Chosen Souls Motorcycle Club นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Their mouth dropped open when the man suddenly knelt on one knee in front of Rooka, saying: “I, Helios Aetos, fourth son of Leander, Alpha of the Aetos pack. Pledge my allegiance to you, Rooka, Leader of the Middle Eastern and African Nation. With the permission of my Alpha, my father, I am here to help you and Serena Daire to reach your goal,” Helios took off his sunglasses, his steel grey eyes was filled with mirth and knowledge, before adding, “I have yet to tell the President of my MC club what is happening, but reassured that for the very first Were MotoGP, Shifter Dunes will win.”

’ Her Aunt had the grace to look away, unable to meet the accusation and hurt in those emerald eyes. ‘I’ve already said I am sorry, Mervon, this is not personal, you are still my niece, and I love you dearly, but I was not given a choice. I have spent my whole adult life building this club up almost from scratch. I came here as a raw recruit from Ireland when I was seventeen. The Shadows are my life, and I will do whatever it takes to protect this club, and that means aligning it with one of those four. You should be grateful I demanded you be given a choice, the Council were ready to honour your father's contract with Morningstar.’

His heart was shattering in the tiniest pieces. Not being able to endure that anymore, he walked away from the gym and freshened up. Fresh out of the shower he dressed in his biker attire formed with gloves, moto jeans, boots, chest shell, elbow, and shoulder armor. Putting the leather jacket over the black tee he completed his dressing, taking the bike's key from the several keys in the drawer, he walked out of his house into the garage. Wearing the helmet he climbed up on his KTM RC 200 and geared up the engine. He drove out of his mansion speedily like a cheetah and continued until he reached his destination.

“The same. He’s meaner than he looks when he has to be. Road Captain’s Diesel — plans runs, keeps the bikes moving. Treasurer’s Stitch, handles the cash. Then you’ve got full-patch members who vote on club decisions.” Her gaze shifted toward the prospect, now mopping the floor with his head down. “And him?” “Bottom rung,” Rhett said flatly. “Prospect. Does what he’s told until the club decides he’s worthy. You don’t just wear the viper. You earn it.” He paused, then tapped his chest again. “And then you’ve got Enforcers. That’s me, Tank, and Ghost. We make sure respect is kept. Inside the club and outside. If someone crosses us, we handle it.”

Picking up my helmet, I threw my leg over it and then turned to my guys with a huge shit-eating grin on my face. 'Oasis Blues, are we ready to ride?' I shouted, raising my fist, and they answered instantly. 'Ride or Die Pres. Ride or Die!' 'I can't hear you guys. Enough with the pussy mewing, let me hear my MC Club. I am the President of this Motorcycle Club, and I want to know. ARE WE READY TO RIDE OASIS BLUES?'

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.

“And Crow.” Penny paused as she looked around at all of them, while feeling doubtful about these being their real names. “They have some unusual names.” Kizzy laughed. “They’re an MC.” Penny stared at her. “A what?” “An MC, lady,” the one called Greer stated. “Motorcycle club. You know. Bikers?” Her eyes rounded. “Why would Williams be with…” She shook her head. “Ok, well, I know of the man with the scar. Man, do I know of him. He’s the worst of the lot from what I understand.”

He wore faded jeans, a plain black t-shirt and lace up motorcycle boots. Just like their brethren, he and Chance wore their leather cuts. Black leather with their road names on a black patch with white writing. On the back was the club patch of a red devil with huge angel wings rode a motorcycle. A halo hung precariously on the left horn. Along the bottom of the patch was the club motto. May the Saints bless us as we do the Devil’s work.

They’re also a famous motorcycle club, but they’re their rivals as well. Carl was the vice president of the Wild Hogs motorcycle club and has been running the club even before they were in college. His father, a drug addict, never loved him and spent most of his time on gambling and women. His mother died when he was still very much young so he hasn’t received much love from anyone.

Not that I gave a fuck what that old man thought, but I didn’t need him getting in my way now, especially when Theron was already pacing inside me, ready to rip apart everything in our path. Finally, I reached the club, and I wasn’t surprised by the sight that met me—dozens and dozens of motorcycles were parked outside in crooked lines, their engines still warm, and the air was heavy with the smell of smoke, sweat, and gasoline, meaning my men were here already. The Vipers MC Clearly Kingston had gotten the message earlier and had rounded them up pretty fast. I stormed into the empty club, my boots slamming the sticky floor where broken bottles and glass were scattered about. The place reeke