A Devil’s Handmaidens MC Novel
Wolf Creek Chapter Book 1
by Nia Farrell
Release Date 9 March 2023
Length 41,588 words
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Rumer Presley McKee
Seven years ago, I came to Illinois to claim an inheritance and discover my roots, but I found Blue, too—only I knew from the start I couldn’t keep him. He was a means to an end, and that was all. Stealing from him was my ticket to joining the Devil’s Handmaidens MC, which quickly became my family while I waited for my father’s estate to get settled. Now that it is, I’m ready to move on with my life.
Blue Boy aka Sean Callahan
I’ve never met a more perfect partner than Rumer, a beautiful woman who was open to exploring and unashamed of her sexuality. Warning her that all the Avenging Angels MC men were Dominants didn’t faze her. We had one magical weekend together before she disappeared, stealing away like a thief in the night.
I know now why she accepted my sister’s challenge. I’ve nearly forgiven her for delivering a family heirloom to get into Scarlett’s club. When fate brings us together again, the flames burn brighter than ever. The chemistry between us hasn’t changed, but Rumer’s rich now. Way out of my league.
Everyone wants a piece of her. I just want her, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her.
This second-chance romance contains adult situations, kidnapping, consensual kink, advanced BDSM, and adult roleplay. Although the first half of their story appears in Skin (Avenging Angels MC Book 7), Nobody’s Baby can be read as a standalone. Written for Ages 18+.
Excerpt 1 (PG13):
“Why are y’all here?” she demanded to know, her Southern accent as thick as ever. “Shouldn’t Simon Blackheart be at your door with candy and a cutlass?”
He supposed he should be flattered she remembered his annual tradition, dressing in his steampunk airship pirate attire to greet the neighborhood trick-or-treaters.
“That’s tomorrow,” he told her. “Halloween is on Sunday this year.”
The city ordinance allowed trick-or-treating on Saturday—unless Halloween fell on Sunday, October thirty-first. This year was the exception to the rule.
The craziest idea popped into his head, taking hold and refusing to let go.
“You once promised you’d do what you could to make things right. To start, I want you to find a wenchy-looking steampunk costume and spend tomorrow night with me handing out candy to the kids.”
She narrowed her eyes, suspicion swirling in their depths. “Let me get this straight. Y’all want me to dress like a steampunk wench for Halloween?”
“And spend the night with me,” he repeated.
“Handing out candy to the kids. What happens when the candy’s gone, the porch light is off, and trick-or-treating is over?” she asked.
“That’s up to you,” he said softly. “I’m a Dominant. Nothing happens without consent. Even Simon Blackheart does roleplay—not real—forced compliance. But if you want to be carried off to a dungeon and ravaged, being in costume will help set the mood for everything that follows. So, tell me, Ms. McKee, will you be my wench for Halloween and spend the night with me?”
She thought about it, gaze shifting while she weighed her choices. “If I come, it will be in costume. If I spend the night…,” she stressed the first word, making it sound doubtful. “If I choose to stay, I will sleep alone in the guest room, and I want those Japanese scrambled eggs for breakfast.”
The last time she’d come, she’d put her things in a spare room and spent three nights in his bed. The first morning she was there, he’d fixed her scrambled eggs with shiitake mushrooms, small tomatoes, and fresh spinach. Note to self: get groceries tonight. The Italian-owned supermarket would be closed, but the twenty-four-hour supercenter should have everything he needed.
“Eggs,” he repeated in English and Japanese. Most people couldn’t tell by looking that his great-grandmother was born in Kyoto.
Rumer dipped her chin. “I’ll hand out candy but don’t expect anything more.”
“I’ll expect nothing less,” he said, “even if I’m hoping for more. Remember, true power lies in the submissive’s hands. Sex or no sex, kink or no kink—it will be your choice. From vanilla to fifty shades of filthy, we’ll do whatever works for you.”
Seven years ago, he’d been delighted when she was curious about the lifestyle and had agreed to a play session in his private dungeon. They’d started with roleplay spanking, followed by shibari on a sex swing, and ended with bondage in bed.
It was some of the best sex he’d ever had. With no prior BDSM experience, she’d certainly never done anything like it.
When she searched his face again, her brown eyes were alight with interest. Her lips grudgingly tipped into a smile. “Y’all are still aiming to be the best fake boyfriend ever.”
The weekend they’d spent together, that was almost her mantra. Best fake boyfriend ever. She’d named him that time and again.
By Monday, he’d wished it were true.
Come Tuesday morning, she was gone.
Blue shook his head. “Not this time. No play except roleplay. No deception. No hiding the truth. From this point on, whatever happens is the real deal. Lie to me again, and you’ll lose any chance of us being friends, do you understand?”
Excerpt 2 (NSFW):
Blue had warned that things would start when she left the bathroom, and her inner wench was more than ready for some airship pirate roleplay.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway. Before she could blink, a huge burlap sack dropped over her head, and what felt like a leather belt banded her chest, pinning her arms against her side. She squealed with Simon Blackheart hoisted her over his muscled shoulder and headed for the stairs.
He smacked her ass when she dared to wiggle and growled for her to stay still. “No noise, if you know what’s good for you,” he warned in his gravelly pirate voice. “I’d have to cut out that tongue when I’ve other used for it.”
Rumor mock-whimpered, enjoying the kidnapping fantasy too much to ruin it.
He carried her down two flights of stairs, boot heel strikes marking his steps as he crossed to the concrete basement floor. Opening the dungeon door, he walked around a bit to disorient her. He paused and a second after he moved his arm, she heard the soft hum of an engine. Opening another door, he set her down to stand on a metal floor.
Rumer shivered, her skin dimpling with erotic goosebumps, remembering the antique steam elevator cage with its sex swing. But when he loosened her arms and pulled off the sack, she found herself in a steampunk airship captain’s cabin.
The walls and door were riveted metal, with a single metal support post and overhead beams studded with rings for bondage and suspension. The hammock on one side was the right height for a sex swing, and the sea chest was likely full of ropes and vintage sex toys. The porthole above captain’s bunk revealed a starry sky above a moonlit sea, the sparse clouds moving, making it seem like they were in motion.
Rumer was impressed. The engine noise and digital display added to the atmosphere, maintaining the illusion for their roles of a kidnapped wench and an airship pirate. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Any attempt to escape would be suicidal.
She was completely at his mercy.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice tremulous.
Grinning evilly, Simon Blackheart stripped her with his eyes, then his hands, unwrapping her like a package delivered solely for his pleasure. Thankfully, he took his time and was careful with her clothes, tossing each piece on a pile near the door until the only thing left was her ribbon choker.
Grasping the key at Rumer’s throat, he pulled her against him, the wool of his pants and coat coarse against her skin.
“That’s better,” he hummed. Sounding pleased, he swept her with his smoldering gaze and Rumer quivered, keenly aware of the latent sexual promise in his eyes.
“Listen up, if you know what’s good for you,” he rumbled. “Make no mistake. Aboard this ship, I’m the only thing standing between you and a long fall straight into Davy’s locker. After my crew is finished with you, that is. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll give me whatever I want however I want it. Please me, and you’ll live to see another day. Bob your head if you understand.”
Lowering her gaze to his throat tattoo, Rumer nodded.
“Good.” Dropping his free hand to his fly, he pushed the buttons through the holes and reached inside to pull his erection free. There were no new piercings that she could see beyond the metal studs that pierced his glans and ribbed the underside of his erection. A drop of precum was pearled in his slit. “Now on your knees, wench, and bob that head again….”