Demon Motorcycle Club Novels & Stories

Ruben’s eyes locked on to hers with an intense fire. “No.” She said simply, putting faith in Ruben, and looked away as Ruben beamed a huge smile and faced Vladimir and Mikhail. “Gentlemen, we are here to discuss financial matters and the progress of our business ventures together but I want to let you both know in trust and honesty that Katarina, here, is a Demon. My investigations have found that she has been contracted to one Scott McGowen who runs the South End gang of humans that have been slaughtering other small time gangs in the area over the last few days trying to…as you well know…consolidate himself and increase his own territory stakes.”

"But remember, the Demon werewolf is not to be trifled with. If you ever feel like you are in danger, you must come to me immediately." "Thank you," I said. "I won't forget your words of caution." The Lycan sorcerer nodded, his eyes fixed on me. "Remember, the Demon werewolf is a formidable opponent," he said. "But with the talisman, you stand a fighting chance." After thanking the Lycan sorcerer, my stepfather and I made our way back through the dense woods towards our home. The path was treacherous, and we had to navigate through thickets and fallen logs to make our way forward.

Daddy had only smiled in response then continued, "the Shadow Clan Alpha founded a motorcycle club called Club Casablanca, and the thought of wolves riding motorcycles leaves the elders of the Blue River Clan feeling uneasy." "They must be really bad Daddy," I would then reply, lying on my bed. "Yes, my love. They sure are. Respectable wolves like us shouldn't have anything to do with them. Do you know, that motorcycle club is a sign of the Shadow Clan's lack of respect for the ways of nature. It's a direct and defiant challenge to our own traditions and values." I'd ask him, “Is that why we should always stay away from them Daddy?” And he would reply, "Yes dear. The elders of the Blue River

I don’t know much about biker rules or culture, but I know this isn’t a good sign. It feels ominous. 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.

“This was fun while it lasted, but it was never going to be forever. It was always going to go this way, if things came down to you or the club. You knew this.” “The club?” Liam spat out. He’d never said one word against the Fallen Angels, the one-percenter motorcycle club that Ace was a member of, not in the whole year that he’d been with this man – but the time for reticence was over. Way fucking over. “The club that would make sure that you suffered a slow, painful death if they knew that you like men? The club that would shoot me between the eyes for being a fag?” His voice was dripping with sarcastic venom by now as he deliberately emphasized that hated, hateful word. “That club, Ace? T

Max I sit in my seat at church, located to the left of Austin. The long oval red oak table proudly presents the emblem of our club. The death symbol holding his usual scythe along with a shield. Under the emblem are the words Nightmare Warriors MC in black bold letters. We have only been in church a few moments and are still waiting on a few brothers to join us, but judging my Austin's nervous behavior, I can tell something is defiantly wrong. The thought worries me. This club doesn't need any more bullshit.

The bar looks spotless, and the alcohol bottles are lined up with military precision in glass cabinets hanging above the counter. This place is clean for a biker bar. Only the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cigars gives it away. I turn around and spot the massive logo of the MC painted on the wall: a black, realistic-looking skull grinning on a red background. Behind the skull are huge black angel wings, and a blunt hangs out of the creepy grin. Above it reads "Highway Demons," and below: "MC" and "Nevada."

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?'

A low growl rumbled in his chest, making the ground vibrate subtly beneath my feet. Suddenly, the compound was alive with movement. The rumble of engines, the glint of chrome. The motorcycle club. They appeared out of the shadows, a tide of leather and steel, encircling Damon and his small envoy. Each biker pulled up, engines idling, forming a tight, menacing ring. And then, the wolves. More of them than I’d ever seen, their eyes glowing in the darkness, their huge forms flanking the bikers, mirroring their aggressive stance. The air crackled with a dangerous energy.

’ A new voice said from the doorway. ‘You are Xavier Knight's daughter, and you have the two most powerful MC Leaders chasing you. If you leave our club without our protection, one of them will capture you and make you his woman. Your identity will be lost forever as you are forced to do what they demand, especially if that man is Samael Morningstar.’ They all shuddered involuntarily. It was no secret to any female Biker what happened if they got caught in that man's sleazy clutches.