Devil's Boneyard MC (#13)
Romantic Suspense / MC Romance
Date to Be Published: April 25, 2025
Publisher: Changeling Press
Sometimes, to find yourself, you have to get lost in the shadows. Are you
ready to embrace the darkness?
Zara: My mother vanished without a trace, and no one seems willing to help.
Except for one enigmatic figure whispered about in hushed tones: the Angel
of Death, Azrael, a guardian of justice who ensures bad men meet their fate.
I set out to find him. I didn't count on finding him to be the sexiest man
I'd ever met, or falling for him. In his arms, I find an unexpected
sanctuary. I should be terrified of his violent world, but he offers me
safety and ignites a passion I've never felt before.
Azrael: I live in the shadows, doing whatever I must to protect those who
have lost all hope. It's no place for a woman. Then I met Zara. Her
fierce spirit and unwavering courage break down my walls. I'll stop at
nothing to bring her mother home, even if it means I leave a trail of bodies
in my wake. For Zara, I'd do anything, even walk through hell itself. I
never wanted to fall in love... but now that I have, I'll do anything to
keep my new family safe. I'm the monster who hunts other monsters, the one
who defends those who can't protect themselves. Now I need to make sure that
darkness doesn't touch those I love, or die trying.
Lose yourself in a world where love conquers fear, and courage fights
against the darkness.
Excerpt
Copyright ©2025 Harley Wylde
I grabbed some paper towels and wet them, wiping at the blood spatters on
my shirt. Better to have a wet shirt than one covered in red. When I was
done, I washed my hands once more then dried them. As I stared at my
reflection, I tried to see my mother in me. I’d never known my dad,
but I liked to think I didn’t have a damn thing in common with
him.
My mom been dead a long-ass time. Cancer took her slow, gave me time to say
goodbye but not enough time to become the man she’d wanted me to be.
College educated. Safe job. Family.
“Sorry, Mom,” I whispered. “Didn’t quite work out
that way.”
Instead, I’d found the Devil’s Boneyard. Or they’d found
me. Stripes had seen something in me. Potential, he called it. Cinder had
given me purpose. The club had given me family.
Would she understand? I’d like to think so. Mom had been pragmatic
about the world. “Sometimes good people have to do bad things to
protect what matters,” she’d told me once, after I’d
gotten suspended for breaking a bully’s nose. She hadn’t
approved, exactly, but she’d understood.
The men in that alley weren’t good people. They would have brought
poison into our town, destroyed lives, all for profit. I’d stopped
that. Three lives against how many I’d potentially saved?
The math made sense to me, even if it wouldn’t have to her.
I checked myself in the mirror one more time. No visible blood. Nothing to
attract attention. I ran my fingers through my hair and practiced looking
normal. Not too hard. I’d gotten good at it over the years.
Before leaving, I wiped down everything I’d touched. The
Devil’s Boneyard had friends in the police department, but certain
habits kept you alive in this business. Attention to detail. Never get
sloppy.
I unlocked the door. The attendant glanced up as I passed, his gaze moving
over me in assessment.
“You look better,” he said, voice gravelly from years of
cigarettes.
I stopped. “Better than what?”
He shrugged. “Than when you came in. Like maybe you found what you
were looking for.”
Something about his stare made me take a closer look. The tattoo peeking
out from his sleeve wasn’t just any ink. I recognized the style.
Prison work.
“Maybe I did,” I said carefully. “You work here
long?”
“Long enough to know when to mind my own business.” He tapped
his finger against the counter. “Long enough to know what kind of men
come through here needing to clean up.
I felt my muscles tense, ready for trouble. “That right?”
He nodded toward my cut. “Devil’s Boneyard. You boys do good
work. Kept my sister’s kid off the shit when the Undead Serpents were
running it through here. I respect that.”
I relaxed slightly. “Just doing what needs doing.”
“Heard there’s new players moving in. Minions or some
shit.” He spat into a cup beside the register. “Bad news, those
boys. No respect.”
“No respect,” I agreed. “And not long for this world if
they keep pushing.”
He nodded, understanding passing between us. “Good hunting,
brother.”
I pushed open the door, night air cool against my face. The town spread out
before me, lights glittering in the darkness. Most people out there had no
idea what happened in the shadows to keep them safe. They didn’t know
about men like me, or the lines we crossed so they wouldn’t have
to.
That was fine. Let them sleep easy. I’d carry the weight of what
I’d done tonight. Add it to all the rest. It wasn’t a burden
anymore -- just the price of the life I’d chosen.
I started my bike and pulled onto the empty street. The compound waited,
and after that, more work to be done. The town needed cleaning, and I was
just getting started.
I rolled through the gates of the Devil’s Boneyard compound just past
midnight, the tension easing from my shoulders as I passed under the
skull-adorned archway. Home. Or the closest thing to it I’d had in
years. Floodlights illuminated the lot where dozens of bikes stood in neat
rows, chrome glinting like scattered stars. Two Prospects snapped to
attention as I pulled up.
“They’re waiting for you,” one of them said, not meeting
my eyes directly. Smart kid. He’d learn the rules fast enough -- never
look too eager, never too scared. Balance was everything in this life. After
the shit we’d dealt with, we’d cracked down on the rules when
bringing in Prospects. Too many rotten apples.
“How long they been in there?” I asked.
“‘Bout an hour. Stripes came in with news from town, then
Samurai showed up. Charming’s still in his office.”
I nodded and headed for the clubhouse. The two-story building had been
renovated recently. Now it was somewhere between a fortress and
headquarters.
The heavy door opened to the sound of classic rock and the smell of
whiskey, smoke, and leather. Our main room sprawled before me, all exposed
brick and worn hardwood floors. The long bar against the far wall gleamed
with decades of polishing. Trophy pipes and old photos covered the walls,
history and legacy looking down on each new generation.
Three of my brothers played pool in the corner, their laughter cutting
through Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man” pumping from the
speakers. A couple of club girls lounged on the couches, one stretching like
a cat as I walked in. She smiled, inviting. I gave her a nod but kept
moving. Business first.
Stripes and Samurai sat at the bar, hunched over amber-filled glasses,
their heads close in conversation. Stripes spotted me first.
“The hunter returns,” he said, his Russian accent thick as
always. “Was beginning to think you’d fallen into trouble,
brother.”
I slid onto the stool beside him. “Takes more than a few Minion punks
to cause me trouble.”
The Prospect behind the bar, Harland, had a glass of Jack in front of me
before I could ask. Smart kid. I took a long swallow, the burn a welcome
friend after the night’s work.
“You find what Charming sent you for?” Samurai asked, his voice
quiet.
“Found it and handled it.” I set my glass down. “Three of
them doing a weapons exchange in the alley behind Murphy’s. High-end
stuff -- Glocks, AR-15s, quality ammo. Not street-level shit. Bag is on my
bike.”
Stripes whistled low. “They’re arming for war,
then.”
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
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@changelingpress
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