by Marteeka Karland
Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: May 15, 2026
Jade -- I ran from a man who broke me, only to land in the arms of a biker who could destroy what little I have left. Rip is an alpha protector with a dangerous edge I can’t seem to resist. He sees too much, wants too much, and makes me crave things I swore I’d never risk again. He gives me the courage to believe in myself. When my past refuses to let me go, I know I can surrender or stand and fight. If my ex thinks he can take everything from me again, he’s about to learn exactly how wrong he is.
Rip -- The first time I see Jade, she’s barely holding herself together, a trauma survivor trying to outrun a nightmare who won’t stay buried. She’s still fragile enough I know better than to push my way into her life, even when every instinct tells me to pull her close and never let her go. I don’t expect her to see me as anything more than a safe place. Whether I claim her or not, my MC brothers will lay down their lives for her. And when the smoke clears and the blood is washed away, Jade will know she was always meant to be mine. Forever.
Jade
The soft, warm lighting in the small dining room did little to reassure me. I stared at my hands resting on the scarred wooden table, watching them tremble against my will. Three weeks at Haven, and my body still hadn’t gotten the message that I was safe now. Safe. What a strange word to apply to homelessness, to sitting in a communal room, surrounded by women who couldn’t meet my eyes because we all recognized the shame in each other’s faces.
I pulled down my sleeve to cover the faint, yellowing bruise on my wrist. My ribs still throbbed with a dull persistent ache that no amount of ibuprofen could completely relieve. The pain was almost comforting -- a reminder that I hadn’t imagined it all, that I wasn’t crazy. My fingers brushed against my cheekbone, the swelling finally gone but the discoloration still visible beneath the concealer I’d carefully applied that morning.
A little boy, maybe five or six, darted past me chasing after his sister, both of them laughing. Their mother called after them in a hushed voice. All the women here spoke quietly most of the time, as if normal volume might shatter whatever fragile peace we’d found. Or too afraid our respite would end in violence once again. I watched them without trying to seem like I was watching. Their mother had dark circles under her eyes, but she smiled when she caught them, tickled them until they squealed.
I looked away. There was an intimacy to their bond that felt invasive to witness, like I was trespassing on something precious. I didn’t belong here, among these women who’d fled with children, with purpose. What did I have? A business degree I’d never used, a dried-up marketing career, and a suitcase only half full of clothes I’d grabbed while Eric was at work. No kids. No friends left. Just bruises and tremors and the growing realization that I had nowhere else to go.
“Jade? Do you have a moment?”
I looked up to see Ada approaching, a clipboard tucked under her arm and a sympathetic smile on her face. Since I’d come here, I’d learned that every woman from that club Mia’s new man belonged to volunteered at this place. The men guarded Haven but never made the residents feel smothered. In fact, I only saw them occasionally. Everyone here cared. Probably too much sometimes. I saw the few people who came through here. Everyone had a sob story and most of them were horrific. By comparison, I had it pretty easy.
“Of course,” I said, straightening my posture automatically.
Ada slid into the chair opposite me and placed the clipboard on the table between us. “Your thirty-day evaluation period ends this weekend,” she said, her voice soft. “I have your extension paperwork here. I hate that we have to do shit like this, but it gets us money for supplies.” She smiled.
My heart stuttered. I hadn’t realized how terrified I was of her saying anything else until the relief flooded through me. “Yes,” I said too quickly, then bit my lip. “I mean, if that’s OK. I’m still working on… figuring things out.” I had to force myself not to wring my hands. I didn’t used to be like this. I didn’t want to be like this now.
Ada pushed the clipboard toward me. “That’s what we’re here for. I just need your signature.”
I picked up the pen, my fingers trembling. I gripped it tighter, trying to control the shake as I signed my name. Ada watched without commenting on my obvious anxiety. She was good at that -- giving people dignity even when they were falling apart.
“Thank you,” she said, taking back the clipboard. “The extension is for another sixty days. After that, we’ll reassess.”
I tried to smile but couldn’t quite commit. I knew how pathetic I looked by not getting back in the game of life, but the thought of trying to explain the abrupt departure from my previous job, of interviewing with visible bruises, of having to be around strange men who might remind me of Eric, could send me into a panic attack.
“Jade, honey? You OK?”
I glanced up at Ada when she spoke. Short answer? No. I wasn’t OK. Better answer? “Fine,” I said. “Just tired.”
Her eyes softened with understanding that made me want to crawl under the table. “There’s a resume workshop on Thursday. No pressure, but it might help to interact with others. And group therapy tomorrow at four is open to everyone.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “There’s no rush, you know. I’m checking boxes because it’s required. You take as much time as you need. We call this place Haven for a reason.”
When she left, I let my shoulders slump, exhausted by the brief interaction. Across the room, a woman about my age was showing her daughter how to braid string into a friendship bracelet. Another was helping her son with what looked like math homework. I’d wanted that once. A family. To be all domesticated and stuff.
Eric had told me he had the same dream. Turned out, his dream had been more about building himself up by keeping someone under his foot. It had been me since before college. Then he wanted Mia but wanted his fucking mind games with me too.
I picked at a dangling hangnail until it bled, sucking the small wound. I’d come to Haven because the nice lady who’d brought me said this place would keep Eric away from me. No questions asked. I stayed in Haven because I was officially homeless and had nowhere else to go. The sad truth was, I hated the thought of leaving this place because I’d never stayed anywhere I felt safer than I did at Haven.
What came next? The question circled in my head like a vulture. I couldn’t stay here forever, but I couldn’t imagine a life outside these walls either. Not when Eric was still out there.
I wrapped my arms around myself, pressing against the bruises on my ribs until the physical pain drowned out everything else.
The crash shattered the afternoon quiet like a gunshot. I didn’t see what happened. First, the ball bouncing across the linoleum, then a little boy chasing after it. One or both of them hit the table where a ceramic vase sat just a little too close to the edge. I only registered the sound as it exploded against the floor, blue and white shards spraying outward like shrapnel. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Flinch. Gasp. Arms over face. Heart instantly hammering against my ribs as if trying to punch its way out of my chest.
The rational part of my brain knew it was just a broken vase. Just a child’s accident. But my body was already in full survival mode, dumping adrenaline into my bloodstream. My ears rang. My vision tunneled. My muscles coiled tight, ready to do anything I could to avoid what usually came after a crash.
I sucked in a sharp breath that hurt my throat. Held it. Forgot how to release it. The common room had gone still. Through the gaps between my fingers, I saw women frozen in various postures of interrupted activity. Some exchanged knowing glances and looks of sympathy, a language survivors recognized as a trigger response. Others deliberately turned away, giving me privacy in my panic, or maybe protecting themselves from the mirror I’d become.
“I’m so sorry,” the little boy’s mother murmured, already on her knees, gathering ceramic pieces into her cupped palm. “Tyler, go put your ball away, please.” Her voice was tight but controlled. Tyler looked terrified, his lower lip trembling as he clutched the rubber ball to his chest and scurried away.
“It’s fine,” someone said. “Just an accident. Our fault for having something not kid-proof in here.”
“I’ve got a dustpan,” another woman offered, heading toward the supply closet.
I forced my arms down, away from my face. Attempted a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but I couldn’t just sit there like a broken doll while everyone else handled the situation. I slid from my chair and knelt beside the boy’s mother.
“Let me help,” I said, reaching for a larger piece of ceramic.
She glanced up at me, her expression a careful blank. “Thanks.”
My fingers trembled so badly I couldn’t pick up the shard. I tried again. Failed again. The third time I managed to grasp it, but my hand shook so hard that I dropped it almost immediately. It clattered against the floor, breaking into smaller pieces.
“Sorry,” I whispered, mortified.
“We’re all a hot mess,” she said with a watery smile. “How about we do the best we can and understand we’re all ghosts.”
The woman with the dustpan and a hand vacuum arrived, sweeping carefully to get the larger pieces before using the vacuum. I tried again to help but my breath came in shallow gasps that weren’t bringing in enough oxygen. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I was going to pass out and make an even bigger scene.
I stumbled to my feet and backed away, scanning for somewhere to retreat. The bathrooms were too far. The dormitory area was up a flight of stairs. My legs couldn’t even manage to make it to the elevator much less make it up a flight of stairs. Luckily, I found an empty corner by the bookshelves, partially screened by a large potted plant. I made my way there on wobbly legs, pressing my back against the wall and sliding down until I sat on the floor, knees pulled tight to my chest.
I used to be good at talking myself down from the ledge. Back when the panic attacks were just garden variety anxiety and not the souvenirs of systematic abuse. I tried now, struggling to find the rhythm of controlled breathing that had once been second nature.
I pressed my forehead against my knees, trying to make myself smaller. A tear leaked from the corner of my eye, sliding hot down my cheek. Then another. I wiped them away furiously with the heel of my hand. I was not going to cry in this fucking corner like a child because someone broke a vase. I was not going to be this broken thing Eric created.
But the tears kept coming, silent but unstoppable. They weren’t really about the vase or even about the flashback. They were tears of pure frustration at my body’s betrayal and my mind’s inability to distinguish past from present. And for how pathetic I’d been for so long. Now I had nothing.
* * *
I’d come to an agreement with Hannah. I help out with housekeeping, cooking, and anything else needed in Haven, and I could stay longer. At least, that was the agreement I proposed. She’d smiled and told me that of course I could stay. That there were no conditions and I could stay as long as I wanted. As safe as I felt here, I knew it would be a long while before I “wanted” to leave. And also, I didn’t really believe they’d let me stay here much longer. It was past time I left. I just couldn’t make myself go.
Now, I pushed the supply caddy, which seemed to weigh a ton, its wheels squeaking as I pushed it down the hallway. Hannah had asked me to deliver fresh towels and toiletries to the linen closet where everyone got what they needed. A simple task, but it got me away from the sympathetic glances after my meltdown in the common room. The building designated for Haven had been a former warehouse. But someone had converted the place into a very comfortable, very soothing atmosphere inside.
I passed the small office and approached the security station that controlled access to the entire building. The security here was insane and every security guard working here took their job very seriously. No one got inside Haven who didn’t belong. The door was ajar, and I slowed as I heard Hannah’s voice from inside, clearer and more authoritative than her usual soft-spoken manner.
“-- have to adjust the rotations since Noose’s funeral. We can’t leave any gaps in coverage, especially at night. The restraining orders don’t mean shit if --”
I hesitated outside the door, not wanting to interrupt but also curious about the changes happening around us. Noose had been killed just before I came here. He’d died in the same fire that had nearly claimed the lives of Mia and Oktober, as well as Pain and Inferno. The Kiss of Death MC had been providing security for Haven since its founding, a fact that had initially terrified me until I realized they were the only thing standing between the women here and the men who might come looking for them. More than once, I’d been ashamed of the way Eric had called these men criminals. I’d learned that, while most of them had killed, they’d all had good reasons for what they’d done and had taken their punishment.
I knocked lightly on the doorframe, the caddy parked beside me. “Sorry to interrupt. I have supplies for --”
The words died in my throat as I stepped into the doorway and saw who Hannah was talking to. A large man filled the small security office with his presence across from Hannah. The Kiss of Death leather cut stretched across shoulders that could have belonged to a linebacker. His dark hair was buzzed short on the sides but longer on top, and a shadow of stubble darkened his jaw. But it was his hands that held my attention. They were large and weathered with scars across the knuckles. I didn’t know this man, but he obviously belonged to the club.
I froze, instinctively. I didn’t like strange men. Most of the women here had issues with strange men. I gaped at the guy, feeling like prey caught in a predator’s trap.
“Jade, perfect timing,” Hannah said, seemingly oblivious to my reaction. “This is Rip. He’s taking over Noose’s security detail.” She turned to the man. “Rip, this is Jade. She’s been with us about three weeks now and has been helping with a few chores. She’s been a lifesaver in so many ways.” Hannah gave me a smile before reaching out to take my hand and tug me farther inside the office. “If you can’t find something, find Jade. She’ll either know where it is or if we have whatever it is you need.”
I managed a tight nod, my throat too dry for words. This man was here to protect us, not harm us. I knew he wouldn’t be here if he were a bad person, but my body didn’t get the memo.
“Rip’s going to be handling the night shift security,” Hannah explained, filling the quiet.
I nodded again, stealing a glance at the man from beneath my lashes. I found it difficult to read the guy. His gaze was direct and penetrating, taking in everything around him. When they met mine, I felt a jolt of emotion. Not fear, exactly, but I knew he could see straight through to the very core of me and saw the wreckage hidden underneath the surface. His eyes were intense but kind.
The longer he looked at me, the more his gaze narrowed. He looked almost startled. He turned his head slightly toward me and rubbed the center of his chest absently as though it ached.
I dropped my gaze immediately, studying the scuffed toes of my shoes. My chest tightened with the familiar anxiety that men triggered in me. This man saw things I didn’t want him to see. I knew it like I knew my own name.
“Good to meet you,” I managed to say. I backed toward the door, eager to escape the intensity of his gaze. “I should let you get back to it.”
Rip nodded once. He still hadn’t spoken, but somehow his silence wasn’t threatening. It felt considerate. As if he understood that his voice might be too much for me right now.
I slipped out of the doorway and leaned against the wall in the corridor, breathing deeply to slow my racing heart. Through the partially open door, I could hear Hannah resuming their conversation as if they hadn’t been interrupted.
I pushed away from the wall and headed back toward the common area, my mind replaying those few moments of eye contact. There had been something oddly comforting about the weight of his gaze. Rip hadn’t given me the predatory assessment I’d grown accustomed to from Eric but simply waited. Watchful in the way a guardian surveys their charge.
Strangely, for the first time since arriving at Haven, I felt truly seen. Not as a victim or someone who’d betrayed her best friend, but as a person worth protecting.
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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