Forsaken Motorcycle Club Novels & Stories

“So you’re going to tell me exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.” Kane stopped pacing, his back to me. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed like he wanted to hit something. “You want the truth?” His voice was rough, dangerous. “Fine. But you’re not going to like it.” “Try me.” Kane turned, and the look in his eyes made my breath catch. Raw, desperate, like he was about to confess to sins that would damn us both. “The Iron Fang isn’t just a motorcycle club. We run high-stakes street races—illegal, underground, big money. Real big money.”

This was just the beginning, and our story was far from over. “Get on, we need to go,” Armando said, his voice firm yet laced with urgency. He leaned onto his motorcycle and kicked the kickstand up as I climbed onto the back, my fingers instinctively wrapping around his tight waist. I leaned my head against his back, feeling the cool leather of his jacket beneath my cheek. The bold logo of his crew stood out prominently—a devil in the center flanked by two pitchforks, all surrounded by the lettering: *Demented Devils MC*.

He asked, turning to face them. “What could the queen’s man possibly want to know about us?” Margo asked, tossing back a shot of whiskey. “How did the two of you end up affiliated with a motorcycle club?” He asked, trying not to laugh at the jab she had directed at him. “I was born into it?” Margo sighed, pouring herself another shot. “I got into it because we grew up together. Motorcycle clubs aren’t all bad, ya know. Why do you ask?” Dex sighed, sipping his beer.

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.

"I... No, tha-thank you, bo—" "Eat!" A glare was adequate to have him down the glass of juice and three cheese and tomato sandwiches hungrily. "Thank you, Boss." I acknowledged it with a nod. "Now tell me what it is?" "It's the new motorcycle club in Yakima, The Venturi." "A new motorbike club?" My knuckles turned white from clenching them tight.

How is he going to react if he finds out my former mate is the very man he is here to celebrate, and also congratulate on his recent engagement? Serenia then realizes something very crucial she almost forgot. If she reveals to Kai that Rune is her former mate and he rejected her, it will be revealed to the High Alpha Tribe that the Luna of the Raseri Tribe is not the fated mate of the Alpha. It isn’t written anywhere that the Luna of a tribe must be the fated mate of the current Alpha, but that is only in cases where their former mate has died. It is clear that Rune’s former mate has not died and was rather rejected, something that also isn’t unheard of in the Raseri pack but considered blas

Sebastian pov I was given alpha position at eighteen and ran another way with it. I created a motorcycle club called Howl M.C and it flourished. I was the president/alpha of this club. My beta was vice president and third in command followed after him. We took our pack this direction because mates didn't exist anymore, haven't for fifty years now. We had club whores and yes I had my favorite Lisa a long time fuck buddy and friend since diapers. Lisa acted like my luna and I never stopped her either.

Fear. But today is different. Today, I’m dressed in silk instead of a white hospital gown. Today, my name is on a guest list I never thought I’d see again. The Luna Festival. My final obligation before I disappear for good. They say the goddess watches us on this night. I hope she sees me. I hope she knows… I tried. The Luna Festival is an annual celebration. A different pack hosts it each year, and tradition says no wolf can miss it more than seven times.

Tommy's casket looked small sitting next to the open grave, waiting to be lowered into the ground. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," the minister said as dirt hit the top of the casket with hollow thuds. I threw a handful of dirt and whispered goodbye to my brother. This was really happening. Tommy was really gone and I was truly alone now. No parents, no siblings, no family left except some cousins I barely knew who lived three states away. Marcus appeared at my elbow as people started walking back to their cars. "Sarah, I meant what I said about letting me handle the investigation. These motorcycle clubs have connections everywhere, including inside law enforcement. You can't trust anyone co

The reek of damp trash, stale beer, and sulfur hung thick over the narrow industrial alley. Under the buzzing orange glow of a flickering sodium lamp, the five mercenaries from the northern hit squad huddled around the rusted hood of a beat-up sedan, counting stacks of rubber-banded cash. The man with the faded serpent tattoo curling up his neck took a slow drag from a bent cigarette, tapping the ash onto the wet concrete with a rough smirk.