Book Title: Sully (Kiss of Death MC)
Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap
Date Published: November 21, 2025
An ex-con biker. A wild heroine. One night isn’t nearly enough.
Sully -- Fresh out of prison, I’m done with chaos. Whiskey, silence, and
my brothers in the Kiss of Death MC -- that’s all I want or need. Until
Darby storms into Throttle. She’s sharp-tongued, fearless, and dangerous
as hell. She stirs trouble like it’s an art form, and I should walk
away. But when she looks at me, I feel alive for the first time in years.
She’s the kind of trouble that could wreck me. And I want every second
of it.
Darby -- I don’t stick. Not to towns, not to people, sure as hell not to
men. Stirring up chaos and disappearing before the fallout, that’s how I
roll. Then Sully happens. A rough around the edges ex-con. All scars and quiet
control. He should terrify me. Instead, he makes me want to stay. But staying
means dragging him into the shadows I’ve been running from, and the men
hunting me won’t stop until I’m gone for good.
One night was supposed to be enough. Now neither of us can let go.
And the danger chasing me just found us both.
Warning: This book contains dark themes, adult relationships and language,
violence, and situations some readers may find triggering. Intended for mature
audiences only.
EXCERPT
Sully
The smell of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and something I thought might be
grilled onions permeated the main room of Throttle. The bar was frequented by
not only members of Kiss of Death MC, but most MCs in the area. People behaved
for the most part, but occasionally, the place could be counted on for a good
knockdown, drag out. It was one of my favorite bars.
I stood alone at the far end of the bar where I could flag the bartender when
I was empty. Right now, I nursed a double shot of Jack that burned less and
less with each sip. Night had fallen an hour ago, but the place was just
starting to get rowdy. The jukebox in the corner played Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Someone had put Street Survivors on repeat which… I mean, great album.
But if this kept up, I might have to rethink staying much longer.
Men in leather vests with patches proclaiming their club affiliation and road
names hunched over pool tables in the back, cue balls cracking against each
other in sharp retorts. Some of the guys had women hanging onto them. Some
were trying to get rid of the women hanging on. I just wanted to get
pleasantly buzzed. Made the company seem less offensive and more amusing.
I took another sip, letting the amber liquid slide down my throat. The
bartender, a mountain of a man with forearms thick as my calves, wiped down
the counter in mechanical circles, his eyes constantly sweeping the room for
trouble. There was always trouble at Throttle. It was just a matter of when.
Then she walked in.
I didn’t recognize her, which meant she wasn’t a regular. Nobody
who valued their skin wandered into Throttle without knowing what they were
walking into. She wore a leather jacket that had seen better days. Her dark
hair was pulled back in a messy braid, revealing sharp cheekbones and a small
scar that cut through her right eyebrow. It wasn’t the kind of scar you
got from childhood accidents. It was the kind you earned.
She moved with a predator’s grace, weaving between tables without
touching a single patron. Her boots made no sound on the scarred wood floor. I
watched her scan the room as she made her way to the bar. When those eyes
briefly met mine, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the watered-down
Jack in my glass.
After ordering her poison, she headed straight for the dartboard hanging on
the back wall, where three bikers were tossing darts with the casual disregard
of men who owned the space around them. They noticed her approach, their
conversation dying as she stopped at the edge of their circle. The tallest
one, a bear of a man with a gray-streaked beard reaching his chest, looked her
up and down with a smirk.
“Lost, little girl?” he asked, twirling a dart between thick
fingers.
The woman smiled. Not a nervous smile, not an appeasing one. It was the serene
smile of a shark who had spotted blood in the water and knew there were no
lifeboats.
“Just looking for a game,” she replied, her voice carrying easily
despite the blaring rock music. “Unless you boys are afraid to play with
girls.”
The three men exchanged glances, amused by her audacity. The bearded one
chuckled lightly. “You need to move on, sweetheart. The kinda
playin’ we do ain’t somethin’ a sweet little thing like you
could handle.”
“Look,” she said, leaning in closer to the big, bearded guy.
“I’m just gonna give it to you straight. I’m broke.”
She shrugged. “Flat busted. I want alcohol and a motel room, and since I
don’t believe in earning my keep on my back or my knees, it’s
gonna have to be darts. I’m not very good at anything else.”
“Tell you what,” Big Beard said, crossing big, beefy arms over his
chest. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you can get a dart in the
inner single ring.”
“Which one is that?” She didn’t bat an eyelash as she asked
her question. I held my breath, watching in rapt fascination as the girl led
the three men by the balls straight into a trap I was sure they didn’t
see coming. The bartender snorted as he polished a glass before turning his
back to the corner.
“See the two thick circles that separate the outer part of the board and
the inner part?”
“Uh-huh.” She stuck a finger in her mouth to nibble on the nail
nervously.
“Well, if you can stand over there” -- he pointed to where there
was a bright yellow line on the floor -- “and throw a dart that sticks
in the big circle closest to the center, I’ll give you twenty
bucks.”
The girl grinned. “Okay. How many shots do I get?”
The guys looked at each other before one of the others spoke.
“We’ll give you three shots this time. But if you win, the next
time you only get two.”
“Okay. That sounds fair.” She reached out her hand for the darts.
“Don’t you want to know what you have to give us if you
lose?” The big guy spoke again. The lascivious grin on his face left no
doubt what he’d demand as her payment.
“Why?” She tilted her head, looking for all the world like she
truly didn’t understand his question.
“Well, we figured you’d want to know our prize if you lose. You
don’t want to make a bed and not know what you’re giving up. What
if I demand your house?”
She shrugged. “That’d be your bad since I don’t have a
house.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Besides,
I’m not going to lose.”
They all three chuckled again, and Big Beard handed her a dart. “Behind
the line, darlin’,” he drawled. Big Beard tossed his dart first
and it landed at two o’clock in the middle of the first single ring on
the board. His buddies grunted in approval. “Your turn,
darlin’.”
The girl complied, then shook out her arm in a big show. She took a couple
practice movements, then tossed her dart. It hit inside the circle she was
supposed to hit and her dart was closer to the center than Big Beard’s.
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.
Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland
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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
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