Spade
(Savage Raptors MC)
by Harley Wylde
Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense
Date Published: May 22, 2026
Publisher: Changeling Press
Lila -- I walked into Savage Raptors territory with proof one of them is a traitor. Stupid? Maybe. But numbers don’t lie -- and someone inside their club is selling intel. I won’t stay silent, even if it means putting myself in the crosshairs. Spade doesn’t trust me. He watches me like I’m the threat. But he’s wrong. The danger is already wearing his patch.
Spade -- Outsiders don’t accuse my brothers and live to tell about it. Lila shows up with spreadsheets and nerve, claiming betrayal inside my club. I bring her under my roof to prove her wrong. Instead, I find evidence she’s right. Now I have a choice -- protect my brotherhood at any cost… or protect the woman who just became mine. If someone’s playing both sides, I’ll end it. As for Lila? She's mine. And once I claim something, I don’t let it go.
A slow-burn MC romance with loyalty, betrayal, and a guaranteed HEA. No cheating.
WARNING: Intended for readers 18+ years of age. This book contains mature themes including motorcycle club–related criminal activity, violence, strong language, and references to trauma. Reader discretion is advised.
EXCERPT
Spade
It wasn’t often we held Church without every patched member present, but all things considered, we were operating this one with a skeleton crew. Moving with deliberate precision Atilla gathered the evidence spread across the table. The room fell silent. Brothers shifted in their seats, tension thick enough to cut. I kept my face blank, waiting. When Atilla finally looked up, his eyes were cold steel, decision made. The verdict was coming, and every man in the room knew it would change everything.
“The evidence is compelling.” Atilla’s voice filled the room without raising above a conversational tone. Decades of authority behind it. “We have a problem.”
Stinger slammed his fist on the table. “We can’t trust her! This whole thing reeks.”
“Shut up.” Atilla didn’t even look at him. His focus remained on the papers, then shifted to me. “Spade. She stays with you. Under guard. Protected and watched. Twenty-four seven.”
I nodded once. No questions needed.
“You believe this shit?” General pushed away from the table, chair scraping across the floor. “Some random Horsemen bitch walks in with paperwork, and we’re supposed to --”
“Yes.” Atilla cut him off. “We are. Because these dates match our failed runs. Every time.” He tapped the folder with one finger. “You got a better explanation for how they knew about the Colombian meet? That was Church business only.” Church business was sacred. Patched members only.
“Could be coincidence,” Tinker offered, but his voice lacked conviction.
“This many times?” Lila spoke for the first time, her voice steady despite being surrounded by hostile men. “That’s one hell of a statistical anomaly.”
Wildcard’s hand drifted toward his waistband. “You don’t speak unless spoken to.”
I caught his eye, shook my head slightly. He backed down, but his face stayed dark with anger.
Atilla stood, signaling the meeting’s end. “Spade has point on this. Full authority. Anyone who gets in his way answers to me.” He fixed each brother with a hard stare. “Until we know who’s clean and who isn’t, information stays compartmentalized. Need to know only.”
The implications hung heavy. Trust -- our foundation -- had just been officially suspended.
“Move her now,” Atilla told me. “Take the back exit. Fewer eyes.”
I rose, gesturing for Lila to follow. She gathered her remaining papers, clutching the folder against her chest like armor. Smart. In this room, information was her only protection.
The brothers parted as we moved toward the door, their faces a study in conflicting emotions. Suspicion. Anger. Unease. Each one wondering if they were under scrutiny. Each one wondering who among them couldn’t be trusted.
“Keys.” I held my hand out to Wildcard, who’d driven her car into the compound.
He slapped them into my palm with unnecessary force. “Watch your back,” he muttered, low enough that only I could hear.
Warning? Or threat? Hard to tell. I filed it away for later analysis.
The back hallway was empty, dim emergency lights casting long shadows. Lila kept pace beside me, not behind. Her gaze scanned everything -- exit signs, security cameras, door locks. Cataloging. Memorizing. I noticed but didn’t comment.
“Where are we going?” she asked as we stepped into the cool night air.
“My place. On the compound.”
My Harley waited in its usual spot, glossy black paint catching moonlight. I handed her a helmet from the saddlebag, watching as she adjusted it with practiced hands. Not her first time on a bike, then.
“Hold tight,” I instructed, swinging my leg over the seat. “And keep that folder secure.”
She slid on behind me, zipped her precious evidence into her jacket, then put her arms around my waist. Her grip was firm but not desperate. The engine roared to life beneath us, vibrating through my bones the way it always did. Familiar. Grounding.
We pulled away from the clubhouse, headlight cutting through darkness. The compound spread before us -- twenty acres of Savage Raptors territory. My home for twenty years. Now potentially compromised.
I took the long route deliberately, giving her the tour she hadn’t asked for. Security checkpoint at the main gate -- two armed brothers nodding as we passed. Motion sensors along the perimeter fence, red lights blinking in sequence. Camera poles at strategic intersections, covering approach angles and blind spots. The garage where we kept our vehicles -- always guarded, always locked.
In my side mirror, I watched her head turn, taking in each detail. Not casual observation. Assessment. She was mapping our security, finding the gaps. Professional habit or something more?
Brothers stopped to watch us pass, hands resting casually near weapons. Word had spread already. The Horsemen’s accountant. The potential trap. The security risk. Comments followed in our wake.
“Who’s the bitch?”
“President’s orders.”
“Fucking VP’s gone soft.”
I ignored them. Petty bullshit wasn’t my concern. Finding our leak was.
We passed the shop where club business happened away from prying eyes. The mess hall where brothers ate together. The row of cabins where Prospects lived during initiation. All the while, her grip remained steady, her body angled to see everything we passed.
My house sat apart from the others -- VP privilege and personal preference. Single story, secure, isolated. I cut the engine in the driveway, silence rushing in to fill the void.
“This is it?” she asked, removing the helmet.
“Home, sweet home.” I swung off the bike, taking the helmet from her hands. “For both of us now.”
She stood, pulled the folder out of her jacket, and clutching it tightly against her chest. Never letting go of it. Smart woman.
The security light above my porch caught her face at an angle, highlighting the bruise on her jaw. In the harsh white glow, it looked worse than before -- blue-black center fading to sickly yellow at the edges. The kind of hit meant to hurt, not just intimidate.
“How did you get into the compound in the first place?” I asked.
“I threatened to rip off the Prospect’s balls if he didn’t let me through.”
I stared her down, knowing that hadn’t been enough to get her through the gate.
She sighed. “I told him I had intel his President would want and that the club was in jeopardy. Then I leaned out the window a little, giving him a glimpse down my shirt. It’s amazing how many doors open when you show a guy your boobs.”
Well, fuck. She had a point. Most men wouldn’t see her as a threat. And our Prospects did tend to think with their dicks. Especially the younger ones.
“They really did try to kill you,” I said, not a question.
Her gaze met mine, unflinching. “Yes. And they’ll try again when they realize what I took.”
“Good thing you’ve got the Savage Raptors watching your back now.” I unlocked my front door, punching in the security code.
“Is it?” She stepped past me into the house. “Guess that depends on which one is selling you out.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic. We both knew the enemy could already be inside these walls. Could be any face we passed tonight. Could be someone I’d called brother for years.
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 don't forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts and other exciting perks.
Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
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