Best Motorcycle Club Romance Books Mga Nobela at Kwento

In total, they were the word Perfect itself. Amanda could recognize the one in the middle as one of the famous bikers in college from their motorcycle club– Wild Hogs Motorcycle club. He often drives around town with his team and she couldn’t deny the fact that she feels an unexplainable pull whenever she’s around him. She knew in her heart that she was crushing on him, even though she would constantly say otherwise.

Shaking my head and ridding myself of the image of the blonde bombshell in my basement, I told Enzo I’d meet him at the club, all of this pent-up anger needed to go somewhere, and maybe after that, I’d be able to think as clearly as he was thinking. The club was operating in full swing by the time we got there we had to cut through security to get in. I preferred to have my fun in establishments owned by regular rich folks and celebrities who had nothing to do with Cosa Nostra. That way, I was a regular rich dude with a couple of bucks to spare and I got whatever I wanted. Granted, anonymity was hard for me and I still found a few folks who knew me but the women were mostly oblivious and did

As I turned around, my eyes landed on Nikolai and my heart slammed hard against my chest. “Where do you think you are running, Miss. Mitchel,” Author’s Note:- Hey guys, Please do leave your comments below and do like the book. Follow me for further updates. Love you all.

Two hours later she was wearing another one of his shirts and roaring up the beach on a stolen motorcycle. She grinned under the black helmet. She'd never ridden a Ducati XDiavel S before. She'd've pegged Soloman as more of an old school Harley kind of guy. But hey, she wasn't going to complain. She needed the kind speed only a crotch rocket could provide to put some distance between her and the kind of hell that would fall on her head once Soloman found out she was gone.

~Nick~ The name’s Nick Gracen, but most call me Lightning. I’m the local prez of the Wild Ridge MC Club. It’s a title that carries weight, respect, and a hell of a lot of responsibility. I looked around the clubhouse, a place that had seen more action than most could handle. The air was thick with the scent of oil, leather, and a hint of whiskey—a comforting blend that felt like home. The brothers were scattered around, some tinkering with their bikes, others deep in conversation about our latest shipment.

The rider slammed on the brakes, the bike sliding sideways and coming to a stop just inches from my legs. He ripped his helmet off. He had dark hair, a jagged scar near his eyebrow, and a look of pure annoyance. His leather vest had a patch: IRON GRAVE MC. "You trying to die, Princess?" he barked. "Or did you just get lost on the way to the castle?" I was shaking so hard I could barely speak. In the distance, I saw the black SUVs. Edmund’s men. "Please," I choked out, grabbing his arm. "I need to get out of here. They’re going to catch me."

Salt Lake City, Utah The Highway Hellions MC Clubhouse Two days later Wolf pulled up to The Highway Hellions clubhouse, hoping that he looked far more relaxed than he actually felt. He was sure that there were eyes on him right now, and he doubted that any of them were friendly. Taking his time, moving deliberately, he opened the car door – this was the first car that he’d bought since joining The Road Devils, and it was a second-hand piece of shit, and he was already missing his motorcycle like he’d miss air – and stepped into the parking lot. He looked around, noted the MC businesses (a tattoo studio and a bar, somehow both compulsory when talking about biker clubs), and just the sight of

CLUB GOLD. I'd heard of it, of course. Everyone in certain circles had. An exclusive BDSM club for the wealthy and powerful. The kind of place Marcus's friends whispered about with knowing smirks. A place I'd never been allowed to go—not that I'd wanted to. Not after what Marcus had done to me in the name of dominance. But right now, it represented something Marcus's world didn't: sanctuary. The club's service entrance was around back, hidden in shadows. I tested the door. Unlocked. My hands shook as I slipped inside, careful to close it silently behind me.

He asked, turning to face them. “What could the queen’s man possibly want to know about us?” Margo asked, tossing back a shot of whiskey. “How did the two of you end up affiliated with a motorcycle club?” He asked, trying not to laugh at the jab she had directed at him. “I was born into it?” Margo sighed, pouring herself another shot. “I got into it because we grew up together. Motorcycle clubs aren’t all bad, ya know. Why do you ask?” Dex sighed, sipping his beer.

Each step was cautious, every sound amplified in the stillness of night. Their contacts had pointed them toward an upscale club on the city’s edge—an unlikely place for such dealings, but the perfect cover. Inside the club, the bass pulsed through the walls, the crowd lost in music and smoke. Elena and Luca scanned the room, eyes sharp, senses alert. There, near the bar, a man in a tailored suit exchanged a thick envelope with a courier. “Elena,” Luca whispered. “That’s him.” Moving swiftly but carefully, they closed the distance, watching as The Broker vanished into a back room.