Books About Biker Gangs Novels & Stories

Like it was built to keep people out. As we walk, I notice the others. Men scattered along the grounds, some near motorcycles parked in neat rows. The sound of an engine roars in the distance, and I turn to see a group of riders speed past the gates. Black leather jackets, helmets, the glint of chrome. My chest tightens. A biker gang. I don’t need anyone to explain it to me. The signs are all here. The mansion. The heavy security. The bikes. This client is definitely not a regular person.

“You’re insufferable.” “And you wanted to know more about the motorcycle gang.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Fair. Fine. Tell me about the bikers.” “I’m afraid there is not too much to share,” I say idly as Lalaine clambers all over the marble sculpture of a horse and rider. “Motorcycle gangs are guns for hire.” “Cheap ones, too,” she murmurs. I arch an eyebrow. “How do you know that?” “I’m a woman, Alessandro. I’m not an idiot.”

I began as I also gave Yulia and Miles their own files. “Biker gangs are more than four, Issa, they are close to twenty or more,” Jamal said. “These four are our persons of interest because they deal with something different from the rest of the gang,” I said. “Dark magic,” Miles added. “What else can you tell us about them?” Jamal asked. “The first biker is called Austin Jordan, went to prison for seven counts of rape and sexual assault, he was sentenced to ten years, now he is an enforcer for the gang and mostly deals in human trafficking,” I said.

"When I was fourteen, I started riding with the older guys in the club. Terrified. Shaking. But I acted like I owned the place." "You were a delinquent. That's different." "I was confident. Confidence is confidence." Duke caught her shoulders. "Emma. Look at me." She turned. His daughter. Dark-eyed and stubborn and trying so hard not to show how frightened she was. "You are the toughest kid I know," Duke said. "You've grown up with bikers, handled a blended family, dealt with things most fourteen-year-olds never face. High school is nothing compared to what you've already survived."

Trying to protect my balls while trying to fight off this infamous biker gang was going to be difficult. I recognized them as their motorbikes got closer. The Children of the Black Blood. They were werewolves who had been banished from their packs and banded together to commit all kind of crimes. I had an extensive brief on them and how they operated. They mostly targeted law enforcers. They could have recognized my Humvee and decided that I was their next victim. They made a very stupid mistake. My balls were on the line, literarily. That was much precious to me more than anything and I did not want to disappoint Xena.

I rev up my engine and speed up. I guess the biker doesn't like playing chicken as much as he thought, because he freaks out and books it and suddenly the entire biker gang falls away, knowing I'm not in the mood to play. It's about damn time! Do not mess with me right now! I grab my radio. "Beckett, that damn biker gang is back. See what you can do with them. And find out who the driver is for that Ram! I want them all behind bars!" I growl.

He sighed and leaned back on the couch. “All I can tell you now is that there a underground biker gangs who've been a nuisance to the city for a while now.” He said. “And you haven't made any arrests?” I asked. “That's the problem, Miss Lancaster.” “Just call me Serena.” “Well, that's the problem, Serena. These aren't petty gangs like you'd want to believe. These are well-organized crime syndicates perfectly hidden. What's more? These gangs we fear are mostly led by the elite class of families in the city. Now, even though we can't really pin those families with evidence, we suspect that they are mostly behind these gangs.”

Whatever business the Hunters ran, it wasn't some back-alley operation. At least, not obviously. Three hours of research later, I'd found several job postings for the same building. Most were vague—"management positions," "customer relations," "event coordination"—but they all promised excellent pay for the right candidate. One posting in particular caught my attention: "Manager Position - Alpha Biker Gang Group. Immediate start. Competitive salary. Strong candidates only." Alpha Biker Gang Group. The name was familiar, though I couldn't place where I'd heard it. I clicked through to their website—sleek, professional, with photos of expensive motorcycles and well-dressed executives.

“I used to think you were at the beginning.” “You want that punch?” “I’m saying…” I moved to my seat. It wobbled. Or I wobbled. Who knows? “I’m saying this was a bikers club. It wasn’t really family. Buggy and I just needed a roof over our heads and I was tired of being hunted down by the police—” “Because you were hacking into bank accounts and stealing money.”

sound of gravelly voices, the clinking of bottles, and the low roar of motorcycles idling outside. I walked through the crowd, found a table with an empty chair—well, not totally empty, because there was a half-drunk bottle of whiskey sitting there. I sat down anyway. I knew Tyler would be here in five minutes. He’d take the money, sign the paper, and then I could finally live a normal life. I could finally think about my own dreams instead of someone else's nightmare. I kept my head down, The joint was packed with the worst of the worst. Bikers, thugs , gamblers .It was just a big, dangerous mix of scumbags.