Devil Dogs Motorcycle Club Novels & Stories

Cassian’s hands gripped her ass, spreading her as he watched himself disappear inside her again and again. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he groaned. Sera reached between her legs and rubbed her clit while bouncing on him. When she came, her walls fluttered around his cock, triggering his own powerful release. They cleaned up, dressed in power suits, and prepared for war. But something fundamental had shifted between them in the night. The devil was no longer just kneeling. He was beginning to worship.

The Glambour forest, also known as the Devil's vale was situated in the western part of Patasia continent with mysterious supernatural secrets. lt was the earlier meeting place of different nations but now everyone was scared to cross that place due to it's dark secrets. History saying that hosts, sightings of the reaper, wolf packs gathering, vampire hideaways–all present in this forest at one time. Popular rumour about the forest was the paranormal activities of the non human creatures of there. Once approximately in early twentieth century, a pregnant lady and her husband were trapped in this mysterious forest because of the broke off of their black classic british sports car.

DANTE'S POV People call me the Devil of New York. They're not wrong. I've killed men for less than a dirty look. I've gutted rats who thought they could steal from me. I've fucked women who begged for mercy and made them beg for more pain instead. My empire runs on blood, loyalty, and fear. That's the only language this rotten world understands. And tonight, I reminded everyone of it. Crawford thought he could play me. Thought he could borrow money from my syndicate, promise returns, and then ghost like I'm some dumb fuck banker. No. You don't spit in my face and walk away.

she asked inquisitively. “Devils Night is our favorite night of the year, a night of mischief. It started in Detroit but has spread so far beyond all of that. It is a night to celebrate being young and free, a night to have a little fun. I don’t see anything wrong with that.” she was hanging on my every word. It was all true but there was another reason for the name. Devil’s night was also Synestra’s birthday. “One final question, what do you think about the protests and people saying you somehow brainwash your fans with your music?” she asked and I could tell she thought this was a hard hitting question. I decided to have a little fun with her.

“So how do you guys all know each other? Maybe from the tattoo parlour?” “That’s one connection, yeah,” Mac said. “Me and Jax have been for some ink since Zee has taken over, but we knew the club members before.” Zoe nodded. “The Road Devils drink in here a lot, have done for years,” Mac explained. “When they want a change of scene from Satan’s, they drop by. Wolf and Scars and the guys are regulars and so we all know ‘em from here that way. And King has… worked with them a bit occasionally.”

“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.”

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.

Vampire bite marks on his neck. "His name was Devon. Alpha of small pack in South London. Five years ago, I made him similar offer. Protection and resources in exchange for cooperation. He refused. Thought he could stay independent." Mordaunt takes back the photograph. "Six months later, his pack was destroyed. Financial pressure, political manipulation, direct attacks. Devon survived but lost everything. Eventually became thrall. That's him serving in my blood club now." "You destroyed him because he refused you."

The silence was deafening, but it was also passing as much message as my eye contact. “ The Devils are dangerous, but I can go alone, but I can't risk my goods. As much as they are dangerous, they are also smart, so let's pay homage to them.” I smirked. “ Yes Boss!” They all chorused at once. I distributed the roles of each mobster and the angle in which they will stay hidden and alert, in case the Devils try to play smart. After much strategizing, we were off to the Devil's Clan. The Devil's Clan is owned by Russell Volkov, the great Italian Mafia of all time, but that title will be taken from him soon.

When the message from my father came through, I didn’t go home. I didn’t pack my things, didn’t pause to think it over. Instead, I pointed my bike toward the only place that ever felt close to home anymore: the bar. The Devil’s Forge wasn’t just a bar; it was the heartbeat of my motorcycle club, a chaotic mix of roaring laughter, clinking glasses, and the metallic hum of motorcycles lined up outside like sentinels. Inside, the air reeked of spilled beer, leather, and faintly of motor oil. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was real. The kind of place where lies didn’t last long, and loyalties were etched in blood and grease.