Books About Motorcycle Clubs Novels & Stories

He explained. "Really?" Sam asked. "Yeah, I do. Don't you?" He asked. "I've never thought about it. But I figured bikers didn't do kids." Sam replied. "Bikers are like anyone else. Some do and some don't. Our club isn't into the illegal shit so I'm good with kids." Smokey explained. "So, give it some thought." Sam nodded. "Guess who's coming to the clubhouse this weekend?" Smokey asked. "Snake?" Sam asked.

“You okay?” “Motorcycle club?” I asked. He nodded. “Like Hell’s Angels?” Booker smirked. “In theory.” “Crap.” I glanced up at him. “I really should go.” “Go where, darlin’? There’s nothing around here for over a mile in any direction.” “Clarify something for me. Are you a club because you have really nice bikes and like to hang out and drink beer on occasion, or are you like outlaws or something?”

“What do you know about the lit club, Isaac?” Isaac worried whether he should answer the query. “People are saying you were close friends with Christie Claricel.” Mickey knew it’d come to this. He had no way of escape from the fact. He gulped. “Fine, we were close friends for a tiny bit but it was only because I was president of the club. We went on book dates in the park as friends and rode the bus to the city multiple times to visit museums. And what about it? What do you find sketchy?”

She who liked reading about dragons, and other mystical creatures doesn’t believe in coincidences. What she do believe in was fate/faith. Lem could only look at Serena. As much as he wanted to tell her what would happen, he could not. It was for her to discover her true path. There were too many things that were happening. Some of them were things the queen have not even mentioned. Lem, had to sigh, sooner or later, Serena had to know that there was a group of dragons living in the same country as she had. RagTag MC was one of the most well-known shifter groups in the land. They were also the only Were/Shifter Motorcycle Club. They have no connection to the Were Nation, which makes them a da

"Even if my very own club brothers think I am completely losing my edge because of it." As I wrapped my arms tightly around his thick neck and kissed him back with a hunger of my own, a terrifying realization washed over my mind. The Iron Reapers were not just a regular motorcycle club. They were a massive, explosive powder keg waiting for a single spark. And I was standing right in the absolute middle of the fire.

"What you don't know is the Wraiths." Brianne's motorcycle club had been running cover for her hidden, unregistered pack for three years — human towns, shifter territory, nobody asking questions a badge would ask, nobody clocking a dozen bikers running escort as anything but exactly what it looked like. MCs didn't answer to council law. That was the beauty of it. "They ride escort," Elizabeth said. "Every drop Josiah documents, the Wraiths shadow at a distance. Anything goes wrong, they're already there. Off the books. Untraceable back to us."

I’m not sure whether he means one of these infamous meals he claims will make me fall in love … or if he’s referring to whatever the hell almost happened upstairs. Either way, my subcortical structures and temporal lobes slam straight into heat mode again. The boys talk while they eat — about an upcoming race. Not MotoGP this time, but MotoCross. Right here. In the Golden City. “Can we girls come too?” I ask casually, swirling my coffee. “I’ve never been to one.” Which is a blatant lie. Kiara and I have snuck into his races before, blending into the crowd, hats low, hearts pounding. And if I can’t be there in person, I watch every race I can on TV.

So when Jo had been looking to get the hell away from her physically and emotionally abusive husband, Brian, she’d gone looking for accounting jobs in Denver. Coming to work for The Road Devils motorcycle club had been, without a doubt, the craziest and the best decision that she’d made in recent years, maybe in her entire life. From the word go, she’d been welcomed and respected, treated better by a bunch of rough-and -ready bikers than she had been by her own husband.

There’s honor there, buried under layers of leather and blood, but it’s there. But the Vagos and the Mongols? Yeah. I wouldn’t put this shit past them. Those two clubs are poison. Mexican muscle, sure, but no loyalty. Not even to themselves. Always at each other’s throats. Always flipping alliances when it suits them. A brotherhood with a loose thread isn’t a brotherhood. It’s a fucking time bomb. If they’re behind this, if they touched Sophia or my mother, I’ll make sure their children’s children run scared every time they see a motorcycle.

LISA Finally, there's news about Mona, street cameras showed a blue and red bike with a tiger dented on the side, the exact description of the type of bike Asah saw Mona get on the day she ran away from her own wedding. Turns out, they're a very notorious motorcycle club. They're also suspects in female prostitution, robbery and drugs distribution, the police have never found any solid evidence on them, that's why they are still roaming around freely. This information makes me more worried and nervous, what if he's forced her into prostitution. The thought alone has bile rising up my throat.