Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Christmas Romance
Date Published: December 12, 2025
Heather -- Brick promised me a good paying job. I just didn’t know he was working for a cartel. When their money went missing, I was hunted along with him, used and finally left with the Hounds of Hell MC in Mercy to answer for his crimes. If not for Player, I would have wound up dead or worse. He claimed me as his old lady to keep me from being turned over to the cartel. He shielded me, fought for me. And somehow, I started to believe I mattered again. The cartel is still gunning for me, but Player’s not backing down. He says I’m his, and I want to be. If we can survive this.
Player -- I’m called Player for a reason. My life’s been a string of one-night stands and bad decisions. Until Heather. She’s scared and in over her head, but there’s something about her I can’t shake. When Brick left her in Mercy, running from the cartel he stole from, I made a choice. I don’t care what she’s done or what they think she knows. Heather is under my protection now. And if anyone wants her, they’ll have to go through me -- and every single brother I’ve got.
Warning: Player contains adult language, explicit sex, violence, threats of torture, stalking, and references to past emotional abuse. It also features a dirty-talking alpha biker who will cross every line to protect the woman he claims as his own.
Player
The Hounds of Hell clubhouse sat at the far end of Main Street, past the reach of the twinkling lights and holiday carolers who’d turned Mercy’s annual tree lighting into a full-blown event last night. Normally, the Hounds didn’t bother with Christmas decorations because they were too much trouble, too much cheer. But this year was different.
Deva, Razor’s old lady, made it clear even if the club wasn’t going to feel like home, the place could at least look the part for the holidays. No one was going to tell the president’s lady no. So now mismatched strands of blinking lights clung to the porch like a half-hearted apology, and the scent of pine fought to cut through layers of leather, smoke, and liquor. Inside, the mood was anything but festive.
Since Player had lost a bet, one he still claimed was rigged, he’d earned the honor of decorating the Christmas tree Deva had dropped off at the clubhouse the night before. The tree was still boxed in Razor’s office, fake pine branches and all, along with a tub of lights, ornaments, and exactly one glitter-covered star Snow refused to touch.
Player had his hand on the doorknob, figuring he’d grab the box and let Razor know he was making good on his punishment. But then he paused, hearing Razor and Snow talking in low and clipped voices, the kind of conversation you didn’t interrupt unless invited. Whatever was going down in there, it wasn’t about garland or tinsel.
He heard the rumble of a bike pulling in out front. Curiosity made him let go of the doorknob and head for the front of the clubhouse to see who’d come calling.
The bike now parked out front belonged to Brick, a patch from the Mississippi chapter in Biloxi. From what he remembered, the guy was all swagger and no spine. Player didn’t like him, but Brick had never been dumb enough to test anyone here directly. He’d visited Mercy a couple of times in the past, but he always had the good sense to fly under the radar.
A second rider dismounted, swinging one long leg over the back of the bike. A woman. No, not just a woman. A vision.
Her dark jeans clung to her like old sin, her boots dusted with grit from the road. A leather jack hung too heavy on her slender frame. When she pulled off the helmet, she shook loose long, glossy dark spirals of hair. She turned her head enough for Player to catch a flash of wide green eyes and a full mouth. A woman who looked like that should be all sass and fire, but there was a wariness about her. Her gaze moved over the front of the clubhouse as though being there filled her with dread. She expected trouble.
Was she with Brick? How had he gotten a woman who looked that good? Brick looked like he’d crawled out from under a busted oil pan and hadn’t changed his shirt since. He had a thick neck, and a gut stretching the bottom of his cut. He wore his hair slicked back, as if he thought he still had a full head of it. The man’s nose was twisted from too many fights he probably hadn’t won, and a mouth that curved like he was about to lie.
Brick turned and spoke to her. She nodded and followed him. There was a subtle shift in her posture. Her shoulders were tight. She was bracing for a fight.
Player wasn’t buying those two as a couple. She didn’t belonged on the back of Brick’s bike or in his bed unless money was involved. Staying in the shadows near the main entrance, he folded his arms and watched as Brick swaggered toward the clubhouse.
The main door opened, and Brick walked in with the woman, just in time to see Razor and Snow walk back to the front of the house.
“Brick,” Razor said, voice flat. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
Brick gave Razor a lazy grin. “I’m calling in that favor, brother. Need a place to crash for a while. Lay low.”
Favor, huh? Player stepped toward the front door. Razor didn’t do favors. Anyone who knew the man knew that. But Player had a pretty good idea what favor Brick was talking about.
Back when Sadie had first showed up in Mercy, before becoming Axel’s old lady, they’d found a tracker on her car, put there by the abusive Mafia boyfriend she’d been running from. To throw him off, Ryder, Axel’s twin, had driven the vehicle all the way to Mississippi. The Biloxi Hounds had been the ones to help him make the tracker disappear without a trace.
If that was the “favor” Brick meant, it wasn’t much of one. Ryder wouldn’t have needed a lot of help to lose the tracker. If Brick was desperate enough to stretch the truth about something like that, there was a lot more to why he’d shown up here with a woman on the back of his bike.
Razor’s stare was ice cold. Apparently their president didn’t like Brick any more than Player did. Player leaned against the wall, letting his presence be known. Brick’s gaze moved toward him and back. Player smiled.
Razor looked Brick over like he was already sorting out the lie. “Funny,” he said. “I don’t remember owing you shit.”
Brick tipped his chin up. “You don’t, huh? What about when Ryder came down to Mississippi with that tracker you needed gone? Who do you think helped him ditch it in the bayou, so no one found it?”
Razor’s gaze didn’t so much as flicker. “I remember Biloxi helping him out. Didn’t know that meant you specifically.”
Brick gave a shrug meant to look casual. “I was there. Helped ditch the thing myself. Figured that kind of help might buy me a place to breathe for a few days.”
“You think you’re in the right place for that?” Razor’s voice was low, dangerous.
Snow shifted beside him, arms crossed. Player watched the way Brick’s gaze bounced between them, like he couldn’t decide who’d swing first.
“You want a roof? I want answers,” Razor went on. “Why you’re here. What kind of heat’s chasing you.” Razor’s hazel-eyed gaze shifted to the woman standing behind him. “And her? She yours?”
Brick gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Yeah. She rides with me.”
“Didn’t ask if she rode in with you. I asked if she’s yours.”
“Heather’s with me,” Brick said, a little more force in his voice now. “You don’t need to worry about her.”
“If she’s under this roof, she’s my business,” Razor told him. “You want her here, then I need to know she’s not a problem.”
Brick chuckled without humor. “She won’t be. She knows how to stay quiet.”
Snow’s jaw muscle moved. Their VP didn’t like men who talked about women as if they were property. Not in his clubhouse. Not since he met his little blonde baker, Emily.
Snow remained silent, his gaze locked on Brick like he was already considering the consequences of dragging the fucker out by his dirty collar. Player felt the same way, and not only because Brick was an asshole. They’d all seen worse. What bothered him was the way the young woman with him stood behind him. She was keeping quiet, and she didn’t look down or even move. Seemed like she didn’t want to draw attention. Was she afraid of something? The only thing he knew for sure about her was she didn’t belong with a man like Brick. Player couldn’t decide if that made her more interesting or more dangerous.
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.
