Romans & histoires Jon Moxley Nicknames

I groan internally. My name is Mariah Cruz. I'm 17 years old and starting my junior year today. My Father, Mark Cruz, is the current Beta of our pack, The Royal Moon Pack, and my mother, Jennifer Diaz, is the Beta female. My Brother Josh Cruz is 18 years old and a senior in High School. He is training to become the next Beta when our Alpha, Jason Adams, decides to retire and hand the title to his eldest son, Nick Adams. Nick is 18 and is also a senior in high school. He is also my brother's best friend.

That guy said he'd give another twenty if he finishes the job. "You took the first step to break the peace by touching my lights, Moses!" Jeremy's deep voice went deeper as his eyes shimmered with viciousness. "Don't call me Moses you f*cking dog!" Moses Mosley a.k.a. The Shard Viper got mad. "Only my nana calls me that." "And I know that you killed her for that. Now stay away from my turf, Moses," Jeremy still spoke without raising his voice.

Well, for one I trained harder than I’ve ever fucking trained before because if I am going down, he’s going to know I fought hard to take him with me. So here I am in my locker room, binding my fists with my red straps and hoping I don’t die tonight. “Hey, sweet cherry,” comes the dry, sarcastic voice of one of the fighters tonight. He’s the same guy who I punched in the locker room not too long ago. “Getting ready to die?” “Fuck off,” I grumble, feeling on edge because that nickname is actually the goddamn fight title my mother had me sign under. Sweet Cherry; what the actual eff, it sounds more like a stripper name than an MMA fighter. “I’m not dying tonight.”

They called him Breed but it was a sign of respect, not disrespect. The name his mama gave him when he was born was Jericho Moon and he was the leader of The Tennessee Breeds MC. They were a group of misfits who had come together to form a family of sorts. They lived on the top of Tarron’s Ridge for a reason.

~Nick~ The name’s Nick Gracen, but most call me Lightning. I’m the local prez of the Wild Ridge MC Club. It’s a title that carries weight, respect, and a hell of a lot of responsibility. I looked around the clubhouse, a place that had seen more action than most could handle. The air was thick with the scent of oil, leather, and a hint of whiskey—a comforting blend that felt like home. The brothers were scattered around, some tinkering with their bikes, others deep in conversation about our latest shipment.

"I have to admit, I was shocked when I came in. I actually double checked the chart to make sure I didn't miss something." "Why?" She shrugs. "You're not the typical thirty-two-year-old stroke patient." She doesn't elaborate before moving on to another subject. "Moby's an unusual name. Where did it come from?" "Who knows." I point over toward my mom. "She gave us all weird names. My brothers are Dax, Brooks, and Landis." She smiles but doesn't ask my mom for any details on her choices. I'm sure she heard the argument taking place in the room before she came in.

"Bleedin' Dung Puncher of Billings." Marie used the thickest Scottish brogue she could. Elena couldn't help it; she snorted and choked, and then started laughing. "Oh that is so wrong! I can't believe you called him that!" "Yeah, well, his first moniker for me was, Sapphic Slurper of Stanford." "Oh my god! You guys are just mean." "Well, I wanted, Top Tribador of Townsend, but Josh said that was too obscure." "Tribador? What's that mean?"

They think the young Mort who will dominate the Underground in the future is the "Perfect One" As a child, Mort has already contributed a lot to the clan, especially in ammo and weaponry. He has also won many battles against the Underground countless times. People considered him a threat and is feared by everyone. He became infamous in the Underground and nicknamed him 'DEATH'. Certain and Quick Death, he never lets his opponents speak before he kills them. He doesn't need to hear any of their pleas or last words. The important thing for him is they die in his hand and won't allow them to cheat death.

“But doesn’t everyone around here know everyone else? And aren’t the McKays infamous in the rodeo world?” “I kept a low profile. Plus, I sucked.” He groaned. “Bad. I got the hang of it after a dozen events. Started putting some jingle in my pocket. But that wasn’t the best part. The best part was I finally got to do what I’d always dreamed: ride bulls.” “What name were you riding under?” He grinned. “That’s the ironic thing. Jet’s last name was Chase. His brother’s name was Bill Chase, so we figured it was meant to be.”

Maddox and Jaxon were already inside when Drexton came in. "News?" Jaxon asked with a smirk, puffing out thick, dark smoke from his cigarette. "Hmm," Drexton replied. Maddox raised his head from the table. There was some white substance below his nose, giving him a mad look, fitting the short form of his name, Mad. "And play pet?" he asked, sniffing. "As expected, she came," Drexton replied, a wicked, sinister smirk forming from the corner of his lips. Maddox nodded and returned his head to the cocaine on the table.