Forsaken Motorcycle Club Novels & Stories

Their clothing was rough, worn, and their expressions hardened by years of survival in the wild. But what struck me the most was the way they carried themselves—with a quiet, deadly confidence that could only come from years of fighting for their lives. “Sera,” Rowan said, turning to me. “These are the Rogues of Blackthorn. They’ve been operating in the shadows for years, hiding from the same forces that threaten Silverwood now. They have no love for Alaric or his dark magic. They’ve agreed to help us… for a price.” My gaze flicked over the group, my mind racing. Rogues. These were the wolves who had rejected pack life, choosing to live by their own rules, free from any Alpha’s control.

The entire pack wallowed in the criminal. He and Malcolm had their kinks, but they didn’t make a business out of trading in it. The Crimson Nights ran a private club for supernaturals and catered to their kinks. Anything from blood dolls, women who enjoyed being fed off of. To those searching for pain and torture. Those were extremes, but the club specialized in milder things as well. Jordan frequented the club’s milder side in the past. He had no problem with that. What he had an issue with was the rumours the people serving were trafficked, and it wasn’t their choice.

He clocked the man’s short, dark hair, tattooed forearms, and – oh, joy of all joys – the Road Devils motorcycle club patch on his leather cut. Claire’s neighbor is a goddamn MC member. Awesome. To be totally fair, though, if Griff had to go and deal with an MC – motorcycle club – guy, he’d choose one from The Road Devils in a heartbeat. The current club President, Wolf Connor, had spent the past year or so busting his ass to extract the MC from shady activities and from what Griff had heard, Connor had succeeded. He’d severed all ties with Kirk Jensen, Denver’s shittiest, sleaziest piece of sleazy shit, a guy who was into drugs, prostitution, sex trafficking, rape and murder. It had been a

Because he knew that once they knew, there'd be a chance that he was going to lose the two persons he was already falling for. "I was the VP, vice president, of one of the most notorious biker clubs in the city. We were outlaws and we stayed close to the local cartels. We were a business but also a brotherhood. Back then we worked for local cartels and were getting introduced to the Russian mob that was controlling the city." Rockford paused trying to read his lovers' reaction. He had already told Dee about his situation but he was about to tell it in a more detailed manner.

She who liked reading about dragons, and other mystical creatures doesn’t believe in coincidences. What she do believe in was fate/faith. Lem could only look at Serena. As much as he wanted to tell her what would happen, he could not. It was for her to discover her true path. There were too many things that were happening. Some of them were things the queen have not even mentioned. Lem, had to sigh, sooner or later, Serena had to know that there was a group of dragons living in the same country as she had. RagTag MC was one of the most well-known shifter groups in the land. They were also the only Were/Shifter Motorcycle Club. They have no connection to the Were Nation, which makes them a da

“Rico’s been dealing with traitors. And a motorcycle club causing trouble on our territory.” I frowned. “Motorcycle club?” “MC,” he clarified. “They’re stronger in the south… Texas, New Mexico, Florida, but they’ve started creeping this way. Rico wanted me to check what our local chapter’s been up to. We caught one of them. He had a knife.” I bit my lip. “You went yourself?” He gave a humorless smile. “That’s why your father will never be more than a cautious man. If you want loyalty, you don’t sit on the sidelines. You bleed along with your men.”

They were going to regret every single second of that mistake. I adjusted my bag, turned on my heel, and headed deeper into the Blackveil District, straight toward the Redgrave Territory boundary. Ten minutes later, I reached the entrance of The Silver Fang Club—the most dangerous, exclusive underworld establishment in Ravenshire City. The club was a massive, black-stone fortress surrounded by heavy iron gates and guarded by towering enforcers in tactical gear. It was neutral ground, ruled over by the most feared mafia pack in the entire region: the Ravenscroft Family.

Salt Lake City, Utah The Highway Hellions MC Clubhouse Two days later Wolf pulled up to The Highway Hellions clubhouse, hoping that he looked far more relaxed than he actually felt. He was sure that there were eyes on him right now, and he doubted that any of them were friendly. Taking his time, moving deliberately, he opened the car door – this was the first car that he’d bought since joining The Road Devils, and it was a second-hand piece of shit, and he was already missing his motorcycle like he’d miss air – and stepped into the parking lot. He looked around, noted the MC businesses (a tattoo studio and a bar, somehow both compulsory when talking about biker clubs), and just the sight of

"What you don't know is the Wraiths." Brianne's motorcycle club had been running cover for her hidden, unregistered pack for three years — human towns, shifter territory, nobody asking questions a badge would ask, nobody clocking a dozen bikers running escort as anything but exactly what it looked like. MCs didn't answer to council law. That was the beauty of it. "They ride escort," Elizabeth said. "Every drop Josiah documents, the Wraiths shadow at a distance. Anything goes wrong, they're already there. Off the books. Untraceable back to us."

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