Kiss of Death MC
Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: October 17, 2025
Three black cats. One grumpy biker. Fate’s about to get witchy. And wickedly hot.
Elvira – Halloween’s my favorite holiday, until one teeny mishap with my practice spell. Suddenly I’m homeless, stinking of swamp gas, and dragging three black cats into a biker compound… Where I meet Chains. Big, broody, and superstitious as hell, he glares at my “demon spawn” like they’re plotting his death. But the way he looks at me? Let’s just say my spell isn’t the only thing that’s likely to combust. He’s all hard muscle and harder attitude, and I can’t tell if he wants to banish me… or bend me over the couch and have his wicked way with me. I would definitely approve of option number two!
Chains -- I don’t fear much after nine years inside, but Ellie is chaos. She’s a walking disaster. Loud, messy, and makes Halloween look like a lifestyle, not a holiday. And her damn cats have me spooked. I tell myself she’s trouble. Too naïve. Too good. Then she kisses me, and suddenly I’m ready to sell my soul for another taste. My MC brothers think it’s funny. Screw em. Elvira’s mine. And if anyone touches her, I’ll burn this place to the ground.
WARNING: Chains contains memories of domestic abuse and manipulation. However, there is a happy-ever-after ending that will make you feel warm and fuzzy.
EXCERPT
Elvira
I stood in the center of my apartment, surveying the disaster zone that used to be my living room. The cauldron, which was actually just my favorite stock pot, lay on its side on the stove. Dark green liquid dripped steadily from the countertop by the stove onto the cheap linoleum floor. My witches’ brew experiment had gone spectacularly wrong, again, filling the air with a stench so foul it made my eyes water. I’d only wanted to create a love potion. Instead, I’d concocted what smelled like a demonic skunk had mated with rotting eggs in a garbage fire.
“It’s okay, babies,” I cooed to the three black cats, who’d retreated to their carriers the moment the pot bubbled over. “Mommy just had a tiny magical mishap.”
Lucifer hissed from behind his carrier door, his yellow eyes narrowed in judgment. Binx paced in tight circles, while Salem had his paws pressed against his nose. Even my familiars couldn’t stand the smell.
“I know, I know. I should have followed the recipe.” I pulled my tank top over my nose, breathing through the fabric. “But who has time to find owl feathers and moonwater on a Tuesday night?”
I flung open every window in my apartment, the October air rushing in but barely making a dent in the stench. The smoke detector, which had been screaming for ten minutes, finally quieted. Green sludge dripped from the ceiling above the stove where the potion had splattered during its violent eruption. My carefully arranged Halloween decorations were now coated in something that looked like radioactive snot.
“We can fix this,” I muttered to myself, only half convinced. “Just need some bleach, maybe an exorcism, definitely a new carpet…”
The pounding on my door made me jump. “Miss Blackheart!” Yeah. He didn’t sound happy. “Open the door right now!”
“Coming, Mr. Peterson!” I sang out in my cheeriest voice, frantically attempting to right the fallen cauldron. Green goo sloshed over my fingers, burning slightly. “Just freshening up!”
I wiped my hands on my black jeans and pulled my long hair back into a heavy ponytail. Taking a deep breath, I immediately regretted it as the fumes hit my lungs, I opened the door with my most innocent smile even as my eyes watered.
Mr. Peterson stood there, his face the color of an overripe tomato. The vein in his forehead throbbed with such intensity I worried it might burst. His nostrils flared before he clamped a hand over his nose as the wall of stink hit him.
“What in God’s name --” He choked, stumbling backward. “The entire building smells like… like…”
“Aromatherapy!” I offered brightly. “It’s a, um, rare Eastern technique for cleansing negative energy.”
His eyes bulged as he peered past me into the apartment. “Your ceiling is green! There’s smoke everywhere!”
“That’s part of the process?” My voice lifted higher with each word, betraying my desperation.
“The Johnsons in 3B are throwing up. Mrs. Wittlesby’s cat fainted. The Andersons’ dog is howling like it’s seen a ghost.” He thrust a piece of paper at me. “This is an eviction notice. You’re out, Miss Blackheart.”
I took the paper with trembling fingers. “But Mr. Peterson, I’ve always paid my rent on time, and --”
“I don’t care if you paid your rent in gold bars! You’ve violated every health code in existence. People are evacuating the damn building!” The longer he spoke, the louder he got. And he’d been pretty damned loud to start with.
Behind me, one of my cats let out a mournful yowl. “Those damn black cats of yours,” he muttered, making the sign of the cross. “I knew they were bad news.”
I felt my cheeks flush. “Don’t blame my cats for this. They’re innocent.”
“You have until tonight to get out,” he bellowed, gesturing wildly at my smoke-stained ceiling. “Eight hours! After that, I’m calling animal control for those beasts and the hazmat team for… whatever hellbrew you’ve cooked up in here.”
“But where am I supposed to go?” My voice cracked, the reality of my situation finally sinking in. “You can’t kick me out with no notice!”
“Not my problem. And it’s my damn building; I’ll do whatever the hell I want. Take it to court if you want. Don’t care. But until you get a court date, I want you out of here!” He stepped back, pulling a handkerchief over his nose. “I’ve put up with the stink for the last time. Eight hours, Miss Blackheart. Not a minute more.”
The door slammed in my face. I stood there, clutching the eviction notice, feeling the edges of panic creeping in. Sure, I could take him to court. He’d have to call the police to force me to leave and they wouldn’t make me unless there was a court order. But, honestly, I knew it was time to move on. I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I’d hoped to save a little more money before then. But maybe this was a sign.
My hands shook as I turned to face my ruined apartment. The clock on the wall shaped like a grinning skull showed it was already noon.
“Well, shit,” I whispered to no one in particular.
I sank down onto my potion-spattered couch, the eviction notice crumpling in my grip. My eyes burned, and not just from the fumes. I really wasn’t sure where I was going to go. I had a couple thousand dollars in my savings account, and a hundred in my checking to do me until payday. If I could find a new place that wasn’t too expensive, I might have enough for a security deposit and first month’s rent. If I was really lucky. And that was assuming I could find something in the next eight hours. Right. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.
I glanced at my phone, scrolling through the pitiful list of contacts until I came to Carrie’s number and took a deep breath. We weren’t exactly close friends, but she’d always been kind to me at the coffee shop where I worked weekends. She seemed like a really nice person. She’d offered me a place to crash the last time my landlord threatened to kick me out. I hadn’t taken her up on the offer then since I only knew her from the coffee shop, but I wasn’t sure I had many options at the moment.
The phone rang three times before she picked up. “Ellie! Hey!” She sounded excited. To hear from me?
“Hey.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wavered. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m having a bit of an emergency.”
“Oh no, Ellie! What kind of emergency? Are you all right?” Carrie sounded distressed. She was such a sweet person I had no doubt she genuinely was distressed.
“I… um… may have accidentally created a biohazard in my apartment and gotten evicted?” I laughed, the sound hollow and desperate. “I need to be out by eight tonight, and I have nowhere to go, and I have my cats, and --” My voice broke, tears threatening.
There was a muffled commotion in the background. I could hear Carrie talking and other people responding, but it was like she had her hand over the speaker or something. I closed my eyes, bracing for rejection.
“Now drop me a pin and we’ll get over there.” Carrie sounded determined and, I thought, authoritative? Like she was the one giving the orders and everyone else was doing her bidding. So, I did as she instructed. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Relief flooded through me so fast I nearly dropped the phone. “We?” My voice came out a squeak. I knew Carrie’s man was a member of a local motorcycle club called Kiss of Death. Which I kind of liked the sound of, but it was still a motorcycle club. Honestly, though, I kind of thought the guys I’d met at the coffee shop were much safer than some of the people living in this building.
“Oh yeah! The girls are gonna get you a room ready while Hannah and I are bringing Knuckles and Hawk. We’ll get you packed up and out of there in no time.”
“I don’t want to cause anyone any trouble, Carrie. It’s bad enough I’m asking you guys for a place to stay.”
“Nonsense! We all want to help!” There was more racket in the background, then Carrie was back. “We’re bringing boxes and some big contractor bags. Anything you want to keep that’s soiled or smells too bad we can put in there and wash later. Be on the lookout for a blue Bronco.”
About the Author
Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.
Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.
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