Forsaken Motorcycle Club Novels & Stories

Chapter 4: The Glorious Lifestyle Of Steel Cowboys Room 42, Kings Canyon Motel, Roadside Motel, Unknown City, South Dakota.... Revving engines filled the surrounding air as "Brick" and his gang lined the parking lot and prepared to take off down the long and winding road in continuation of their journey and the party that seemed to never end whenever they were together. There were about nine of them hitting the road all together and each and everyone of them carried the blood of a beast inside their veins as they fuled up on cocain and alcohol while tearing through town after town reveling in the new found freedom their lifestyle had afforded them. Each member of The Howlers M.C wore a patch

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.

“If they call us forsaken, then let them see what the forsaken can do when the moon answers our call.” Their howls ripple through the trees — fierce, uncontained. “Tonight, we do not stand for vengeance alone,” I shout above them. “We stand to restore balance. The moon chose us — not for peace, but for reckoning.” The air thickens, heavy with spirit. “So when your claws find their mark, remember you are not striking from hate. You are striking from truth. You are the howl that rose from silence. And when dawn comes, the world will remember what the night dared to hide.”

Another girl said, “My brother swears Caleb hasn’t smiled since you left. Maybe he finally realized he loves you?” I laughed, sharp and loud. “He figured it out now? After ten years? His wolf must be slower than his heart.” When the noise died, one friend leaned up, eyes bright. “We should go out. Really out.” They picked a club. Caleb’s club. I’d been there once. He dragged me out before I even got inside. “This one,” he told the manager, pointing at me, “ban her. I don’t want her face here again.” The staff memorized me. Everyone watched. He never cared—not even when I was his fiancée.

There's no way Asher would be participating in this tournament. I checked the list before I came, his club's name wasn't here. When the bikers walked past me, none of them acted like they didn't recognize me. Or maybe they actually didn't. Who remembers a girl who had been humiliated five years ago? I read their color which was printed on the back of their jackets. “Second Dawn Motorcycle Club” They aren't M Springs Motorcycle club, not the same one as Asher's. The soft thudding of feet landing on the floor made me snap my gaze back to the van. Though soft, I could hear it above the voices and whispers in the area. My eyes blinked when I saw Asher step down.

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?”

Midnight Run The moon hung fat and heavy over the desert highway, its silvery light catching on the chrome of two dozen motorcycles thundering through the night. Blaze Carson led the pack, his wolf stirring beneath his skin with each mile they devoured. The creative accounting that made the Iron Fangs MC look legitimate on paper called him "club president," but his true title was carved into his bones – Alpha. He ruled with a no mercy mindset, and he didn't care who thought him heartless. He also didn't have a mate yet, and he wasn't really looking. If he found her, he wanted to reject her because his life was how he wanted it. He didn't want to answer to someone else, especially a mate.

“Other motorcycle clubs that they’ve worked with in the past. Criminal circles that they did dirty work for. Road Devils members who hate the law, the police, the government, and who took great delight in running counter to all of those things. Wolf Connor’s decision to break ties with most other MC’s – the one-percenters ones for sure – and to end the illegal activities contracts, and to tell his guys that he’s the President, and this is the direction that he’s taking the club, have all caused some serious waves.” “So… even if Wolf has taken the club legit, your brother is still in danger?” “Yes, especially now. The Devils are vulnerable to attacks, to inner rebellion and dissent, to retrib

The eleventh Alpha. "Not just any Alpha." Sky says as he sits by my legs, staring at the people beneath our feet. "Alpha Atlas Stryker of the Black River pack. The Alpha of Alphas." Only because we are the largest by land and people. It used to be, or still would be the rogues if they still had an Alpha. "So they care about who I am. And now it's expected of me to care about them." I tell Sky as people laugh and click their glasses, and I breathe in as I prepare to go downstairs.

So we killed more than one person who was involved with the Damned Forsaken. Now I have a Ravager's tattoo of a skull with a zombie raven atop of it wearing a crown, a pistol leaning against the blood-splattered skull. The zombie raven is for the Ravager while the skull with the pistol was my Damned Forsaken tattoo, and the crown is for the Death Kings. I put my spin on it so that it’s unique and easily identifiable as a crew tattoo. I didn’t mind letting the man who trained Lachlan be the one to do the work. Plus that Drogo is a Death King and the Vice President for the Death Riders MC.