Novel & Cerita Books About Biker Gangs

“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.

Liam replied nonchalantly. His parents raised their eyebrows, they had never heard of a biker gang, and they knew about all the other underground mafias and gangs, it just proved that the biker gang was a small-time gang. Liam's dad sighed, "I'll fix This, I'll make a couple of calls, and you're safe." His dad assured, patting his son on the shoulders. Liam smiled faintly and nodded slightly, "Okay." He was feeling relieved after hearing his dad's words.

“Do you want to run in that?” I motioned to Sandra’s tight leather armor. “Sure,” Sandra said. “It’s more comfortable and flexible than it looks. It’s well worn in.” “Huh. You don’t see many wolves in leather like that,” I said. “I used to run with a biker gang,” she explained. “A… human biker gang?” I asked. A few wolves owned and rode motorcycles, but I’d never heard of them forming anything you could call a gang.

He replied, while pouring her a glass of the sangria she brought. The meal progressed and she enjoyed Drakes company and his cooking. During their dinner conversation, she learned that he was a Rhodes Scholar and a Yale graduate. He had graduated with a double major of law and business. He had taught himself to cook. He enjoyed a challenge, mental or otherwise and whether he bested it or was bested, he learned from it. His double major had been proof of his love of a challenge. His family was very wealthy. Old money. With that money, he helped the people that he could. When he formed the motorcycle club, it was with the idea to help women escape from deadly abusive relationships, and assi

LUCIANO Things were beginning to go wrong in my world…in this perfect syndicate I crafted for myself in the midst of these foolish humans. Lounging on a couch in a VIP room in my casino, I wondered what could be setting off the fireworks. I never had a reason to worry about turf wars, but now, it seemed like the recent move of a notorious gang into the city would be more of a headache than I ever imagined. Vale had broken the news to me early this morning. The gang was a group of bikers known to dabble in various murky waters. Ranging from drug and women trafficking, to petty political thefts that were starting to destabilize the economy.

It seems he knew all of it was a made up story. “And this biker, what's his name?” he asked, eyes still locked on his notepad. “Mordred Sinclair,” I replied, letting the hate drip into every syllable. “He’s got a crew. Black Vipers or some biker gang bullshit. Check the cameras outside. You’ll see.”

He said with bowed head and I rolled my eyes, puffing out the smokes and I turned, heading to the hall. *** *** *** The hall was already filled with bikers, all eager to learn. Of cause they will, I'm the tutor. The girls passed with seductive winks but I ignored them like they were non existent. “The Ballisters are one of the toughest mafias over here in the City, Getting into thier volt like home isn't going to be easy! You'll need skills, stamina and Strength! The three S to a perfect plan's accomplishment!” I said and they nodded.

I still have no idea what caused the decapitation, though. Trained warriors, the Marine’s shake off their shock quicker than the bikers and let loose a deafening fusillade of automatic rifle fire. The bikers don’t stand a chance. Their bodies jerk and dance as the bullets tear into them. Before even one can get off a shot, they’re all lying dead in the street, their corpses tangled up with one another and with their still idling motorcycles. I almost feel sorry for them, until I remember the human skulls adorning some of the handlebars. The world is a better place without this gang, I know.

I don’t know much about biker rules or culture, but I know this isn’t a good sign. It feels ominous. Only bad things bring everyone together—like death. Every time a biker dies, they all return to lay him to rest. Even the retired ones. Even those who’ve walked away. As for the Sons of Chaos MC, I don’t know much about them,just that they’re the richest biker group across the states. They own more businesses than any other MC, and they’re also the most populated. I’ve seen them fill up an entire bar before, and I once overheard Daisy and Matt saying that wasn’t even half of their members.

“Just trying to figure out these goddamned… these gosh-darned cribs. They all look the same, you see.” Bianca Morgan stared at the three of them, even more taken aback than her daughter at what was standing in front of her. All three men were sporting tattoos and huge boots, they were all wearing matching leather vest things with patches that read ‘Road Devils’. She almost passed out when she realized that she was face-to-face with real, live motorcycle gang members. The urge to grab her daughter and run was pretty strong, but she didn’t want to piss them off. “You’re – you’re crib shopping?” Bianca asked them, aiming for terrified politeness. “For – for one of your babies?”