Chosen Souls Motorcycle Club Novels & Stories

While Gavin took Machine Guns such as bren machine gun,hotchkiss machine gun and MG42 Mag machine gun. Just like Cardo also picked the outstanding Schwarzlose machine gun, an AK-47 and tanto point a dagger class. Kulas took the assault rifle, a 6-inch stainless steel blade Ontario MK-3 Navy Knife and ammunition. "Woahh khez babes you look beautiful and at the same time you're scary"He's laughing at me after he said it to me afterwards he place it carefully. "so I won't bother you anymore"he added and turn to our busy companion.

“Satan’s Bar. We own it.” “We?” “The Road Devils.” “Are what are you?” She thought about the men’s names, the matching vests, the gun, the tattoos. “Are you a – a biker gang?” “You mean, are we a motorcycle club as seen on prime time TV and in Hollywood movies?” She nodded. “Yes and no.” He sighed. “We are indeed an MC but we aren’t criminals.” “You aren’t?” “Well…” A strange look crossed his face, then he seemed to snap back to himself. “Yeah. I mean, no, we’re not criminals.”

Tharien and Nori stood in the diner's doorway for a moment, the rain-soaked city opening up before them. The bond sat between them — warm, anchored, chosen. Not a wound anymore. Not a liability. Not the thing that made them targets. The thing that made them something the darkness couldn't digest. "Ready?" he said. She looked at the city. At its clipboards and vans and rounded fonts and fractures full of people who hadn't yet been told the quiet being sold to them was a blade. "Yes," she said. They stepped into the rain. Odon Kuraim felt them move — felt the bond's steady, unbroadcasting warmth — and found nothing to feed on.

He asked rhetorically. “Because the Superior State is not a punishment. It’s an identity— the greatest identity, and I was to guide you to it because you had become very important and didn’t know it. You are the fucking Chosen— the moon goddess left a piece of her soul, her consciousness in you. That’s no curse! That’s a gift because it means that out of everyone in the entire Canine Reigns, you are the only one the Moon goddess found worthy to receive her soul. You are the only one, Ciril— that’s grace.” He announced, spreading his arm with a smile.

"And the Black Pistons? They're not just a motorcycle club, are they?" Her laugh is warm, genuine. "They are a motorcycle club. Just not only that." She begins walking again, guiding me past trees bearing fruit I've never seen—silver-skinned with flesh that glows from within. "The Black Pistons are primarily dragon shifters. The clubhouse serves as the heart of their territory, a place they can be themselves without hiding their true nature."

Their matching leather cuts spike volume, as did their lingering and assessing gazes they seemed to throw at everyone. They didn't need to speak much to let other people know that they had a story behind them. Maybe I was thinking that way because I've read their files with Jacopo the previous night. Maybe that was why I feared for the ladies of the web. From what I have seen on the file, The Only Girls Motorcycle Club goes after revenge like a shark does blood. They are relentless when it comes to protecting one of their own. No one had ever come across their club, did something wrong to them, and lived to tell the tale. And knowing what happened to those two prospect of theirs, I knew they

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.

In the evening Armaan received a call from Hernan Bush to have a drink. “Soul” is the premium and most exclusive private club of Philadelphia. Even if you are rich you can’t enter the club; you need to be entitled too. Hernan Bush, Adan Smith, and Dewei Scavo are the sworn brothers of Armaan. Hernan is the crown prince of the media & entertainment industry, Adan’s family is in the jewelry business since their inception, and Dewei followed his passion to be a doctor by dropping the inheritance of the Scavo family who is into politics. They all four grown up together and were armory of each other.

The place seemed as grandiose as he had heard and immediately all he could think was, what am I even doing here? The only thing he had ever truly heard about this specific club was that it was one where drug lords, gangsters, and some of the most powerful people in the city enjoyed congregating. It wasn't a place someone like himself should even be stepping foot in. "Ready to go in?" David asked stepping from behind Asher and giving a long whistle. Nodding Asher and David made their way to the waiting bouncer and presented their ID'S. Satisfied that they were the real deal the bouncer stepped aside and motioned for the two men to enter.