Grimdarke: A Maw of Mayhem Shifter MC Romance

Grimdarke (Maw of Mayhem MC 1)

A Maw of Mayhem MC Shifter Romance

AK Nevermore

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2024 AK Nevermore

BIN: 011053-03596

Second Edition

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Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

315 N. Centre St.

Martinsburg, WV 25404

www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Angela Knight

Cover Artist: Marteeka Karland

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

Grimdarke (Maw of Mayhem MC 1)

Before

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

AK Nevermore

Grimdarke (Maw of Mayhem MC 1)

A Maw of Mayhem MC Shifter Romance

AK Nevermore

Out of options and on the run after her psychotic father’s released from prison, Kit Parson heads to the only place she might be safe from him, the Maw of Mayhem MC. The unexpected move buys her time, but also puts her at risk. Surrounded by shifters, her inner cat begs to be released, and after witnessing a brutal attack on her mother as a child, she refuses to let the monster out. Totally doable, provided no bodily fluids are ever exchanged.

That takes the MC’s hot-as-hell VP, Grimdarke James, officially off the table. Mourning the recent murder of the club’s alpha and struggling to control his inner cat, the tattooed Viking god is on thin ice. If he goes feral again, he’ll be put down. Which makes his cat’s insistence that Kit belongs to him problematic, upsetting the delicate balance of the MC’s internal politics, and the woman blackmailing Grim.

But when Kit’s father catches up with her, Grim has no choice but to trust his cat, and Kit can’t deny their chemistry. Can they hold on to each other when everything is trying to tear them apart? After a gruesome triple murder propels them deeper into the paranormal world, they find themselves with unlikely allies, even as their enemies threaten to destroy everything they hold dear.

Before

Bass thumped, heavy and hot, throbbing up through the soles of Grim’s shit kickers. The club’s black lights flickered with the beat, highlighting the sweat-slicked bodies undulating in a writhing mass of lust and abandon below him.

He leaned back against the balcony’s bar, vibing enough don’t fuck with me to keep all but the brain-dead sluts off him. Not that he could blame them, but he didn’t tend to stick his dick in stupid. Or anything else.

-- laughing --

Happy about that, you furry motherfucker?

Fucking cat was out of control. Grim scanned the pit of simmering sex below, the stink of human desire thick in his nose. He turned to his alpha, not fucking impressed, or in the mood for bullshit. This is what we rode five hours for?

Clay gave a slow nod, more close-lipped than usual, totally fixated on one of the Lucite pillars rising from the dance floor. Grim shook his head and took another sip of his overpriced beer. Clay’d spill when he was ready and not a moment before. There had to be a damned good reason for them to be there, and if he wanted to stare at an empty platform, more power to him. The others had plenty of eye candy to enjoy.

And human or not, those dancers could move, their getups not leaving much to the imagination. Fishnets, booty shorts, and shredded Ts reading Skin straining across their tits as they worked the poles in the center of each platform.

But as much as he approved on principle, his dick couldn’t care less.

[SMUG]

Fuck his cat and this shit. He downed the last of his beer and cracked the glass onto the bar. Gotta piss.

Grim shouldered past, and Clay grunted, still fixated on that platform. Whatever had caught the alpha’s attention had brought his cat close to the surface. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Grim pushed through the crowd, shrugging off roaming hands and bodies pressing close. Whispered promises and innuendo fell on deaf ears. One brazen stolen kiss, and a tongue laced with the tang of a narcotic tangled with his. He spun the woman back into the throng and spat.

Hall for the john was packed, moans coming from the men’s room. He shouldered past the line for the ladies’, through the door.

Hey! You can’t --

Yeah, he could. A dozen stalls, all closed. Wide eyes watching him in the mirror, lipstick and mascara dropping, their owners scurrying back like vermin, gasping as he unzipped and started pissing into the sink. Grim’s head tipped back with a long exhale. Fuuuck --

A flush and slam of a stall door opening. The water in the sink beside him crashed on. He glanced over. A petite, raven-haired woman dressed like the podium dancers beneath a man’s oversized, unzipped hoodie soaped up her hands. Grim pursed his lips at her sinful curves. God freaking damn…

You know that’s not a urinal, right? she asked, her reflection glaring at him in the mirror. Or more accurately, glaring at his cut.

Her whiskey-dark eyes flicked up and met his. Grim’s mouth went dry. His dick twitched as he shoved it back into his jeans. She didn’t drop her gaze. Desperate times. Grim’s voice rumbled, his inner beast sitting up and taking notice, along with his cock. Are you fucking kidding me?

-- want --

Now you want? He barked out a laugh. The shit on that chick’s tongue must’ve been a premium grade miracle.

Little miss five-foot-nothing-and-not-into-bikers reached past him to slap on the water in his sink, rinsing it down. That’s fucking disgusting. You need to leave before I call security.

Damn, she was a live one. Grim crowded into her space, and she didn’t budge, glaring up at him with her hands on her hips, just begging for him to smack that ass. He wet his lips and stroked down the side of her cheek, trailing to her quickening pulse. Her hand snaked up to grab his wrist, and a jolt went through him, cock kicking against his zipper.

The ebony of her pupils blew out, eating away the warmth of her irises. The scent of her arousal flooded his nose. Her breath caught, then stuttered out, a little crease appearing between her brows. D-don’t touch me.

Stop wanting me to, he murmured, tilting up her mouth to his.

Her fist took him in the jaw, and he stumbled back. The fuck?

-- YESSS --

Within, his beast coiled to pounce as she flung open the bathroom door, storming out --

Gunshots.

Clay.

Grim’s cat scrabbled to get out. The beast’s consciousness slammed into his, overwhelming him with the desire to shift and charge through the crowd, rending and tearing until he --

The hallway erupted with people frantic to escape, and the woman fell back into the bathroom. He lunged forward to steady her, the press of her body against his distracting the beast long enough for him to wrestle back control. She wriggled away, and Grim slammed the door shut and locked it, panting. Shit, that was close…

[ANGER]

We’re not shifting here. He needed to think, not react, Goddamn it. He pulled his cell, then shoved it back into his pocket. Fuck. They’d ridden down alone. MC wouldn’t be able to back them up for hours. He raked a hand through his shaggy blond hair and pulled his piece, listening for a break in the deluge of bodies streaming past the door.

Movement to his right. The woman had flattened herself against the far wall. Grim rocked his jaw. She had one hell of a hook, and a set of legs to match. Damned if they weren’t tight as fuck…

Don’t even think about it, asshole, she gritted out, eyeing his gun.

Grim smirked, shifting his cock. Oh, he was thinking about it, all right. Her peaked nipples and the way she rubbed her thighs together said he wasn’t the only one.

-- Clay --

Right. Wasn’t the fucking time. Head in the game. The rush outside the door had dissipated, and Grim raised his gun, fingers on the doorknob. He glanced back at her.

Stay here.

She rolled her eyes, arms crossed over what had to be all natural DDs.

Goddamn.

-- want --

Later. He unlocked the door and eased it open, then slid --

She burst out from behind him and was gone before the door slammed against the wall. A smile tipped up his lips, his proverbial tail twitching. Any other situation, he’d chase that down and tag it. Fucking figured he and his cat would agree on something now.

The hall was deserted, a lone cocktail napkin fluttering abandoned in the pulsing lights. Grim’s jaw clenched, the shit music drowning out any sounds from the balcony above. His finger inched toward the trigger, the dusky scent of cat edging out the reek of humanity in the room.

Mother. Fucker.

He crept up the stairs to the balcony --

I done told you what would happen, Claymore, laying rights on what ain’t yours to claim. Destiny always takes its due.

Grim’s foot paused on the last step, his stomach dropping at the gravelly deep woods drawl. No -- Asshole had close to four more years in the pen --

Fuck you. Clay gritted out, his voice racked with pain.

Mmm, think I’ll fuck that ol’ lady of yours instead. Heard Marie ain’t much for conversatin’ these days, but I ain’t never been real interested in what she had t’say.

Grim ducked into an alcove behind the curtain of the VIP section. Swearing and a scuffle sounded over the pounding techno beat, then the sharp crack of flesh on flesh.

Man laughed at Clay’s agonized groan. Easy… knock that blade free, an’ you’ll ruin the scene. Let’s stretch this out a tick. Shiv, kill that Godawful shit.

A semi-automatic fired and the music cut out, the silence a deafening void.

Grim nosed the dusky velvet curtain aside with the barrel of his gun, peeking through. Cold sweat drenched his body, cat trying to tuck tail. He fought to kill the whine scrabbling to burst from his insides. Wishing like hell his eyes hadn’t confirmed what his churning guts already knew.

Reaper was out.

[FEAR]

Yeah. They were fucked. Totally fucking fucked.

Across the room, a half dozen brothers from their rival MC, Satan’s Vengeance, were raiding the bar with one eye on the show. Grapple, Reaper’s enforcer, had Clay on his knees, one massive hand ripping the alpha’s head back to bare his throat.

The other was on a silver knife buried to the hilt in Clay’s shoulder.

That son of a bitch.

Grim swallowed bile, shoving away the memory of that burn. Black fire webbing decay through his flesh, paralyzing his beast --

-- run --

No. Let me think. Shit was easier said than done, but -- how’d they know to hit them at the club tonight?

Unless the MC had a rat… or a Mouse. Fucking tech nerd was supposed to be keeping tabs on the prison. Anger stilled the tremor in his hand, and Grim blinked the sweat from his eyes. Because if Reaper and his brothers were here, they hadn’t just been betrayed by one of their own, they’d been offered up on a silver fucking platter as sacrifices.

How the hell had the psycho prick gotten out?

The lanky biker sniffed, running a hand under his nose. Grim tensed at the smirk tipping up the asshole’s lips, keenly aware of the stink of his own fear. Reaper snagged a bottle from one of his boys. His rings clanked against the glass as he imbibed, that icy blue gaze, dead as skittering leaves, sweeping the shadows --

-- until it met Grim’s.

Reaper’s lips twitched again. Ah. Now that we’re all here --

He raised his gun and blew away half of Clay’s skull.

Chapter One

Upstate New York in the fall was beautiful, and it made Kit want to puke.

She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her sweaty palms slicking the leather, and glanced in her rearview, then at her phone’s GPS. No service -- again. Damn it. This was not where she wanted to be…

Wait. Signs for a trailhead were coming up. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. She pulled onto the shoulder, staring blankly at the plexi-covered map tacked onto the tiny shelter in front of the car. Woodbine Swamp Trail. Shit. She’d missed the turn-off for the house. Ugh! How could everything in this shit town look the same and so frickin’ different all at once?!

Fifteen years will do that, genius.

Her forehead dropped to the steering wheel, bumping it thrice. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t --

Goddamnit, girl, grow a pair!

Enough. Wasn’t like she had a choice. She pushed back in her seat and slapped the car in reverse, hoping like hell there wasn’t anything behind her. Frickin’ hatchback was stuffed to the gills with the sad remains of her life, and she wasn’t up for losing any more of it.

Kit dashed away a tear. And whose fault was that?

She just had to blow shit up. Couldn’t duck her head and keep punching numbers, because lay low was too big of a fucking ask. Nope, fuck overtime at the accounting firm, had to go out there and twerk her ass at the club, knowing full well that milkshake wasn’t gonna bring anything but trouble to