Motorcycle Gang Books Mga Nobela at Kwento

Fucking hell. “You coming or what?” She asks, and I feel the heat rising up my throat. In more than one way, baby, soon, very fucking soon. I walk to my bike and straddle it as we watch and wait for Dante to straddle one. “Erm, whose bike is that?” I ask him as he starts it up. “Mine,” he says as he revs it a few times and I look at him in shock. It’s not everyday you see a man of the mafia riding a motorbike.

“You okay?” “Motorcycle club?” I asked. He nodded. “Like Hell’s Angels?” Booker smirked. “In theory.” “Crap.” I glanced up at him. “I really should go.” “Go where, darlin’? There’s nothing around here for over a mile in any direction.” “Clarify something for me. Are you a club because you have really nice bikes and like to hang out and drink beer on occasion, or are you like outlaws or something?”

NIRVANA'S POV The campus library was dead silent. I sat across from Jesse at a secluded corner table on the third floor. An open textbook sat in front of me, but I hadn't read a single word. My brain was entirely consumed by the puzzle pieces finally snapping together. The motorcycles. It seemed so painfully obvious now. Adrian and Ronan’s absolute obsession with those high-end, modified bikes wasn't just a rich man’s weekend hobby. The leather jackets they wore weren't a fashion choice. They were in uniform. They were patched members of a secret, underground motorcycle club.

1 buisnessman along with the richest man on earth. Zayn is Alexanders right hand and I don't care if he's in mafia cause I know he's my bestfriend and my only family like I'm to him. Zayn was also in gang stuff when we were in U.K. Since 10th grade and I don't blame him cause he lost his parents in an accident and he never wanted to go in a orphanage so he started doing gang stuff and earned money. In 11 grade I started living with him, cause something's happened between me and my family, well let's leave it here only.

“They belong to a motorcycle gang called Nyvron MC. I believe you’ve heard of them.” Reed nodded once. “I have heard of that motorcycle gang. They know neither loyalty nor rules. The only thing that matters to them is money. They’re known for selling their services to carry out anything, even murder.” Fabrizio confirmed Reed’s words. “That is exactly what they did last night.” He turned and looked at Reed. “However, they will no longer be a threat.” Reed’s brow furrowed faintly, almost imperceptibly. “You executed them.”

I recognized the signature at the bottom and instantly fury roused up in me. "The Mongols sent them even after we proposed to them a warning to back out! How dare they!" I crushed the paper in my hand. The Mongols is the motorcycle gang that's been bothering us for a while now. They want to takeover the US like it's a piece of cake. The fuck they're having it from us. "They targeted Rogue because he's the leader of our alliance. The Mongols think they could bring us down if he's dead." "What they don't know is that I am not going to die so soon." Conor and I turned our faces towards the bed.

I didn’t want to risk anyone’s life in a nasty man’s game. Nastiest, because this war would have no rules. In a mafia war everything was permitted, there were no basic rules to follow. You would have to go against everything you’ve believed in to win this. No matter how low, cruel, harsh, or dirty it got. You had to do everything to win, there was no such thing as mercy in this. Anyone and everyone could be a risk to you, no matter how old, how big, or how small the person was.

# Bonus Chapter 24: Full Circle Mia Park was seven years old and had been begging to ride on a motorcycle since she was old enough to understand what they were. "Everyone else gets to," she complained to her mother on a Saturday morning, watching through the kitchen window as Duke prepared his bike in the driveway for a routine ride to the garage. "Uncle JJ had his own bike at sixteen. Grandpa Duke rides every single day. I'm the only one who doesn't get to."

Something felt off, like the air was watching me. One engine growled behind me, then another. The sound thickened until the air vibrated, like it was warning me. I stopped walking without meaning to. “Not tonight,” I whispered to nobody. Headlights exploded across the road. Bright white swallowed me whole, like a punch of light straight to my chest. My throat tightened. My legs refused to move. Six motorcycles slowed to a circle around me. Leather, chrome, and rumbling engines trapped me in place like a cage closing in.

“Give her the helmet and your jacket.” He scowls but does as I ask him. “Silver Camry, far left lane.” He walks toward the car, giving us one searching look over his shoulder. “We’ll leave your bike where the police can find it,” I tell him. “You’d better,” he calls gruffly back. I almost smile. He reminds me of the wolves in the pack in Tucson, a motorcycle gang of shifters who run cage fights and nightclubs and own the city streets at night.