(Cottonmouth MC 2)
A Hounds of Hell MC Romance
Date Published: May 1, 2026
Publisher: Changeling Press
Jazz: My sister Claire disappeared three weeks ago. The police are calling the case a runaway, but I know better. Rumor has it the Cottonmouths and Sinister Skin are behind the girls going missing in Oak Grove -- the reason no one asks too many questions. So I go looking for her myself.
I never expected to find the answers waiting behind the doors of a biker compound -- or in the green eyes of the quiet enforcer who looks at me like I already belong to him. Shade says he will find Claire. But men like him don’t do favors. They make promises. And the way he says mine sounds an awful lot like forever.
Shade: Oak Grove is supposed to belong to the Cottonmouths again. We bled to take it back. But the men we drove out didn’t disappear. They just got smarter, quieter, and more dangerous. Then Jazz walks into my life. And I know I can’t let her go.
I know the men who took Claire are tied to the same rot we just carved out of this town. And they’ve made one fatal mistake. They turned this into my fight. I won’t stop until the threat is buried. The Cottonmouths protect their own. The war they started is about to end in blood.
Warning: Adult content, violence, strong language, and dark themes including human trafficking. There’s no cheating, no cliffhanger, and a guaranteed HEA.
Shade
The compound was quiet, and the yard was littered with toolboxes, paint cans, and various other supplies we were using to patch everything up after the club’s civil war a few weeks ago.
Our place had been torn to hell in the shootout that took place when we took Eli and his slimy inner circle down, getting them the fuck out of our chapter and compound. Vendetta, the man who’d once been Tank but who had survived the hanging meant to kill him, had led us back to reclaim the Oak Grove chapter for the loyal Cottonmouths. We’d won with a little help from the Hounds of Hell in Mercy. After the celebration, our compound was left with bullet holes, splintered frames, and busted glass. It had been a hell of a mess to clean up, and we weren’t done yet.
I was out back, replacing the siding on the last barrack that needed outside repairs. I had a hammer in one hand, and a headache that had been riding me since dawn. Still, I couldn’t shake the thought that we just might be wasting our damn time. We’d fix this place up, sure, but for how long? Yeah, Eli was dead and some of his crew were gone with him. But not all of them. Creep had been shot but he’d somehow survived that night. That fucker could still be running around. A few others loyal to Eli had made it out too.
Sinister Skin wasn’t going anywhere. Of that I was sure. And until we flushed out the rest of that rot, the repairs we made almost felt like a Band-Aid over a bullet wound.
“Guess it’s time to start on indoor repairs,” Ripper muttered, strolling out with a cold beer and no shame.
Vendetta followed him out, looking a little rougher than he usually did. But that was our friend’s new normal these days. The patch on his chest said president, and he wore it like it had its claws dug into him. Dylan had finally got him to sleep a full night last week. Ripper and I damn near threw a party. Vendetta was a good man but he’s a grouchy asshole on no rest.
“Got word from Mercy this morning,” Vendetta said, cracking his neck. “Snow says there’s no sign of the cartel left over there. At least not so far. Guess threatening Player’s girl wasn’t the brilliant move El Cuervo thought it was.”
Ripper snorted. “You mean right before she pulled a gun on him? Shit, I’ll never forget the look on Player’s face. Like he was about to pass out and propose all at the same time.”
Vendetta smirked. “Yeah, the cartel folded faster than I thought they would, honestly. If I had to guess, the Hounds haven’t seen the last of them.”
“If they come back, are we helping out?” Ripper said.
Vendetta nodded. “Most likely. Locked and loaded.”
I didn’t disagree, but I didn’t join in either. Cartel trouble made for good stories now that the business was done. But we were still knee-deep in our own brand of hell here in Oak Grove dealing with the remnants of Sinister Skin. The Hounds in Mercy had booted them out of their territory. It looked like we still needed to do the same.
“I’m glad we helped them out.” Shaking his head, Vendetta said, “It’s the least we could do. We couldn’t have taken this place back with just half the club. They helped us pull it through.”
Before any of us could say more, I heard footsteps coming closer. Two of our prospects, Cowboy and JJ, came running in like their asses were on fire. Both were out of breath, wide-eyed, and wired.
“Boss,” Cowboy gasped. “You’re gonna want to hear this.”
Vendetta straightened up instantly. I set down the drywall knife and wiped dust from my hands.
“We just saw Creep,” JJ said. “He ain’t dead.”
Silence fell like a goddamn hammer. I fucking knew it. Creep. That scrawny piece of shit had a face I wish I could forget and a scar down the middle of his chest that I’d personally gifted him. The bastard was supposed to be out of Oak Grove. Gone and smart enough to stay gone. I’d known he wasn’t dead.
Vendetta’s voice dropped low. “Where?”
JJ swallowed hard. “Here, on the edge of our own fucking property.”
My head snapped up. “You’re kidding me. He came here?”
“And he wasn’t alone,” JJ said. “Eagle was with him.”
I had to laugh at that. “Eagle? That prick’s still walking?”
JJ nodded. “And get this. They had a couple of guys with them we didn’t recognize. They weren’t from around here, but they looked like muscle.”
“They approach you?” Vendetta asked.
Cowboy shook his head. “Nah. They saw us coming and bolted. Didn’t say a damn word.”
“Vehicle?” Vendetta asked.
“Black SUV. Nice one,” Cowboy answered. “Tinted windows. Couldn’t see plates.”
Of course, it was a nice SUV. Sinister Skin loved riding on money they didn’t earn.
Vendetta stepped in closer. “Where exactly did you see them?”
“At the old south gate,” Cowboy replied. “Right where the fence line dips.”
I shook my head. Fifty acres of land surrounded the compound, most of it wild and untouched. The woods were thick enough that a man could ghost through them without ever being spotted. We had cameras and sensors up at the main gates, but out there? A couple of wrong turns and someone could camp out on us for days before we ever knew.
Vendetta must’ve been thinking the same thing, because his eyes narrowed in that calculating way of his.
Vendetta’s gaze met mine. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
I already was.
“If I had to guess, they’re trying to rebuild,” I said. “Trying to keep Sinister Skin’s shit alive under a new flag.”
“Or a temporary one,” Ripper added.
Vendetta gave the two younger Cottonmouths a nod. “Good work. Now I want you two to stay on the perimeter today. Keep eyes on it. No contact, no hero shit. Just eyes.”
JJ’s spine straightened like he’d just won an award. “Yes, sir.”
“You see anyone besides Creep and Eagle, you let us know right away,” Vendetta added.
The prospects headed back the way they came. As soon as they were out of earshot, Vendetta turned toward me.
Creep. Eagle. Unknown muscle. Icons of every problem we hadn’t finished burning out of Oak Ridge.
“They’re scouting us,” Vendetta muttered.
“Yeah,” I said, rolling my shoulders, muscles humming for a fight. “And they’re stupid enough to do it on our land.”
Ripper shook his head. “The fuckers are still here and still working with Sinister Skin. Jesus.”
“I’d bet on it,” I muttered. It was already leaving a bad taste in my mouth. “Sinister Skin doesn’t give a shit who the club president is. They made a deal with Eli, not the patch. They’re still going to expect the Cottonmouths to hold up our end of the bargain.”
Vendetta nodded grimly. “Not these Cottonmouths. We didn’t agree to any of it, and I’ll go to war over that. That’s Creep and Eagle’s problem now. That group will expect business to keep moving. And if it doesn’t --”
“They’re dead,” I finished for him.
All three of us stood there letting that sink in. We weren’t just talking about traitors. We were talking about assholes left from Eli’s regime, caught in a trap of their own making. Hell, we could still be implicated because of Eli and his bunch before it was all over with.
Vendetta exhaled frustration, the half-empty beer bottle in his hand forgotten. “All right. Let’s lock it down.”
Now we’re talking. I was already keyed up.
“I want double coverage on both gates,” Vendetta went on, his voice cool and clipped in that way that always meant shit was about to get serious. “No one gets in or out without us knowing.”
Ripper tossed his empty bottle into the trash. “You think they’re close?”
“They’re testing the fence,” Vendetta muttered. “Probably trying to figure out where we’re soft.” He turned to Ripper. “Go call Snow. See if he can hook us up with a surveillance system around the south gate. Sounds like we need it.”
Ripper nodded, already moving. Snow, the Hounds’ VP, ran an electronic security system in Mercy, which was handy right now. But I knew he really wanted Ripper out of earshot to talk to me in private.
Vendetta looked at me. “Shade --”
“I’m going,” I cut in, letting him know there was no way I wasn’t.
He studied me for a second. “I need eyes, not a body count.”
I didn’t say anything. Vendetta had been watching me ever since that night when we took back the club, since I put a bullet in Eli without blinking. No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just the right thing done fast.
Vendetta respected restraint. Hell, I respected him that night. Dylan’s uncle or not, Vendetta held the line and kept his cool, even when Eli spat on everything this club ever stood for.
But me? I didn’t have that kind of patience. Eli had tried to take down the entire chapter. He was a stain on the Cottonmouth name. He’d had it coming, and somebody needed to do what everyone else was too damn careful to do.
And Vendetta knew it. At times, he watched me like he was waiting to see which version of me he’s going to get: the one who listens, or the one who pulls the trigger and deals with the consequences later.
Either way, I decided maybe I’d be going.
I gave a sharp nod. “You’ll get what you need.”
Jamie Targaet is the author of the Hounds of Hell MC. She's anxious to introduce you to this club of gorgeous, dominant men and the lucky women who surrender to them. The ride is going to get wild at times, not going to lie. But there's thrilling action, scorching hot sex scenes, and all the feels.
Jamie writes erotic romance for Changeling Press, a little fanfiction on the side, and she's an aspiring horror writer in another life. She enjoys time with her family (including the fur babies). She likes good horror movies and shows, emo metal and classic rock, and time spent in other worlds writing and reading. She loves hearing from readers and is looking forward to hearing from you.
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