship crash on
Coronation Island, a frozen rock midway between Tierra Del Fuego and
Antarctica. Their inspirational struggle for survival on the barren island
was a true Boys Own Adventure. I’d read his file during my recent
convalescence and believed Major Tremayne to be a brave and resourceful
officer, respected by his men and superiors alike.

He had given me an elegant bow, took my proffered hand, and lightly brushed
his lips against my knuckles. To say I was instantly attracted would be an
understatement. He was the epitome of masculinity: well over six feet tall,
slim, and long legged. His hips were narrow, his chest deep, and his
shoulders broad. His sharply chiselled face was suntanned, and above a thin
black moustache his nose was pleasantly symmetrical. The palest of blue eyes
gave his countenance a strikingly mysterious and yet desirable aspect.

My cunny throbbed.

He was sitting as if he was on parade with his back straight as a board.
He’d started his career in the cavalry, and I couldn’t help but
imagine him in the saddle riding into battle, his sabre held high, its razor
edge glinting in the sun. He’d actually seen combat, and his curly
hair disguised the missing left ear, lost during a bloody skirmish in the
Punjab.

Thwack! Thwack!

“Do you singlestick?” I asked him, my mouth dry, and my voice
husky.

Thwack! Thwack!

The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “Indeed, I do. The
sabre is my weapon of choice.”

Singlestick fighting had been a feature of English martial life for
centuries and cavalry men used it for practicing sabre strokes from
horseback. Though the sport had become highly regimented, it required fast
reflexes and strict discipline. I found it useful for developing forearm and
wrist strength.

Thwack! Thwack!

“Perhaps we should have a bout?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Thwack! Thwack!

My cunt throbbed lustily, and inside my blouse, my nipples ached. I licked
my bottom lip, slowly. “Are you residing in London?”

He threw up his hands. “Alas. I exist at the whim of the War
Department.”

Thwack! Thwack!

“Then we should arrange a time soon.”

“I believe I am free tomorrow evening.”

“As it happens, so am I.”

Thwack! Thwack!

We’d just concluded arrangements to meet at a restaurant in Chelsea
when the door to the anteroom opened, and a footman showed in a slim,
elegantly dressed woman. She was about forty years of age, with an
attractive oval face and perfect complexion accentuated by challenging hazel
eyes and provocatively painted red lips. Her luxurious auburn hair was
coiled expertly around her head in such a way that suggested considerable
length. The bulk was held in place with gem-tipped pins which glinted in the
harsh electric light. I imagined her standing naked, her hair cascading over
her ample breasts, reaching and discreetly hiding her mound of Venus. I
recognised her as the wife of a member of the House of Lords, and this
sensual impression I’d constructed was at odds with her reputation.
She was known as a straitlaced prude, active in charitable institutions and
a fierce and passionate advocate for women’s suffrage. On one occasion
she’d been seen at a rally striking a constable with a placard after
she accused him of taking undisclosed liberties.

I curtsied. “Lady Fogerty, I’m Rachel Clayton.”

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development
consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by
night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is
concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags
of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

Author on Facebook

Author on Twitter

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

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Love Before Covid Teaser

Dark / Drama / Thriller

Date Published: July 28, 2023

Publisher: Troubadour Books

“Love before Covid – A raw, philosophical dive into love’s
messy reality—unflinching, dark, and unapologetically human. Unlike
typical romance novels, LOVE BEFORE COVID is a dialogue-driven exploration
of human flaws and ideologies, blending fiction with metaphysical inquiry.
It’s not about comfort; it’s about confrontation and
insight.”

Laced with dark humour, it is best described as traumatic (sur)realism.
Love Before Covid takes the reader on a journey through the mind of Joe
Pastorius – jazz fan, poet, and victim of horrendous sexual and emotional
abuse at the hands of his mother.

The real-time dialogues between the characters that emerge from Joe’s
unconscious come via arguably corrupted memories and dystopian dreams. They
tell us more about Joe than he could ever know, and perhaps more about our
world than you could ever imagine.

Dialogues entail an exploration of clashing perspectives and opinions, that
cause reflection. Today though, our world has been infiltrated by online
dialogues that tend to feel like wild unfiltered streams of human thought,
raw, chaotic and often polarising and devoid of much reflection. Arguably
that attitude, and lack of reflection is mirrored by the characters you will
encounter. The reflection comes from the reader as the situations unfold.
Your moral boundaries will without doubt be pushed to the limit.

You will meet an altruist who can’t stand up for himself, a charming
but violent public intellectual, a beautiful dancer who hates fat people, a
flirty and gregarious bartender who will do anything to get pregnant, a
traumatised art historian who never wants to be a mother, a successful
intellectual Mexican writer who is secretly disapproving of her childhood
friend’s career as a pornstar, the teenage genius son of that pornstar
who has sexual fantasises about his mother, a woman who is pressured into
cutting off her penis and a successful therapist who has a habit of ruining
people’s lives.

And yes, before you ask, some of the characters in this book eventually
catch Covid 19. However, there is always hope. For Joe Pastorious, that
comes in the form of the psychopath named Janet Waverley.

Excerpt

INTRODUCTION

Dear Reader,

This book is both a novel and a collection of dialogues.

The dialogues in this book are moving thought experiments. They portray
elaborate, unfolding situations which, at every turn, force the reader to
examine his or her philosophical intuitions about a range of topics,
situations and people.

These dialogues are not merely fiction told in dialogue form. Fiction is
drama that may (incidentally) comment upon or examine philosophical issues.
Drama normally involves scenes in which dialogue is used to set up and
advance a plot. In this book, plots are used to set up and advance the
dialogues of the characters.

The dialogues in this book are something like philosophy, because the
dramatic elements are merely a pretext to examine the philosophical issues
raised by the situations in which the characters talk to each other. The
dialogues happen in real time and are often deeply frustrating, as dialogues
are in real life. Reading this book, you may feel as though you are
listening in on a series of intensely private conversations.

If you heard any of these conversations in real life, you might feel as
though you were being privy to a rather juicy bit of gossip. Or you might
call the police. You might shed a tear. You might even masturbate (and then
read some more traditional philosophy).

Like any piece of philosophy, the writing in this book is sometimes
laborious. However, unlike traditional philosophy, the aim of this book is
to explore, rather than resolve, a set of philosophical concerns. There are
even issues raised in this book that many well-regarded philosophers find
quite silly – too silly to take seriously as philosophy.

Love Before Covid is thus an attempt to invoke the gadfly spirit of
Socrates in the 21st century, largely by abandoning the academic tradition
he inspired. This book is expected to irritate both lovers of philosophy, as
well as lovers of fiction. It may even irritate people from both sides of
the 21st century’s culture wars.

The plot concerns the love life of a man called Joe Pastorious. However,
this book does not tell you what to think of Joe, nor does it sing his
praises by showing how much he conforms to the most cherished values of our
time. Like many non-fictional people, Joe Pastorious is a complex human
being. You may love him or hate him. To call him imperfect would be an
understatement, but the degree to which he is likeable or loathsome is
thoroughly up to you.

There are other fictional people in this book who also dialogue, but they
only make appearances because of our protagonist. In some ways, they explain
Joe, much more than Joe explains himself.

Joe Pastorious met his wife Janet Waverley in the autumn of 1999. Joe and
Janet fell in love in a place called Leicester, which is a small city in the
middle of England. Many things have been said of Leicester, but one thing
that is not said enough is it is a fantastic place to fall in love. It was
the perfect place for Joe and Janet to fall in love. This is true, despite
the fact that Joe and Janet’s love is anything but perfect.

To truly understand the imperfect nature of this love, we must go back, not
to the beginning, but to an imaginary autumn of 2002. It’s not enough
to merely remember this autumn, from the vantage point of an imaginary
present. We instead must adopt this moment’s perspective, seeing its
events as though they were happening now.

When in the present, one can’t predict the future. Hence, the present
is the best place to understand imperfect people. When people are dead and
we know absolutely everything they have ever done, this creates an illusion
of certainty the present thankfully wipes away. You can’t trust a
corpse, because there is nothing about a corpse’s decisions that may
hurt or disappoint you.

A living, breathing person is not like this. They are only capable of being
truly understood, when they can be trusted. They can only be fully trusted
when their future is uncertain.

Love’s power resides in the romance of this uncertainty.

About the Author

During the pandemic Dr Greg Scorzo completed his first novel ‘LOVE
BEFORE COVID’ as well as producing an innovative radio play based on 6
chapters from that book, also called – LOVE BEFORE COVID. available on
our YouTube Channel. and via Audioboom with links to all major podcast
platforms.

Greg says, “I was interested in the challenge of writing a novel that
was formally experimental, while still being easy for a mass audience to
read and understand. I love the idea of a piece of philosophy that is
simultaneously a work of fiction, and a philosophical thought experiment
which can function like a great, twisty roller coaster of a story that asks
the reader many questions. Unlike traditional philosophy and many
fashionable works of literature, this book purposefully asks questions
without giving answers, encouraging readers to think (and emote) for
themselves.”

Since gaining his PhD in Philosophy in 2011, Greg Scorzo has aimed to find
creative and original ways to take philosophical thinking outside of
academia. By using modern accessible philosophical dialogue inpublic talks,
podcasts and his novel Love Before Covid, Greg explores clashing
perspectives and opinions that cause reflection. Based in Leicester, he was
a founding member of Culture on the Offensive and runs the podcast The
‘Art of Thinking’.

Dialogues entail an exploration of clashing perspectives and opinions that
cause reflection. Statements and declarations can close minds.

The ‘Art of Thinking’ with Greg Scorzo podcast is available on
YouTube where he does friendly philosophical interrogation of ideas
with many interesting thinkers. Also available via Audioboom linking to all
major podcast platforms.

His extended essays on Arts and Culture as well as Cultural Issues are
available on this platform www.gregscorzo.com

He has a passion and extensive knowledge of film and music.

From 2017 – 2020 Greg Scorzo was active in running over 60 engaging
voluntary community sessions, centred around ‘The Art of
Thinking’ The focussed on universal philosophical themes,
arts and culture and cultural issues. The ethos behind these events was to
encourage the use of EMPATHY, CLARITY and COURAGE in ensuing dialogues with
the audience. These were organised by COTO.

He also took up invitations to partner and run sessions at other events,
including the Battle of Ideas Festival at the Barbican London, the
Philosophy Now conference, Leicester Comedy Festival and DeMontfort
University’s Cultural Exchanges festival. He is always interested to
partner up with other like minded people.

Contact Links

Purchase Links

https://mybook.to/LoveBeforeCovid

Filed under Teasers

Tagged as Dark / Drama / Thriller, Dr Greg Scorzo, Love Before Covid

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | March 11, 2025 · 5:00 am

Eight Second Magic Teaser Tuesday

LGBTQ+, Wild West Romance, Vampires

Date Published: March 14, 2025

When vampire Beau Hollings falls into rodeo clown Leon Lavoie’s arms
as he comes off a bull, he’s more than grateful for the save.

Sparks fly when Beau meets the sexy vampire clown after the event for
drinks, and a night of passion makes the night complete. But what should
have been a one-night stand turns into something more when Leon reveals that
they were matched by Cowboy Magic, a dating service for paranormal rodeo
performers.

Wolf shifter Rhody Tallwood, one of the famous Tallwood brothers of bronc
riding fame, put in a request with Cowboy Magic, then forgot — until
he’s told to watch the bull riding.

Now he’s got to juggle not one, but two vampire mates, as well as his
brothers’ displeasure, because the three of them together are magic,
and each of them wants their relationship to last a lot longer than eight
seconds.

TRIGGER WARNING: Rodeo Clown, may be a trigger for those with clown phobia.
Adult language and situations.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Each book in the Cowboy Magic series contains stories
of queer cowboy/cowgirl/cowthey love across the LGBTQIA+ spectrum.

EXCERPT

Beau didn’t think he had unreasonable requirements — at least six
feet tall, familiar with bull riding and the danger that came with it,
understands the life of a traveling cowboy — but as he hit send on the
preferences form at Cowboy Matchmaker, he thought he was asking for a trip
to the moon or something. Though depending on how good the cowboy was at
giving a blow job, it might feel as if he’d gone into orbit. He
grinned at his mental joke, then quickly sobered. He hadn’t had so
much as a quick hand job in the men’s room for a very long time.

He’d been focusing on his career and watching his bank account get
fatter. It was nice to skyrocket in the standings. It was even better to
know he would have a nest egg for when he was ready to hang up his bullrope.
At some point he’d have to leave because even though people knew about
vampires, the fact he aged more slowly still creeped most of them out. Guess
that would be another requirement — not icky about vampires.

He checked his ride time. The rodeo would be starting soon, and he wanted
to find a good place to watch before the bull riding closed out the event.
Grabbing his travel mug, he drained the last of its contents before heading
out.

He made it to the arena just as the first event, bareback riding, was
starting, and found a spot behind the chutes to watch. He waved at the bull
riders passing by to go scope out their rides and see what they were up
against. He already knew. He’d drawn Smoke Demon, a big, dark gray
bull that few cowboys could stay on for the required eight seconds. He
could, though. He knew it, and tonight would be his night to add to his
winnings and his legend.

The cowboy in the arena spurred in rhythm with the bronc’s big bucks,
the two of them as pretty as a postcard. His white hat tumbled off about
three jumps in, and his long, dark ponytail fanned out behind him like a
horse’s tail. Dirk was good, one of the best, and a good friend. The
crowd cheered and hollered as the buzzer sounded, and the pick-up men helped
Dirk off the big chestnut paint bronc. When his score hit the board, the
arena erupted even louder. Beau drank it in, thinking the crowd would cheer
just as loudly for him, too.

He watched the rest of the bareback and saddle bronc riding, then as the
first roping events started, he went back to the locker room to begin his
preparations for tonight’s ride. He wove through the workers behind
the chutes, giving some nods of hello to men busy moving stock to and from
the pens and those working the chute. He reached the locker room, surprised
to find it lightly populated, and went to his trunk where he kept his chaps
and bullrope.

He sat on the bench, trying to focus on the visualization exercises he did
before his ride, but he couldn’t stop thinking about that Cowboy
Matchmaker application he’d submitted. After paying and filling out
the form, all he had to do was wait and see who he’d be connected with
and just how well and how fast they’d hit things off.

Word of the service had spread through the cowboys, with most of them
calling it magic. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in magic. He
was a vampire, and he knew magic existed. It was just, well, cowboys like
him didn’t get a happily ever after, and even the mortal, completely
non-paranormal cowboys had rough relationships with the stress and danger of
the road. A vampire? Who rode bulls? After living for a few hundred years,
he loved the adrenaline. He also knew he’d have to move on in a decade
or so. He could only claim a great skincare regimen for so long.

Beau removed his hat and raked his fingers through his long sandy-brown
hair, cut just shaggy enough to give him a rakish look.

“Worried about your ride tonight?” a familiar voice asked as he
walked into the locker room.

Beau replaced his hat and put on a big grin. “I’ve ridden
worse. Who’d you draw?” he asked to deflect the conversation
from him. Brand Bennings had chased his place at the top of the standings
for the past few years, and the younger vampire was always trying to give
him a hard time.

“Spit Stain.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s so
predictable. One hop out of the chute, then spin to the left. Yawn.
I’ll have to be perfect to get a good score tonight.”

“Stay on your rope. Sometimes he’ll go to the right and dump
you in the well.” They might be competitors, but Brand had to ride
well for them to be in close contention, which was exactly what the fans
wanted.

“Right-O.” He gave a two-fingered salute at the tan brim of his
cowboy hat, then went to his trunk.

Beau returned to his visualizing the ride. He knew Smoke Demon’s
moves, had watched countless videos of him after the draw. The trick to
staying on was to expect the unexpected, because Smoke Demon didn’t
have a single way of going. He could do this. He moved to his stretches, and
by the time barrel racing started, he exchanged his cowboy hat for his
helmet and was ready to ride.

He went behind the chutes with the rest of the riders, giving a nod to
Brand as he passed him on the bleachers. Beau would be riding fifth, so when
the barrels were removed from the arena and the spotlights dimmed, he was
ready and already getting stationed behind the chutes where the first three
bulls were being guided into place.

Normally he’d ignore the announcer’s hype. He knew the sport
was rough and dangerous, that he was epitomizing the essence of the cowboy,
especially since he’d been part of the Wild West when it was truly
wild.

Smoke Demon went into the chute, and it was showtime. Upon reaching the
chute, he climbed down, straddling the gate while he adjusted the bullrope.
When he was ready and the arena cleared of the last rider, he settled on
Smoke Demon’s back. He fastened his bullrope, and though he’d
done this a thousand times, he wasn’t sure if it was like strapping
himself to a rocket or a fifteen-hundred-pound rattlesnake. One wrong move
and it’d hurt like hell at the very least. He was immune to a lot, but
a horn through the chest wasn’t one of them.

Out of habit, he reached to press down his cowboy hat, his hands
encountering his helmet instead, and gave the nod. The gate swung open and
Smoke Demon exploded. He jumped from the gate, hitting the ground with his
front feet solidly in the dirt and his hind feet up over his ass. A long
thread of snot whipped from the bull’s nose to slap across the toe of
Beau’s boot with the remainder hitting the ground. Beau ignored it,
because just as the hind feet landed, the bull bucked again — another leap
and snort and all Beau’s focus remained on his center of gravity
locking with the bull’s.

One more jump, then the bull settled down to turn to the right, into his
hand. He didn’t get cocky, didn’t think he had the ride.
Instead, he rode each spin, each jump as it came, and when Smoke Demon
whirled out of the spin, reversing like a cat pouncing on its prey, he rode
with the bull. He’d never been one to count the seconds. He
didn’t even try to view the board, but surely he’d ridden eight
seconds by now.

He dimly registered the bullfighters staying in position in case he needed
help. One, dressed all in black, a mop of curly blond hair poking from
beneath his black cowboy hat, gave him a thumbs-upas the bull twisted and
spun. More jumps, more bucks — how the hell could so much beef be so
athletic?

Then the whistle blew.

Beau yanked on the bullrope.

It didn’t budge.

Fuck.

He yanked again as the pressure on his hands tightened, his fingers
swelling from the loss of circulation.

The bullfighter in black was there. “I got you,” he yelled over
the crowd’s gasp as they realized what was happening. “Relax
your hand.”

Relax his hand? He was trying to cling to a pile of angry fucking
hamburger. He also knew the bullfighter was right.

“I got you. Look into my eyes,” the bullfighter said again, and
something about his voice, a bit of compulsion, captivated Beau, mesmerized
him, and his hand relaxed.

The bull jumped.

About the Author

WM Kirkland loves the smell of the forest after a thunderstorm and
listening to the pounding of hooves as the horses come to the fence for
attention. A pen name for a prolific author, WM focuses on writing stories
of steamy queer love between shifters, magical creatures, cowboys, and the
occasional time-traveling gladiator. They’re proud to have been
telling tales for the past two decades and hope for many more.

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

Pre-Order Today

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Filed under Teasers

Tagged as Eight Second Magic, LGBTQ, Vampires, Wild West Romance, WM Kirkland

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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Filed under Teasers

Tagged as Anne Kane, Deuce, MC Romance

by Jennifer Reed/ bookjunkiez | February 25, 2025 · 5:00 am

Emergency Date Teaser Tuesday

(Swift Angel MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, First Responders, Suspense

Date Published: February 28, 2025

Loyalty runs deep and secrets simmer beneath the surface in this tale of
forbidden love.

Akira — I’m the daughter of a Dixie Reaper, but this isn’t the
life I want. I’m tired of being overprotected, and forced to follow
rules I don’t necessarily agree with. The moment I laid eyes on Logan,
I knew my life was about to change. I also knew I was in for a rough ride.
Why? Because he’s a paramedic and part of the Swift Angels MC, and
let’s just say my dad’s club functions more in the gray area.
Logan is everything I’ve ever wanted in a guy. I knew we
couldn’t sneak around forever, but I also didn’t count on the
series of storms about to hit us head-on. Not only is my dad’s club
dead set against my relationship with Logan, but my instincts are telling me
something bigger is going on.

Logan — Forbidden fruit. That’s exactly what Akira is. My VP has
warned me away from her, but what can I say? The heart wants what the heart
wants. No matter what obstacles we face, I’ll make Akira mine!
I’ve never backed down from a fight, and I’m not about to start
now. But when a string of troubling incidents seems to target both of us, I
have to wonder am I the one in danger or is my sweet Akira at risk? Either
way, I refuse to let them get away with it… even if it means the
Swift Angels and Dixie Reapers have to work together, because there’s
nothing I won’t do to keep Akira safe.

Are you ready for a suspenseful journey filled with passion, betrayal, and
a fight for a love that could change everything?

WARNING: Emergency Date is Book 2 in the Swift Angels MC series. It can be
read as a stand-alone, but you may enjoy the story more if the series is
read in order. This is a slow-burn romantic suspense set in a small town.
Guaranteed HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger for the main couple! For
readers 18+ due to adult situations, bad language, and violence.

EXCERPT

The muggy, humid air hung heavy as I pushed my way through the oak doors of
the bar. The din of conversation, the rhythmic clink of glasses, and the
occasional burst of laughter washed over me like a wave. The air was thick
with the scent of stale beer, sweat, and desperation, a cocktail that clung
to the back of my throat.

I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the dim, smoky interior. The bar was a
labyrinth of wood and shadows, crammed with mismatched furniture and a
motley crew of patrons. A middle-aged couple argued over a half-empty bottle
of wine, their voices rising above the din. A group of young men, faces
flushed and eyes glazed, cackled over a game of darts, their laughter laced
with forced bravado. A lone man sat hunched over a glass of whiskey, his
gaze fixed on the amber liquid swirling within.

My gaze drifted from face to face, searching for a familiar haven in this
sea of strangers. Was I wasting my time? Akira had said she’d be
working tonight. I still didn’t like the fact she’d chosen this
place for employment, but I also knew her family hated it — which was why
she’d done it. There were times I liked that defiant side of her.
Hell, if she didn’t act out, we probably wouldn’t be
together.

I caught a glimpse of movement across the room. She was there, a vision of
grace and confidence, expertly weaving through the throng of bodies with a
tray of drinks balanced effortlessly on her palm. I could sit here and watch
her forever. Well, maybe not. That might come off as creepy.

The way she moved was mesmerizing, each step fluid and purposeful. Her dark
hair flowed around her face, bouncing with every step. I had yet to find
anything about her I disliked. Okay, not entirely true. Her family left a
bit to be desired, but she couldn’t control that. Besides, one of my
club brothers had grown up with her in that same environment and he’d
turned out just fine.

I found myself drawn to her like a moth to a flame, instinctively guiding
my steps toward an empty table in her section. As I slid into the chair, she
turned, our eyes meeting for a fleeting moment. In that instant, the world
around us faded away. It was just her and me, locked in a silent dialogue
that resonated deep within my soul. A spark ignited within me, a spark of
curiosity, of desire, of something I couldn’t quite define.

“What can I get for you?” Her voice was a low, melodic murmur,
a stark contrast to the raucous symphony of the bar.

I fought back a smile. Even in this place, we had to be careful. The last
thing I needed was word getting back to the Dixie Reapers that a Swift Angel
was sniffing around one of their girls.

“A beer, please,” I said.

“Coming right up,” she replied, a hint of amusement dancing in
her eyes.

As she turned to leave, I couldn’t help but watch her every move,
memorizing the way her body persuaded with each step, the way her hips
swinging in a subtle rhythm speaking of a hidden sensuality. There was
something about her, an aura of mystery and resilience that captivated me.
I’d seen countless people in this line of work, but there was
something different about her, something that set her apart from the
rest.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a glass being placed before
me. “Here you go,” she said, her voice soft yet assertive.
“Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” I replied, my gaze locked on hers. I saw a glimpse
of the woman beneath the surface, a woman who was both strong and
vulnerable, confident yet enigmatic.

She held my gaze for a moment, her eyes searching mine with an intensity
that sent shivers down my spine. In that one look, I could almost hear all
the things she wanted to say, but didn’t dare. Not while we were in
public. With a slight nod, she turned and walked away, leaving me with a
head full of questions and my heart pounding with a newfound rhythm.

I took a long sip of my beer, the bitter liquid doing little to quench my
thirst. Probably because I hadn’t really come here for the beer.

As I watched her work, I felt a pull, an inexplicable connection drawing me
to her, a sense of destiny I couldn’t ignore. Which was why I’d
come here looking for her. I couldn’t take her on an official date, so
I’d content myself with drinking a beer and watching her work. Even if
my club brother, Dawson, had warned me away from her.

Akira.

From the first moment I’d laid eyes on her, I’d been
captivated. Not a day had gone by without me thinking of her. It had only
taken a few conversations before we’d exchanged phone numbers. Now we
talked pretty much every day and met when we could.

My nape prickled, as if some sixth sense was telling me something was about
to go horribly wrong. My gaze swept the room and landed on a man at the bar.
He wore his too-many-drinks like a badge, his movements jerky and voice too
loud.

I watched Akira approach, her steps measured, her voice a low murmur lost
in the rising tide of noise. The firmness in her stance spoke louder than
words. His lips twisted into a snarl as he leaned closer to her.

I’d seen these situations turn on a dime, and I wouldn’t let
her become collateral damage. I braced myself, ready to jump to her defense
at any moment.

But Akira stood her ground, chin jutting out in defiance. Her voice, though
quiet, held an edge. The man’s face twisted, hand rising like a hammer
about to fall. I was already moving, my feet eating up the distance.

Then, the unexpected happened. His hand, a fleshy claw, clamped onto her
backside, digging in like a tick. Better than him hitting her, but… a
red haze flooded my vision, as fury I didn’t know I possessed boiling
over.

I was there before I registered it, pure instinct propelling me forward.
The need to protect, to shield, eclipsed everything else. My path through
the crowd was a blur.

As I reached them, I saw the fire in her eyes, the tight set of her jaw as
she turned, ready to unleash her own storm. In that moment, I knew she could
handle this, but the primal urge to intervene was a tide I couldn’t
hold back.

My hand clamped onto his wrist, my grip like iron. I’d promised to
heal people, to help, but right now all I wanted to do was beat him
senseless.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” I narrowed my gaze at him.

He stumbled back, eyes widening. My face must have been a mirror reflecting
the inferno inside. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come,
my expression seeming to silence him.

“Get out,” I said. “Now.”

He hesitated a moment, then thought better of it. A muttered curse, a toss
of bills onto the bar, then he turned and walked away.

I turned to Akira, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
“Are you okay?”

Her eye held a spark I couldn’t decipher. “I had it under
control.”

“I know,” I said, the adrenaline receding. “But I
couldn’t just stand by.”

Something flickered across her face. She studied me, a long, searching
look.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the
bar’s murmur.

I nodded, the tension slowly draining from my limbs.
“Anytime.”

The music and chatter resumed at its previous volume, but I blocked it all
out. Akira turned back to her work, her movements jerky and tense. I could
see the way she held her breath, the way her shoulders were hunched.

I wanted to just leave her be, but my feet moved toward her.

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

Pre-Order Today

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Filed under Teasers

Tagged as Emergency Date, First Responders, Harley Wylde, Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense

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