Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense
Date Published: January 24, 2025
In the shadows of a world where danger lurks around every corner and
loyalty and love can be the deadliest weapons of all, two souls are drawn
together by fate.
Juniper -- I was only fifteen when I ran away from home. Or rather, the
nightmare I’d ended up in, after my parents died. I’d known
living on the streets wouldn’t be easy, but I also hadn’t
planned to nearly freeze to death in an alley five years later. The biker
who found me, nursed me back to health, and promised to keep me safe was
unlike anyone I’d ever met before. When we found out my uncle would be
paroled, there was no doubt he’d try to find me. After all, he’d
think I was the one who turned him in. But somewhere along the way, I
started to fall in love with Breaker. Now I’ll do anything for
him.
Breaker -- I’ve been with the Hades Abyss since I was a teenager.
Back then I went by Teller Reed, until I earned my patch. These people are
my family. I never thought I’d be willing to break all the rules and
defy the club president. Then I found Juniper nearly dead in an alley.
I’ve always believed in Fate, and I have no doubt I was led to her for
a reason. Now she’s mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to hold
onto her… even if it means getting my hands dirty. If her uncle
thinks he can come and take her from me, he’d better
reconsider… because if he even tries, I’m putting him six feet
under.
As nights grow darker and stakes escalate, will their bond be enough to
withstand the ultimate test?
EXCERPT
Juniper
I trudged through the dimly lit alley, my feet dragging with each exhausted
step. Frigid air filled my lungs, the biting cold seeping deep with every
exhale. Clouds of breath formed before me, dissipating into the night like
my fading strength.
Violent shivers wracked my slender frame as I struggled onward. The thin,
tattered coat offered little protection against winter’s onslaught. My
head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, the fever’s unrelenting
grip making the world seem distant and hazy.
Vision blurring, I blinked hard, trying to will away the encroaching
darkness at the edges of my sight. Each step required immense effort, as if
lead weights pulled at my aching legs. I had to keep going. Stopping meant
surrendering to the cold, to sickness, to despair.
Flashes of memory cut through the fevered confusion -- Mama’s kind
eyes, the warmth of our tiny apartment, the scent of fresh baked bread.
Before the accident stole everything. Before Uncle’s leering face and
harsh blows became my waking nightmare.
“J-just… a little… f-farther,” I whispered
through chattering teeth.
Safety. Warmth. I needed… somewhere… to rest.
Squinting, I scanned the dank alleyway, willing a spot to manifest. There
-- a small alcove tucked between two brick buildings. It wasn’t much,
but the worn wooden crate and scattered rubbish offered a modicum of shelter
against the biting wind.
Dragging myself the final few steps, I practically fell into the corner,
knees buckling. The rough brick scraped my back through my clothes as I slid
down the wall. Warring sensations of burning fever and clawing chills
besieged me. I drew my knees to my chest, trying to conserve any whisper of
body heat.
Snowflakes drifted in the dim lamplight at the alley’s mouth, the
first to fall this season. Once, a lifetime ago, I danced between swirling
flurries, Papa’s rich laughter ringing out as he twirled Mama. Now the
snow felt like a frozen shroud, settling over me with gentle finality. Had I
escaped the horror of living with my uncle only to die in this alley?
Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, the effort of keeping them open suddenly
monumental. Thoughts scattered like windblown leaves. Perhaps if I rested,
just for a moment, the weariness would lessen. The pounding in my skull
might abate.
I huddled against the wall, arms wrapped around myself in a vain attempt at
comfort, and let my head drop to my chest.
The cold embrace of brick and stone welcomed me as awareness slipped away,
a final dark mercy. In the recesses of my mind, a tiny flame still
flickered, stubborn and desperate. A yearning for the warmth of a gentle
touch, the safety of a loving hand.
But as I spiraled into oblivion, even that spark guttered out, lost to
fever dreams and the remorseless bite of winter’s chill.
* * *
I fought to open my eyes, the weight of exhaustion pressing down like a
physical force. The alley swam into focus, all harsh edges and deep shadows.
I blinked slowly, trying to orient myself. How long had I been drifting in
the liminal space between wakefulness and oblivion?
A violent shiver wracked my body, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain
through my aching muscles. I gritted my teeth against the discomfort, my
breath escaping in a hiss. The cold had seeped into my very bones, a chill
no amount of rubbing could dispel. I had to get up and move. If I
didn’t, not only could I potentially freeze to death, but bad things
happened when you lingered in one spot for too long. I would be easy prey
for those who liked to take advantage of those weaker than them.
I braced my hand against the rough brick, my fingers scraping against the
weathered surface as I struggled to push myself upright. The world tilted
alarmingly, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the dizziness to pass. When
I opened them again, the alley had settled, but the edges of my vision
remained blurred, the colors muted and indistinct.
“Come on, Juniper,” I whispered, my voice rasping in my dry
throat. “You can’t stay here.”
But where could I go? The question haunted me as I staggered forward, my
hand skimming the wall for support. Each step was a battle, my legs
trembling beneath me like a newborn foal’s. The future stretched out
before me, a yawning void of uncertainty and despair.
Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked furiously.
Crying would solve nothing, and the moisture would only freeze on my cheeks,
another layer of discomfort to contend with. I had to keep moving, had to
find shelter, had to… had to…
My train of thought derailed, scattering into fragments. The fever was
playing tricks on my mind, making it difficult to focus on anything beyond
the next step, the next breath. A cough bubbled up from my lungs, tearing at
my throat like shards of glass. I pressed my free hand to my mouth, trying
to stifle the sound, but it only seemed to echo louder in the stillness of
the alley.
Desperation clawed at my chest, a wild thing scrabbling for escape. What if
I couldn’t find a safe place to rest? What if the sickness worsened,
leaving me helpless and alone? The specter of my uncle loomed in my mind,
his malevolent presence a constant shadow at the edges of my
consciousness.
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the dark thoughts. I had to stay
focused on the present, on survival. One foot in front of the other. One
breath at a time. It was a mantra I clung to, a fragile lifeline in a sea of
hopelessness.
But even as I repeated the words silently, I could feel the last vestiges
of my strength ebbing away. The brick wall was the only thing keeping me
upright, and I knew that soon, even that support wouldn’t be
enough.
Fear and despair twined around my heart, constricting tighter with each
labored step. The future I had once dreamed of, a life of safety and warmth,
love and laughter, seemed as distant as the stars, forever out of reach. All
that remained was the cold, the pain, and the certainty that I was utterly,
inescapably alone.
Hunger gnawed at my stomach, a relentless ache that consumed my every
thought. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a proper
meal, the kind that filled you up and chased away the cold. The memory of my
last meager rations, scrounged from a dumpster behind a restaurant, only
served to intensify the emptiness inside me.
I pressed a hand to my belly, feeling the hollow space beneath my ribs. The
hunger was a constant companion, a cruel reminder of how far I’d
fallen. It sapped my strength, making each step more difficult than the
last. I longed for the days when food was plentiful, when I didn’t
have to worry about where my next meal would come from.
Unbidden, memories of my family flooded my mind, bringing with them a fresh
wave of pain. I remembered the warmth of our kitchen, the scent of my
mother’s cooking filling the air. She always made sure I had enough to
eat, pressing second helpings onto my plate with a loving smile.
“You’re a growing girl, Juniper,” she’d say, her
eyes crinkling at the corners. “You need your strength.”
My father would laugh, reaching over to ruffle my hair. “Listen to
your mother, little one. She knows best.”
The love and affection in their voices, the safety of their presence,
seemed like a distant dream now. I ached for the comfort of their arms, the
reassurance that everything would be all right. But they were gone, taken
from me too soon, and all that remained was the bitter cold and the
unrelenting loneliness.
Tears stung my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked them away, unwilling to
let them fall. Crying would only waste precious energy, energy I
couldn’t afford to squander. But the memories continued to assail me,
each one a bittersweet reminder of all I had lost.
I remembered the laughter-filled evenings spent playing board games, the
lazy Sunday mornings snuggled together on the couch. I remembered the pride
in my parents’ eyes when I brought home a good report card, the gentle
encouragement when I struggled with a difficult subject.
Those memories were a double-edged sword, bringing both comfort and agony.
They reminded me of the love I had once known, the family I had cherished
above all else. But they also underscored the stark reality of my current
situation, the yawning chasm between the life I had lived and the one I now
endured.
The longing for my parents’ presence, for the warmth and safety of
our home, was a physical ache in my chest. It mingled with the hunger, the
cold, and the fear, creating a cocktail of misery that threatened to drag me
under.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the memories. Dwelling on the past would
do me no good, not when the present demanded every ounce of my focus and
strength. I had to keep moving, had to find a way to survive, no matter how
bleak the future seemed.
But even as I pushed myself forward, the hunger and the loneliness
remained. They were a constant reminder of all I had lost, and all I stood
to lose if I couldn’t find a way out of this nightmare.
As I trudged onward, my mind drifted to the dark shadow that had haunted me
for years: my uncle. The mere thought of him sent a shudder down my spine, a
visceral reaction to the memories of his cruelty. His sinister presence
loomed large in my mind. It served to remind me of the danger I had fled and
the safety I so desperately yearned for.
I could still feel his hands on me, the bruising grip that left marks on my
skin and scars on my soul. His words echoed in my ears, the vicious insults
and threats that had eroded my sense of self-worth. Even now, miles away and
years later, his influence lingered, a poison that seeped into every aspect
of my life.
The weight of my past trauma pressed down on me, a suffocating force making
each step feel like a Herculean effort. I wanted to scream, to rage against
the injustice of it all, but I had learned long ago silence was my only
defense. To draw attention to myself was to invite more pain, more
suffering.
So I kept moving, my eyes scanning the alley for any sign of shelter. The
wind whipped through the narrow passage, its icy fingers clawing at my
exposed skin. I needed to find a place to rest again, to escape the
relentless cold that sapped my strength and clouded my mind. I didn’t
think I’d be lucky enough to find a warm space, but I could close my
eyes another short while before I needed to move again.
There, tucked away in a small alcove, I spotted a glimmer of hope. The
space was partially shielded from the wind, a tiny oasis in the midst of the
unforgiving city. I made my way toward it with faltering steps, my body
trembling with exhaustion and illness.
As I drew closer, I could see that the alcove was little more than a
shallow indentation in the wall, barely large enough to accommodate my small
frame. But it was better than nothing, a chance to catch my breath and
gather my strength before facing the long night ahead.
I lowered myself to the ground, my legs giving out beneath me. The concrete
was hard and unyielding, but I hardly noticed as I curled into myself,
trying to conserve what little warmth I had left. My eyelids grew heavy, the
temptation to surrender to the darkness nearly overwhelming.
But I couldn’t give in, not yet. I had to keep fighting, had to find
a way to survive. For all the pain and trauma of my past, I clung to the
hope that someday, somehow, I would find the safety and love I so
desperately craved. It was a fragile hope, a flickering candle in the
darkness, but it was all I had left.
So I huddled in the alcove, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I willed
myself to stay awake. The night stretched out before me, a vast expanse of
uncertainty and fear, but I knew I had no choice but to face it head-on. For
better or worse, this was my life now, and I would do whatever it took to
survive.
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
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Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress
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