Tag Archives: AK Nevermore

Katherine Teaser

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Katherine teaser

Maw of Mayhem MC 4

A Maw of Mayhem Shifter MC Romance

 

Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense

Date Published: August 30, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Voted in as prez and back at the clubhouse, Grimdarke James has won back
the Maw of Mayhem MC, but his problems are far from over, and his migraine
isn’t helping. Neither is the arrival of a rival MC, a wolf pack, or
the crime lord en route.

And Reaper’s still on the loose.

Grim definitely can’t seem to catch a break, and neither can Kit. Now
that she’s been officially introduced to the club as Grim’s
ol’ lady, it’s up to her to get a handle on the mollys. Will she
be able to keep them in line and prove she’s the rightful queen of
Mayhem, or will someone else try to usurp her throne?

 

Excerpt

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2024 AK Nevermore

 

Grim’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

He slapped it silent and groaned, pulling a pillow over his throbbing head.
Jesus fuck, how was it light out already? Whatever, he didn’t give a
shit. Whoever was calling him could fuck off. At his side, Kit murmured,
nestling closer. Her bent leg skated up the back of his thigh and hooked
over his hip.

Mmm. He rolled to face her, and she snuggled against his chest with a sigh
of contentment. Damn, she smelled good. He inhaled, drawing her scent into
his lungs. Something about it eased his head. Woman just made him feel
better all around. His fingers idled through her hair, down her back to cup
her juicy ass, morning wood going rigid as it brushed against her slick
core.

“You dreamin’ about me, baby?” he murmured, still groggy,
running the length of his cock along her slit and notching himself at her
entrance.

“Maybe.” Her hands skimmed up his chest to lace around his
neck. She tipped her hips, and Grim nudged into her, groaning as he sank
home. Fuck, she was tight. Kit gave a soft cry, her nails rasping over his
shoulders. “Maybe not.”

His eyes flew open; a spike of jealousy shooting through him. He pinned her
beneath him, growling, a hand rising to stroke her throat. “That
right? You wanna clue me in to who the fuck you’re thinkin’
about while I’m dick deep inside your pussy?”

She shrugged, not intimidated in the least and so sinfully fucking
sexy…

— brat — Darke muttered.

She is. Grim bared his teeth in anticipation. “You want that ass
spanked, Kitten?” He twined his fingers with hers, raising her arms up
over her head, slowly pistoning his hips between her spread thighs.
“‘Cause sass like that? You’re just asking to be
punished.”

“Am I?” Her lips parted at the snap of his hips, lust darkening
her gaze. The scent of her heat thickened the air. Christ, the mating
pheromones she was putting off were so ripe he could taste citrus and
cinnamon.

“You are.” He growled again, some deep, primal need waking. The
urge to sate it, to fill her with his seed and make her his, thrummed
through his being. He teased her lips, nipping at them. “You gonna be
this sassy when my baby’s in your belly?”

She bit back a smile. “Probably?”

Grim chuckled. Goddamn, he fucking loved —

A series of texts pinged on his phone. He shot a glare in its direction.
Deuce? The fuck did he want? Kit’s mouth traced Grim’s jugular,
nipping and diverting his attention. Mmm. His lips claimed hers, her scent
Manna on his tongue, sheathing himself in the hot velvet of her cunt over
and over again.

She panted, arching up, and he latched onto her breast, sucking its pebbled
tip into his mouth. Christ, she was fucking perfect. He drove his cock into
her wet heat, bottoming out and dragging back against that spot deep inside
her. “Oh God, Grim! Please, I can’t…” She gasped,
cried out. Her eyelids fluttered, core convulsing, demanding…

He thrust into her again, tingle zinging the length of his spine, balls
drawing up, cock impossibly hard, spurting, emptying himself to fill her. He
buried his face in the crook of her neck, groaning, pressing deep.
“Goddamn, that’s it. Fucking take it –”

BAM BAM BAM

He lifted his head. The hell?

BAM BAM. “Grim!”

Deuce was at the door. Shit, didn’t he just try to call?

“Sec!” Grim yelled over his shoulder, then turned back to look
down at Kit. She watched him with hooded eyes, her lips bee-stung and a
sheen of sweat glossing her skin. Goddamn, she was fucking beautiful. He
trailed his knuckles down her throat, just wanting to —

BAM BAM BAM. “Dude! Seriously, we got problems.”

When didn’t they? Grim sighed, all that banging racketing through his
temples. He gave Kit a quick kiss. “Don’t fucking move.
I’m not done with you.”

About the Author

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives
up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a
certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when
she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up
camo Chucks. Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to
become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time. AK pays
the bills writing a copious amount of copy, along with a column on SFF. She
belongs to the Authors Guild, is an RWA chapter board member, volunteers for
far too many committees, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion,
sleeps.

Contact Links

Author’s Website

Author on Facebook

Author on Instagram

Author on TikTok

Follow AK Nevermore on Amazon

 

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

 

Pre-Order Today

 

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Kit-Kat Preorder Blitz

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(Maw of Mayhem MC)

Paranormal, Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: May 31, 2024

 

 

Grimdarke James’ problems have gone from bad to worse. Ousted from
his MC and on the run, all he wants is to keep Kit safe while he sets things
right. But calling in a favor drops more than trouble into his lap.

As he tries to salvage what’s left of the Maw of Mayhem, forces close
in on them and tensions rise. New allies are found and old loyalties are put
to the test. So is Grim’s relationship with Kit when someone from his
past tries to come between them.

Kit doesn’t share and the threat to her position as Grim’s mate
raises her hackles. With her heat triggered, she’s running on instinct
and battle lines are drawn. Can Grim win back his MC, and prove he’s
the man for her, or will he lose it all?

 Kit-Kat paperback with tiger

 

 

EXCERPT

Grim stalked out of the break room, riffling his hair. How the fuck had
everything gone to shit so fast? He blew the messy locks from his face and
frowned, glancing around the garage —

And did a double take at the trio of bikes by the bay door. Brick and
Wrench’s hogs, and Grim’s Bobber. How had that made it out of
the city? Holy — He stumbled over to them, not quite believing his bike was
really there. One of the crew must’ve ridden it out of the garage
before the club blew, which meant Stitch had left his down there.

Christ, he’d abandoned his own bike to snag the Bobber? A lump gummed
up Grim’s throat. You only did that kind of shit for your alpha.

He swallowed, gritting his teeth and hating himself. How much of this
clusterfuck could he have avoided if he’d just sucked it the fuck up
and owned the position after Clay’s murder?

Guess he’d never know.

Grim blinked, his eyes hot. Fingers trailing down the leather seat.
Listening to the click and ping of the engine cooling. Avoiding the rest of
the crew packing up. He frowned, guilt eating at him, his stomach a fucking
mess. Staring at the bathroom door, willing it to open.

For Kit to come out on two legs.

Come on, baby… Hands down, she was his priority, but Jesus fuck, the
rest of the crew depended on him, too, and they all needed to get gone.
Clay’s refusal to take a mate abruptly made more sense than Grim
wanted it to. Some part of that equation was gonna get fucked, and
he’d be damned if it was gonna be Kit unless she was squarely on his
dick.

Kat say anything else to you? he asked his cat.

— no. fighting with Kit —

Grim grunted, the angst of having to choose between his mate and his club
landing a gut punch of shame. Christ, he knew what that was like. Being at
odds with your beast. The terror of feeling trapped inside yourself, of
sinking down so fucking deep you didn’t know if you could come
back.

[CHAGRIN]

— different —

Same, Grim snapped. Shit was close enough, less the cuffs. He rubbed at the
scars on his wrists, the lines of ink blurred and broken. The memory of the
snick of silver setting his teeth on edge. That creeping, seeping burn
infecting his veins with its poison.

He wiped the sweat from his brow. Yeah, he knew how it felt, and granted,
he wasn’t keeping her there, but he’d sent Kit on that downward
spiral by pushing her to change. Jesus, he was a piece of shit. A sad laugh
slid from his lips.

But fuck, that’s what everyone thought anyway, wasn’t it? The
media, the rest of Mayhem… Mama Roe sure as hell did, and he was
about to go kiss her fucking —

Grim’s breath caught as the bathroom door swung open and Kit strode
out, looking classy as fuck and like the last person he should be with.
Triss dropped the crap she was packing into the cage’s trunk and ran
over to hug her.

Christ, he wanted to do the same… but, damn. Grim wet his lips. Kit
wasn’t… Damn. She was wearing that soft sweater he’d
snagged from the vamp queen’s trophy closet. Shit was fucking sinful
the way it hung off her shoulders and clung to her tits. The jeans
she’d been so crazy about did the same to her hips, a sliver of her
flat stomach flashing as she raised her arms to hug the girl back. And when
Triss skipped away, and Kit turned toward the cages?

Woman was a fucking goddess.

Grim bit back a groan at the way her long black hair dusted her ass as she
bent to put her bag in the trunk. She looked like a million fucking bucks,
which was easily nine hundred ninety-nine thousand and change above his pay
grade.

— ours —

The pang in Grim’s chest echoed the truth of that statement. Maybe he
didn’t deserve her now, but he’d fucking bust his ass until he
did. If she still wants us. His throat bobbed at the possibility she
wouldn’t after what he’d done to her.

— asked to shift —

Yeah, but the idea of being a shifter versus the reality of it were two
very different things, and Grim’d only known Kit for a hot fucking
minute. When they’d met, she’d been so damned adamant she
didn’t want to change.

— Reaper decided for her —

Grim’s knuckles whitened. And he’s gonna die for it. Darke
chuffed in agreement.

A growl welled up in Grim’s throat, his eyes narrowing.

Asorav had ended his call and wrapped his hand around Kit’s arm,
pulling her off to the side. He spoke to her adamantly in hushed tones in
the next bay.

— listen? —

Yeah. Grim stepped back into the shadows, his hearing sharpening.

Kit was smiling up at the vamp like he’d caught her at something. She
was trying to play it off as he was talking. “…understand the
temptation to eavesdrop on one’s elders, but strongly suggest you
resist the urge.” Asorav looped her arm through his, and a muscle in
Grim’s jaw twitched at the asshole’s familiarity with her.

— known her longer —

Don’t remind me, Grim muttered. He still couldn’t believe Kit
had been the Darkling’s dog walker.

“There are those that do not take kindly to such invasions of
privacy,” the vamp scolded.

Kit’s eyes widened, her pupils waffling —

Grim did a double take. Shit, did I really see that? Aside from the mirror,
he’d never seen anyone else’s flip between theirs and their
beast’s.

— did. Kat’s scared. Won’t talk —

He bit back a growl. Was that fucking right?

“Which is why you’re only getting a warning.” The vamp
patted her hand like some kind of benevolent fucking uncle. Grim’s lip
curled, knowing that grift all too well. He was gonna beat the shit outta

“Vampires really can read minds?” Kit squeaked. “I
thought –”

Wait, what? Grim froze.

“Yes and no,” Asorav said. “Your compatriots’
thoughts are closed to me, but it seems you and I share an affinity.”
The asshole chuckled. “Yes, it surprised me as well. However, after
Cecelia –”

“I want to know what you meant when you said she was
elsewhere.”

Asorav sighed, and Grim had to smirk at Kit’s indignation over the
MIA Pomeranian. “I don’t totally understand it,” the vamp
said, “but I believe she’s trapped somewhere between.
It’s… the place one goes to get from here to there. I’m
afraid I can’t explain it any better than that. She wasn’t
strong enough to anchor my form at this end, and when I pulled, she was
sucked in.”

Well, that sounded like total bullshit, but Grim supposed the prick
couldn’t admit to killing the thing. In either case, Kit sounded like
she bought it.

“Because she was your heart. Aryanna told me you were a
day-walker.”

“Did she now.”

Grim scratched his stubble, wondering how much of an issue that was gonna
be. Vampires were enough of a pain in the ass at night. One lurking around
24/7 didn’t exactly give him the warm fuzzies, but then again, this
conversation didn’t either.

“… mentioned you couldn’t be, um, de-animated, without
your heart.” Kit said, rubbing her arms like she was cold.
“Don’t worry, she’s not around anymore to note it in the
queen’s memoir.”

Asorav laughed, and Grim wanted to smash his fist through the vamp’s
fangs. “How delightful. I never could understand how Aryanna abided
that vitriolic shrew. I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to see it,
but suppose that’s neither here nor there, and you, my dear, most
certainly are. She told you, then, of my Maker’s triumph?”

Kit nodded like she was humoring him. Grim rolled his eyes. Fucking vamps
had sticks shoved up their asses almost as far as the witches. Christ, they
were pretentious fucks.

“It’s a metaphor, you know,” Asorav said. “She
wasn’t my heart; she had my heart. The spell transformed the physical
organ and created a bridge, tying our life forces to those we held dearest.
It was genius, really. Love is such a fickle thing, and given a
vampire’s lifespan, in most cases, transfers quite organically before
the object of our affection dies… or is lost, in this
case.”

He pulled a wide, platinum bracelet from his pocket, studded with what Grim
was positive were diamonds, and closed Kit’s fingers around it. The
fuck? “And it seems once again, my heart has been captured by another.
I assure you, I am aware this is most inconvenient, but, as I said, the
heart wants what the heart wants, now, doesn’t it?”

Grim bared his teeth, knuckles white as he clenched his fists. Had that
motherfucker just given Kit a fucking king’s ransom in jewelry and
told her he loved her?

— no, his heart —

I don’t give a fuck, she’s MINE.

 

About the Author

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives
up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a
certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when
she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up
camo Chucks. Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to
become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time. AK pays
the bills writing a copious amount of copy, along with a column on SFF. She
belongs to the Authors Guild, is an RWA chapter board member, volunteers for
far too many committees, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion,
sleeps.

Contact Links

Author’s website

Author on Facebook

Author on Instagram

Author on TikTok

Follow AK Nevermore on Amazon

 

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

Pre-Order Today

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

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Darker Teaser

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Darker cover

Maw of Mayhem MC, Book 2

Paranormal, Motorcycle Club Romance

Date Published: March 15, 2024

So much for sanctuary. Kit Parson doesn’t feel any safer than she was
before she first stepped into the Maw of Mayhem, and things are going from
bad to worse. Something big is definitely going down in the paranormal
community… and inside Kit. Now that her inner beast has awoken, all
it wants is out. The only thing Kit wants is Grim, but he’s got issues
of his own.

Fingered for a crime he didn’t commit and injured by the
witch’s spell, his cat Darke has control of their form. He
doesn’t play well with others, and tensions with the crew are at an
all-time high.

With the witches’ elite assassins on their trail, can Darke and the
crew put aside their differences to keep Kit safe and get back to the MC?
And as the clock ticks toward the vote with Grim’s reputation in
shambles, will there be an MC to go back to?

Darker teaser

 

EXCERPT

Shades of the past tore through the consciousness Darke shared with his
man, threatening to swallow Grim whole. He fought against their poisoned
bite, but the witch’s spell had weakened the big cat’s
skin-brother and freed the memories from their fetters. They lashed at Grim
with inky black tentacles of torment. His agonized screams rose within the
crescendoing squall, raging through their split psyche. A growl welled in
Darke’s chest, ruff bristling at their assault.

Mine! — he snarled, lunging into the fray. Sharp claws and teeth rent
the shadowed memories of the bad time from his man, scattering them back
into the depths of their mind. Grim was his. Him. A self separate, yet one.
His skin-brother. Darke nuzzled him close, tongue rasping over Grim’s
flickering light.

heal

Kit… his man whimpered, curling into a ball. His light dimmed,
giving up control of their form to the big cat.

ours — Darke rumbled, shifting their body and sending Grim what
strength he could. Fur sprouted, limbs cracking and reforming. Two legs
became four, and a tawny gray mountain lion lay sprawled on the bed where
the others had lain his man to recover.

Within, his skin-brother’s light strengthened, its low glow holding
steady.

Darke ran a paw over his face, licking at his pad. He sneezed at the scent
of old blood, the room thick with the patina of its tang and the decaying
musk of the undead. A low growl rumbled in his chest, his pupils dilating to
take in the room’s blend of muted color.

Heavy furniture dominated the space, its angles stark amidst the gloom.
Tendrils of scent threaded through the room, age and linseed seeping from
the wood to twine with the rest of the civilized rot assaulting his nose. He
pushed off the bed, padding across the thick carpet. His shadow grayed the
fingers of scant moonlight streaming in from long, amber-tinted
windows.

Darke paused, his lip curling over his canines, disdainfully eyeing the
city spread out below him before turning his face to the bulbous moon.

Had Grim’s female changed and released her animal?

Clay’s cat had promised Darke a mate. Teased him with her scent,
captured within the weft of the afghan on Grim’s bed. The desperate
longing it evoked proved the connection. The tip of Darke’s tail
twitched. He’d trusted it would be so. Waited for so long. Too long.
Kit’s scent matched the afghan’s. That meant the beast within
her was his.

Darke chuffed his frustration. Sensing his mate without being able to claim
her was torture. He paced the breadth of the room, eyes narrowed at the
heavy oaken door leading out. Beyond it, faint voices pricked at his ears.
Part of his skin-brother’s pride was near. His crew. Darke growled at
the snippets of the MC’s inner cats’ near-unintelligible
murmuring punctuating the two-legged babble. That he could understand the
crew’s stupid yapping better than his own brethren’s yowls
irked.

A pang of loneliness shot through Darke’s chest. He missed Clay. When
his father’s inner lion had spoken, his deep rumble was clarion. The
lynxes out there? Yowls and hissing. Darke could pick out maybe one hard-won
word in six, and they couldn’t understand him at all. It had been the
same with his littermates, Grapple and Shiv, leaving Darke to rely on
instinct when forced to interact.

It got him into trouble. Lynxes were shady and the two-leggers lied. Said
things they didn’t mean, then hurt you. Clay had been different, but
he was dead while his murderer walked free.

Reaper.

Darke shivered, ears flicking back, remembering the bad time. The man who
called himself their uncle needed to die, and Grapple and Shiv with
him.

Darke’s temper spiked, his tail swishing. Keenly feeling the loss
locked within his mind again, in this stinking place of undead. His
skin-brother shared his sorrow at their father’s murder, but not
Darke’s isolation.

And now Grim had left him, too.

Darke shouldered through another door into a smaller room lined with tile.
It smelled faintly of excrement and strongly of fabricated pine, the water
in the bowl stale and chemical-laced. Darke shook droplets from his maw and
chuffed his distaste, returning to the window.

Soft footfalls approached from the beyond the oaken door.

Darke slunk into the deep shadow of an armoire as the heavy slab canted
open, then closed. Kit limped to the center of the room, favoring a leg. Her
arm was splinted, the opposite hand bandaged in gauze. A ruddy stain marred
its whiteness. She wrapped her damaged limbs around herself with a low sob,
the scent of fresh blood perfuming the air as she moved. Darke’s
nostrils flared at that thread of wrongness twining within the delicate
tendrils of citrus, cinnamon, and female musk.

His mate was presenting as wounded prey.

Darke bit back the growl building in his chest, fury pounding through his
temples. His claws extended and retracted from the carpet’s thick
pile. Healthy, she’d be a tempting prize for any predator.
Injured… He was going to kill —

No. Darke’s ears flattened against his skull. His man would think
before spilling blood.

But Grim thought too much.

Kit scanned the room, then dashed a hand across her face, stumbling to the
bed. Her feet froze at its foot, head snapping toward the bathroom, then
away. Another low sob eked from her throat, and Darke’s ruff stood on
end. He would destroy them. Destroy them all. Starting with those who had
failed to protect —

Hey! Boy Vengeance! You really just gonna let her think her think
he’s gone?

Darke jumped, fur bristling at the syrupy censure. He backed deeper into
the shadows, eyes wide and pulse pounding.

Aww. Here puss, puss, puss… I don’t bite

His lip curled over a canine, and a female’s mocking laughter flitted
through his mind as clearly as the gravelly chuckle of Clay’s beast
had. Darke’s heart leaped, his ears pricking forward, saliva pooling
in his maw.

He could understand her.

The beast inside Kit, his promised mate — when she spoke, her words were
clear, and she wanted to play.

 

About the Author

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives
up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a
certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when
she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up
camo Chucks. Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to
become medicated, she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time. AK pays
the bills writing a copious amount of copy, along with a column on SFF. She
belongs to the Authors Guild, is an RWA chapter board member, volunteers for
far too many committees, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion,
sleeps.

Contact Links

Author’s website

Author on Facebook

Author on Instagram

Author on TikTok

Follow AK Nevermore on Amazon

 

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

 

Pre-Order Today

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

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Grimdarke Teaser Tuesday

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Maw of Mayhem MC, Book 1

 

Shifter Romance

Date to be Published: February 2, 2024

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

 

Out of options and on the run after her psychotic father’s released
from prison, Kit Parson heads to the only place she might be safe from him,
the Maw of Mayhem MC. The unexpected move buys her time, but also puts her
at risk. Surrounded by shifters, her inner cat begs to be released, and
after witnessing a brutal attack on her mother as a child, she refuses to
let the monster out. Totally doable, provided no bodily fluids are ever
exchanged.

That takes the MC’s hot-as-hell VP, Grimdarke James, officially off
the table. Mourning the recent murder of the club’s alpha and
struggling to control his inner cat, the tattooed Viking god is on thin ice.
If he goes feral again, he’ll be put down. Which makes his cat’s
insistence that Kit belongs to him problematic, upsetting the delicate
balance of the MC’s internal politics, and the woman blackmailing
Grim.

But when Kit’s father catches up with her, Grim has no choice but to
trust his cat, and Kit can’t deny their chemistry. Can they hold on to
each other when everything is trying to tear them apart? After a gruesome
triple murder propels them deeper into the paranormal world, they find
themselves with unlikely allies, even as their enemies threaten to destroy
everything they hold dear.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2024 AK Nevermore

 

Upstate New York in the fall was beautiful, and it made Kit want to
puke.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her sweaty palms slicking the
leather, and glanced in her rearview, then at her phone’s GPS. No
service — again. Damn it. This was not where she wanted to be…

Wait. Signs for a trailhead were coming up. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.
She pulled onto the shoulder, staring blankly at the plexi-covered map
tacked onto the tiny shelter in front of the car. Woodbine Swamp Trail.
Shit. She’d missed the turn-off for the house. Ugh! How could
everything in this shit town look the same and so frickin’ different
all at once?!

Fifteen years will do that, genius.

Her forehead dropped to the steering wheel, bumping it thrice. Stupid.
Stupid. Stupid. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t —

Goddamnit, girl, grow a pair!

Enough. Wasn’t like she had a choice. She pushed back in her seat and
slapped the car in reverse, hoping like hell there wasn’t anything
behind her. Frickin’ hatchback was stuffed to the gills with the sad
remains of her life, and she wasn’t up for losing any more of
it.

Kit dashed away a tear. And whose fault was that?

She just had to blow shit up. Couldn’t duck her head and keep
punching numbers, because lay low was too big of a fucking ask. Nope, fuck
overtime at the accounting firm, had to go out there and twerk her ass at
the club, knowing full well that milkshake wasn’t gonna bring anything
but trouble to her yard.

Her mind leapt to that tall drink of golden Viking god pissing in a sink,
covered in tattoos and oozing temptation. Yup. Case in point, and as much as
it shocked the shit out of her, she’d been into him.

So fucking into him, like, wanted him into her.

Not happening.

She bit at a cuticle, trying to ignore the very real possibility she was
about to deliver herself to his doorstep, and the fact that her panties had
just soaked clean through.

Son of a — Chanté would quip something about chickens coming home
to roost, but they weren’t even Kit’s damned chickens. And why
the fuck chickens? Woman was NYC born and raised, you’d think
she’d have useless witticisms about pigeons.

Damn, though. He was fiiine…

Stop it.

You’d think she’d be more concerned about the shifter shadowing
her for the past two weeks… the one whose face starred in her
nightmares. Reaper hadn’t approached her, but his message was clear,
and like a fucking cat, he’d been playing with her.

… Run, little mouse…

Kit’s teeth clenched at the memory of her father’s gravelly
twang. She put the car in gear and kept driving in the wrong direction. Away
from the house, toward the last damned place she wanted to go, and the only
place she had left. Two weeks of couch surfing and shitty motels had made
that abundantly clear, and her flat fucking broke.

Back to the scene of the crime, the one place she hoped like hell he
didn’t have the balls to go back to.

Motorcycles rumbled in the distance and her gut threatened to rebel, cold
sweat pebbling her skin. She licked the anxiety from her lips.

The rumble grew, and a moment later a stream of leather and exhaust whipped
by her as a convoy of bikes sped past, heading back toward civilization. A
manic giggle burbled from her throat, and she took a slow —

Shit! Gas pedal, girl, you gotta keep your shit together…

Focus. Drive to the damned compound. One more mile.

… And keep it together. Hah! Fat fucking chance. She blew out a
breath, her temples thudding with the beginnings of a migraine. Goddamn.
After all those years of praying to be out from under Claymore James’s
thumb… this had not been part of the fantasy.

Getting shit-faced, twerking on his grave, and then setting the MC’s
compound on fire, yes. Pulling up to the chain-link gate and asking to see
Mud Knuckle?

Nope. Can’t say that’d made the list, but here she was.

I mean really, Mud Knuckle? Kit sighed, rubbing a temple. If she needed any
further confirmation her life had officially gone to shit:
Ta-frickin’-da.

One of the dopey-looking prospects manning the gate eyed her, pursing his
lips. The scraggly little pornstache he was rocking made his mouth look like
a porcupine’s asshole.

Moron leaned in her window. “Ain’t no muddy knuckles
here.” He snickered, shooting his zit-infested buddy a look.

Kit sighed. Great, they were gonna fuck with he

“Nah,” Zits said, ambling closer to leer. “But I
ain’t opposed to rectifyin’ that situation.” He grinned,
making a lewd gesture.

Whoo. Ten points for originality there, son. She rolled her eyes and
unbuckled her seatbelt. It was showtime. The two high school rejects
scrambled back, wide-eyed when she threw open the door and got out, leaving
the hoodie she’d permanently borrowed from Chanté on the seat.
Fuck, it was hypothermia cold.

“What? I thought we was ‘wreck-t-fyin’ that
sits-e-ate-shon,’” she finger quoted, mimicking his dipshit
twang and cocking a hip.

Pornstache’s throat bobbed, taking in her tight tee and yoga pants.
God, men were pigs. Pathetic, predictable pigs. Flash them braless DDs, and
their brains shorted out faster than a hairdryer in a bathtub. Add the fact
that her nipples were hard enough to cut glass, and the poor boys
didn’t stand a chance.

“Uh, yeah.” Pornstache tugged on his cut and cleared the squeak
from his throat. Slack-jawed, Zits smacked his shoulder, earning himself a
glare. “I mean, hell yeah. We’re down, baby.”

Kit arched her back, stretching. Damn, that felt good after five hours
behind the wheel. Pornstache groaned like he was about to wreck-t-fy in his
pants. She sauntered over and ran a finger down his sternum.

“Then how ‘bout you boys open the gate so I can move my car out
of the way and get down to business.”

Zits moved so fast he just about face-planted rushing to unlatch the big
chain-link section on wheels blocking the compound’s access road.
He’d pulled it halfway across the pavement by the time Kit got back
into her car. Pornstache shook his head like a dog, blinking as the door
clunked shut, and he stumbled over to help his buddy.

Suckers.

Kit almost felt bad as she drove past, waggling her fingers.

Okay, no, she didn’t. She wriggled back into the hoodie, one hand on
the wheel and shivering. Her stomach churned as she drove around the last
bend to the chapter house, half expecting the entire club to be out there
waiting for her. The woods opened up —

And the lot was empty.

Of frickin’ course it was empty. The funeral was today. Now. She
could still make it. Wasn’t that why she’d blown out of the city
so fast? To spit on Claymore’s grave like she’d told
Chanté she was going to? Get some kind of fucked-up closure?

Yeah, has nothing to do with the fact you’re being stalked by a
psycho.

Kit bit back a sob, coasting the last few hundred feet to a stop in front
of the long, two-storied building. It was ugly. A dark, cinderblock gray,
squatting against a barren hillside. She bit her lip, eyes flicking to the
last window on the left, waiting for the shitty mini blinds to part.

They didn’t. Wouldn’t.

Dead. Everything looked fucking dead. Probably because it was.

Fuck this shit. She jerked up the emergency brake and killed the engine.
Slammed the door open, then shut. Stomped across the half-frozen muddy lot,
odd bits of gravel and glass crunching beneath her boots. Eyes fixed on the
burnt-out jaws scored into the surface of the MC’s chapter house door,
she approached the belly of the beast — and stepped into the Maw of
Mayhem.

 

About the Author

AK Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and gives
up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a
certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when
she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her beat-up
camo Chucks.

Unable to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated,
she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.

She pays the bills editing, wielding a wicked hot pink pen and writing a
column on SFF. She also belongs to the Authors Guild, is a chapter treasurer
for the RWA, teaches creative writing, and on the rare occasion,
sleeps.

 

Contact Links

Author’s Website

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Follow AK Nevermore at Goodreads

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

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