Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense
Date Published: October 10, 2025
Publisher: Changeling Press
Dylan -- I thought I could handle my uncle’s world. I thought if I kept my head down and stayed quiet, I could survive with the help of the mysterious man who’d slipped into my bed like a secret I didn’t want to question. But one night everything shattered. My uncle Eli handed me off to a trafficker like I was nothing, and the man I trusted turned out to be the ghost Eli thought he’d left hanging in the woods -- the man who would kill to keep me safe.
Vendetta -- I used to be Tank, proud to wear the Cottonmouth patch, until I spoke out against the rot our so-called leaders let poison our MC. They hung me for it. I crawled out of my grave and took a new name. Now I’m back to burn the criminal empire infecting Oak Grove, and the Cottonmouths that invited it in, to the ground.
Dylan was never supposed to be part of the plan. Hell, she’s the niece of the man who betrayed me. But I’ll die before I let him hurt her again. And when Eli and his men try to finish what they started, they’ll see I’m not the same man they tried to bury.
Warning: Vendetta is intended for readers 18+ due to explicit adult content, violence, and bad language. There’s no cliffhanger, no cheating, and a guaranteed HEA.
Dylan
Ned’s Sundown Lounge looked rougher in the light of day than it ever did at night.
Dylan Crizer waited across the street with her keys clenched in her hand, taking it all in. The building looked old, dressed in faded black brick. The same flickering neon sign that barely spelled the word “Open” was still there. She remembered it from passing by that building as a child. The tinted windows smeared with fingerprints and smoke stains were new. While the building wasn’t falling apart just yet, it had clearly seen better days. Maybe better decades.
Yeah, it was as bad as her Uncle Eli had said it was. It blew her mind that he was now co-owner of the bar that had been there most of her life. Eli Crizer was a big bad biker, president of the Cottonmouths and all that, but he’d never been well-off before. How did a biker get that kind of money? Did he dip into his retirement account? Did he even have one of those?
Not long after she returned to Oak Grove, she found out her uncle had bought the place with a “business associate.” How did he get a business associate? The place had always fascinated her, so when she saw the ‘help wanted’ sign in the window, she marched herself in and applied right away. Not surprisingly, her uncle, who hadn’t made time to reach out to her so far, called her the same day about her application.
“It’s not the place for you, Dylan,” he said right off the bat. When she asked why, he countered with, “It’s gonna be full of drunks, ex-cons, and worse.”
She thought the fact that she’d been a waitress for years would guarantee her the job. She had bartender experience too, although she wasn’t the best at making drinks consistently good in a rough environment. Her uncle didn’t agree. “You’re a Crizer. You’re better than serving drinks to scummy people.”
But here she was anyway. Not just because she had something to prove. She now had something to rebuild. Her entire life basically. Maybe she wouldn’t be starting a new job today; Eli as a co-owner could cut her off. But she had to try.
Dylan spent five years with a man who couldn’t commit and didn’t want her to grow. Five years pretending she was happy in a dead-end relationship in Richmond. When she left him and the city, she made up her mind that she’d come back to Oak Grove and figure it out from the ground up. She’d start over. Hell, she was only twenty-five. She had time.
She was starting over right here at Ned’s Sundown Lounge.
Pushing through the front door, Dylan blinked as her eyes adjusted to the low light inside the bar. The entire place smelled of old leather, cheap whiskey, and stale beer. It appeared to be well stocked and mostly clean despite all the scuff marks and the sticky spots along the floor. The tables were roomy and spaced out well around its central dance floor. A narrow hallway led off in the direction of the restrooms and the back offices. Ned’s Sundown Lounge had its own unique charm. If you squinted.
“Good afternoon,” came a voice from behind the bar. A tall, older woman with a sharp jaw and leopard-print eyeglasses worked at polishing glasses, watching Dylan with a smile. “You must be Eli’s niece.”
“Dylan,” she said, stepping up to the bar. “Here for my first day.”
At least she hoped she was. If Eli told them she couldn’t work there, what would she do? She really needed the job and had already told him that.
“I’m Peggy,” the woman said in the way of introduction as she gave her a once-over and nodded like she approved of what she saw. “You got the job. Just stay aware and don’t take shit from anyone. Even the regulars. You’ll be fine.”
Dylan didn’t hesitate. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Come on.” Peggy put the last glass she polished on the bar and motioned for Dylan to follow her.
Down that narrow hallway and to the left was a line of really old lockers outside the business offices. All of them had huge padlocks, protecting the personal items the employees wanted to tuck away. Just one, at the far end, had a small key stuck in the bottom of its padlock. Peggy pointed to that one.
“There’s only one key,” Peggy warned. “If you lose it, you’re responsible for getting a new lock, okay?”
Dylan nodded, tucking her purse into the locker and securing it with the padlock before sliding its tiny silver key into the front pocket of her jeans.
Peggy jerked a thumb in the opposite direction. “The kitchen is that way. There’s not a lot of menu options to memorize. Burgers, fries, nachos. I think they have chili a couple of times a week. None of it is that great.”
Good to know. Pulling the hair tie from her wrist, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail as she followed the woman back through the bar, taking in every corner as she went. Dylan was many things but naive wasn’t one of them.
Her Uncle Eli had influence here and he led a shady biker club. And now he was a co-owner of this place. People didn’t just “run bars” these days. Bars were often covers for other things. More shady shit. She’d left a couple of bars after learning they were running drugs out of them. The second one had a full police raid one night and it took hours for it to be cleared up so everyone could go home. She never returned because drugs were dangerous and brought dangerous people. No job was worth putting herself in the line of fire.
But until she had proof that something wasn’t right here at her uncle’s bar, she was going to do the damn job. Unfortunately, she needed the money to get back on her feet.
Smile. Hustle. Listen. It had been her mantra since her first job in a bar.
Peggy looked to be somewhere in her forties. She had a no-nonsense attitude that had to come in handy in a place as rough as this. “House rules. Keep the regulars’ drinks full and staff are not allowed to talk politics. Or religion. People don’t want to think about religion when they’re drinking and partying, you know? The jukebox plays when it fucking wants to, so no beating it or kicking it. If Ned’s here and he sees you do it, he’ll lose his mind.”
“Who’s Ned?” Dylan asked.
“The other co-owner,” Peggy replied. “Try not to piss him off, even if you are Eli’s family.”
“Understood,” Dylan said.
“Now, if a fight breaks out and there’s usually one each fucking week,” Peggy explained, “don’t be a hero. Just try and get clear and wave down one of the bouncers. We usually have at least two of them scheduled each night. It’s not a bad idea to check the schedule. It’s on the whiteboard with the lockers. See who’s on duty each night so you know who you’re looking for.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the far end of the bar.
Dylan followed her gaze to the two huge guys leaning against the back wall near the hallway, perfectly still and silent. One of them was built like a refrigerator with tattoos creeping up both sides of his neck. The other looked mean even though he wasn’t actively trying to at that moment. He was leaner with an angular face and a body you could only get from hours each week in the gym. The gym rats were hit-or-miss as bouncers. Dylan would be willing to bet money that the fridge was the one to flag down in a fight.
“They don’t talk much, but they move fast, let me tell you. If some shit goes down, make eye contact, give a nod, and then get out of the way. Got it?”
“Got it,” Dylan said, scanning the room as Peggy handed her an apron and a notepad. “Is there a panic button or something? I’ve worked in other places that had them.”
Peggy snorted. “This ain’t Applebee’s, sweetheart. You see something coming, you move. Fast.”
It wasn’t the serious lack of formal safety protocols that raised Dylan’s eyebrows. It was the way Peggy said it, like fights weren’t just a possibility, they were expected. Like there was a rhythm to them and they were allowed. She nodded and kept listening, but something about that rubbed her wrong.
“Most of our business is on the weekends, of course, but the VIPs come in all during the week,” Peggy went on, already moving back to the bar to stock napkins in old-fashioned metal boxes. “You’ll know them when you see them. They don’t tip, but don’t piss them off. Eli likes to keep them happy.”
Dylan paused, notebook in hand. “VIPs?”
“Locals. Out-of-towners. Some are from his MC. Doesn’t matter,” Peggy said, without looking up. “You serve what they order and stay out of their conversations. That’s not me being rude. That’s me keeping you employed.”
The words hit her like a warning. Something about all of it, the emphasis, the look in Peggy’s eyes, the way she didn’t offer names made Dylan’s stomach tighten as she kept listening, wondering what else she was going to hear. Nodding, she filed it all away and forced a smile.
“Thanks for showing me the ropes,” Dylan said. “I appreciate it.”
Peggy finally looked at her, a long, assessing stare. Then she shrugged. “You’ve got the eyes for this place. You watch everything. That’s good. Just make sure you don’t watch too closely, yeah?”
Dylan didn’t answer. But she was definitely paying attention.
“One last thing.” Peggy spoke quietly. “You’re one of the owner’s family members which probably means you’d have to really fuck up to get fired. But just keep in mind, you’re still expendable.”
“I’ll do my best to remember that.”
The evening crowd was light, just as Peggy explained it would be. It was Thursday night, and Ned’s Sundown Lounge always did look better at night. The dim lighting and the fact that the sun had already set, covered the bar’s many imperfections better than paint ever could. The jukebox was working tonight, playing songs that were moody and lazy, and they filled the space without drawing attention.
The regulars were easy to spot, planted on barstools like fixtures, beers in front of them. Some of them talked to each other in low voices, some were there on their own. Dylan had just finished clearing one of her tables when the cool night air blew a newcomer through the front doors.
Dylan glanced up and paused.
The newest patron was tall and built. She didn’t think she’d seen him before. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. She was just back in town after having been gone several years.
The man who just walked in didn’t look like a local. Six-four, easy, with broad shoulders under a worn jean jacket and a dark hoodie that had definitely seen better days. His long dark hair was pulled back low at the neck, and a beat-up baseball cap shadowed most of his face. Not that it helped much. He was fine and pretty hard to miss.
Dark eyes scanned the room once, slow and deliberate. He didn’t come across as cocky, just aware. Like he was used to being in places where trouble could find him in a hurry. When his gaze finally landed on her, it lingered for half a second longer than it needed to. Not creepy or flirty. Maybe interested.
Dylan straightened and stepped behind the bar, already reaching for a clean glass. But the new guy didn’t sit at the bar like most of them. No, he picked out a booth near the back, one that gave him the best line of sight on both the bar’s exits.
Shit, they really must have fights often here.
Dylan clocked that and noticed how relaxed his movements were. Like someone trained not to draw attention but fully capable of handling it if he had to.
She walked over with a notepad in hand, smiling when his gaze met hers. “You look like a bourbon guy,” she said by way of greeting.
“It depends on who’s pouring,” he said, voice deep and gravel smooth.
About the Author
Jamie Targaet is the author of the Hounds of Hell MC. She's anxious to introduce you to this club of gorgeous, dominant men and the lucky women who surrender to them. The ride is going to get wild at times, not going to lie. But there's thrilling action, scorching hot sex scenes, and all the feels.
Jamie writes erotic romance for Changeling Press, a little fanfiction on the side, and she's an aspiring horror writer in another life. She enjoys time with her family (including the fur babies). She likes good horror movies and shows, emo metal and classic rock, and time spent in other worlds writing and reading. She loves hearing from readers and is looking forward to hearing from you.
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