Demon Motorcycle Club Novels & Stories

Simon shook his head, this was all Damian's father's fault, if he has just let this young prince of De'Northa be. "you're in a servant and master bond?" "I have a plan," Damian said, ignoring simon's question, Simon ears perked up, "But you have to swear to be there with me till the end" Simon bowed, he could not and would never betray him, "I swear on my life" "Good" Damian said, glad that his own Knight still had his loyalty, "Now, let's bring back De'Northa shall we?" Simon's eyes open in shook, "my Lord?" but Damian had started walking down to the middle of the ruins to raise his hand, engulfing everywhere in purple smoke.

My ribs screamed with every breath—courtesy of Derek's boots three nights ago in that motel parking lot outside Tucson. "You cannot run forever, Jenna," he had said, his voice cold as winter. "I will find you again." But I had run. Again. A rumble split the air. Deep. Mechanical. The kind that made your bones vibrate. I lifted my head and saw them. Six motorcycles rolling down Main Street like they owned it. Leather. Chrome. The devil's head patch on their backs—red eyes, fangs bared. Devil's Reign MC. My blood turned to ice.

I slide off the stool and follow him, my hand discreetly checking for the gun at my side. He leads me to a small building and slides the door up. I pause when I see the bike. Damn. I recognize it immediately from all the articles I read. “Yours?” I ask, stepping inside and pretending to admire it. To me it’s just a bike. I don’t get the hype. “Sure is.” I don’t know much about MCs, but I’m pretty sure this club can’t afford a bike like this without some serious outside connections. “Have you been on it?”

I wasn't sure who it was but somebody around here knew a biker club and next thing we knew these scary men and women were riding on motorcycles and taking residence in our town. They wore sleeveless jackets with lots of different color patches in the front and a logo on the back that was meant to scare everybody and called themselves The Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club.

Crowe, entry thirty one, matte black bike* I went and pulled everything. The surface layer was straightforward. Jaxen Crowe, twenty eight. Director and founder of the Moon Biker's Club, established four years ago as a regional outfit and expanded within eighteen months into something that made the industry pay attention. Clean record, no charges, no civil suits, nothing that would raise a flag on a standard background check. Tax filings current. Business registration clean. The kind of paper trail that belonged to someone who either had very good lawyers or was genuinely careful about how he operated.

] The shop owner immediately sent back a string of question marks. Me: [What's wrong?] Shop owner: [Please tell me you're joking! That's not an incubus! That's a demon, and the most dangerous kind at that!] Incubi had markings. Demons had them too. For someone unfamiliar with the difference, they were indeed hard to tell apart. Everything made sense now—why Raven never needed to feed, why he insisted he had no owner, and why he always caught himself before saying too much. That night, when the enforcement officers conducted their search, they were looking for Raven.

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.

One threat to a member was a threat to all. But when we reached my private garage, everyone stopped. The door was fine. Untouched. It was what was nailed to it that made my blood freeze. A motorcycle club patch, burnt at the edges but still recognizable. Grim Howl MC. A club that had been massacred three days ago in a turf war gone wrong. Or so we'd thought. Beneath it, carved deep into the metal door with something sharp enough to shred steel, were four words that ripped open every carefully buried fear.

The mafia Don was having more fun than what he had imagined. The race reminded him of Stephen and Damien. However, this time he didn't remember them in a painful way like he always does. Instead, he recalled how they used to have so much fun while training for the club racing competition. The club is called SURVIVORS, one of the biggest motorcycle racing clubs in Xiaomi city.

You could all properly remembered that my brother alongside his wife was killed In the forest. Eventhough they are if the Lycan's blood or species,? Who among the other clans if the werewolves could actually stand us? I arched my eyes in askance staring from the least at the extreme of the line to the nearest in my presence. Waiting for an answer or perhaps an interruption. None of it was Coming which satisfied my inner glee. "The demon's clan!"I listened as my voice echoed around the hall, with the faces of my subordinates raising up in gust and shock.