Biker Gang Books Novels & Stories

"Not Levi. But don't worry, I'll find him. I have my ways." Nicholas leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with a hint of resolve. "We'll need to find new pack members, strengthen our numbers. I've been thinking of recruiting the biker gang that's been hanging around the outskirts of town." Kimberly's eyebrows shot up. "The biker gang? Aren't they...feral? I heard about them." Nicholas nodded. "That's why I want them. But they're also mutants." "What are mutants? Like partial werewolves right?" Kimberly's confusion was evident.

My ribs screamed with every breath—courtesy of Derek's boots three nights ago in that motel parking lot outside Tucson. "You cannot run forever, Jenna," he had said, his voice cold as winter. "I will find you again." But I had run. Again. A rumble split the air. Deep. Mechanical. The kind that made your bones vibrate. I lifted my head and saw them. Six motorcycles rolling down Main Street like they owned it. Leather. Chrome. The devil's head patch on their backs—red eyes, fangs bared. Devil's Reign MC. My blood turned to ice.

“Tristan Fuller…he was part of a biker gang. And so are the men that came around that day.” I sit up, the chips falling. “What’s the name of the gang?” “Smitties MC.” My jaw drops. No fucking way.

This was the perfect spot for all sorts of crimes, including those animal attacks that have been all over the news recently. I shuddered at the very thought, remembering the images that have been spreading all over the internet. Maybe they weren’t animal attacks at all. Panic began to set in as I realized that I was in some serious trouble. I could tell from the matching jackets that these bikers were part of some gang. They were also people I didn’t want to mess with.

"It is everywhere. Simultaneous raids across seventeen states. Every major independent club. All being arrested for weapons trafficking, narcotics distribution, money laundering." Subject Seven moved to the window. "This is not coincidence. This is coordinated elimination. The boy is using federal law enforcement to dismantle every organization that could provide resistance." "Why bikers specifically?" Rebecca demanded. "Why target clubs?" "Because you are organized. Mobile. Independent of government oversight. You have communication networks that bypass standard surveillance. You have resources and loyalty structures that make you dangerous to centralized control." I pulled up my own phone.

​After what felt like an eternity standing in front of her parents' house, I kicked my bike into gear and rode back to the clubhouse. Riding through the wind, I couldn’t help but think about what it meant to actually have a family. I know what I am. I can be brutal viciously so.In the underworld, I have been called a lot of things. The Bull. The Devil. Iron Fist. But when it comes to family, I have a soft spot. I’m a child at heart for the people I love. But make no mistake: you do not mess with me, my brothers, or their old ladies.

He touched it with a gentleness I hadn't seen him show to anything else. By the time dusk rolled in, I couldn’t stay cooped up anymore. The walls of the room felt like they were pressing in. I slipped out and wandered through the dimly lit hallways of the clubhouse. Most of the bikers ignored me, their attention on card games or greasy food. Some stared, curious but silent, their eyes following me like shadows. I heard whispers, hushed tones that carried through the smoke-filled air. About “the girl Reaper brought in.” About me being “another broken bird.”

Every single breath he took felt like a shield keeping the dangers of the outlaw world far away from my skin. I knew that the morning would bring more club business, more dangerous meetings with the highway brothers, and the constant threat of the Devils gang lurking at the edges of our territory. Tank was still locked away in the dark basement cells, and the memory of Raven's bitter eyes was a warning that the trouble was never truly gone. The life of a biker president was always going to be written in blood, gasoline, and violence.

Especially the ones that were based in places like this. MC clubs with hot tattooed bikers who loved their women and weren't pigs. I thought it was a myth, until Gabriel and his friends showed up. Until then the only men around this club were men like Sam and Billy. Beer gutted with scraggly beards and yellow stained teeth.

Never in such a manner. We have enemies, yes, but only a fool would attack the clubhouse knowing that the club is filled with highly trained bikers, not only that, some members are former military and they know how to fight. But this feels and smells like a massacre. I jump out of my bike and Hera is already off of it. " What the hell?" She whispers and her words are enough to make my blood boil. I run forward, heading to the entrance of the clubhouse. The sight before me is enough to have me freeze.