Devil Dogs Motorcycle Club Novels & Stories

If I part my legs a little, it will only cover my clit. Fully dressed in my short latex skirt and uniform top, I dash out. Finally, I arrive at the club after, and run over to the counter, avoiding a bunch of hot naked ladies teasing their client’s cock. “You’re lucky that the manager isn't here.” Wren, my grumpy colleague, throws me a bunch of keys. “The ‘Devils’ are coming.” Holy fuck! My face lit up with a blush. My masked predator is the Devil’s Don. “And their rooms need to be perfect…”

There was no telling who he has told by now, she thought, wait, eleven years ago we were in… “Devil’s Lake. That’s why you were in such a hurry to leave that day, wasn’t it?” “Yes. When I went out into the woods, I ran into him. I saved him from a mountain lion.” As she spoke, she hung her head. “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t let him die.”

' 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒂 𝒖𝒈𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓

The devil spoke with a mocking tone, "My beautiful visitors, I think you were dying to see me. Now I’m here, but I was in the middle of something. I suppose I’ll have to finish it in front of you." With that, the devil lifted the barely conscious woman, preparing to deliver a fatal blow. Zack sprang into action, using all the strength he could muster to punch the devil. At the same time, Petra threw a knife-like device at the devil’s arm. This device, crafted by the Angels of the Burning Sun’s science tech team, had the power to break bones in ordinary humans. However, it only managed to scratch the devil slightly, though it was enough to make him release the woman.

My eyes stared out into the bright afternoon sunlight, watching with a racing mind as Stone walked calmly down the porch steps to meet the rival club. The new President of the Devils was a very tall, heavily scarred man with a dark, ugly tattoo of a bleeding devil stretching all the way across his thick neck. He sat casually on the leather seat of his custom chopper bike right at the very front of their tight riding formation, surrounded by ten of his enforcers. He looked absolutely furious, his eyes scanning our compound with a deep, burning hatred.

This is his second shot on finding whatever the hell happened twelve years ago, he is not about to let go to waste. Sebastian stares at the motel feeling a little less like home but that is all he can manage for now. On the outside of it stands a group of girls dressed in summer dress, and high boots. A few meters to their right are some bikers forever in their dirty sleeveless tops and leather trousers. Their indistinct long dusty beards force them to stand out from the rest of the crowd making their way past the motel. Sebastian feels the need to double check the lock of his car before making his way towards the building. The building is a small one with a flashy signpost and motel visibl

Roman Thorne is the invincible team leader of college hockey. He is large, aggressive and a nightmare to the media. The press, however, does not know what makes the Briarwood Ice Devils so feared. They are not just players. They are ruthless, blood-swilling offspring of the most formidable crime business in the city. Trying to keep a small scandal which is about to blow up their small business, the Thorne family appeals to the service of Sloane Mercer. She is 24 years old and a brilliant ruthless PR fixer. Her task is easy: to improve the image of the team, to work with press, and not to put Roman in the prison. But Sloane has not come to save them. She is here to ruin them. Sloa

Maverick POV. It has been six weeks since I was welcomed into the Princes Of Darkness. As a welcome gift for Melody, because she loves being on the back of my bike. The club ladies had her own leathers and helmet custom made. She even has her own little cut, like all the kids do. It says Property Of The Little Devil’s Of The Princess Of Darkness MC. A way for the kids to feel like they are important and do belong to a wider family.

Big fucker with a missing tooth. “You fight pretty good, son,” he said to me. “I’m not anybody’s son.” “You ride motorcycles, kid?” “Yeah,” I said. “Why? Wanna become friends and talk about them?” He laughed. “You hate the world, huh? That’s okay.” “Don’t hate the world. Just hate this fucking place.” “True. Can’t fault that.” He leaned up against the wall next to me. “You ever heard of the Sandcastles Motorcycle Club?”

They called their club “The Devils Advocates.” The leader of the gang’s name was cash, and he was humbled long ago when they were all sentenced to live out the rest of their days in hell. They reminded me of a traditional motorcycle club with Cash being considered their “president”. His name is Cash probably because he literally has a voice that sounds just like Johnny Cash. In fact, he sings all day long as they hammer away at the hardened lava rock. The clink of their pickaxes and the beating of drums played by some Jogah made for an interesting show. Cash and his gang most always had an audience that came to listen to him sing. Right now, he sang “Folsom Prison Blues” by none other than…