Motorcycle Gang Romance Books Novels & Stories

THE BOOK IS NOW RELEASED, YOU CAN ADD IT TO YOUR LIBRARIES! TWISTED MARRIAGE- A DARK MMF MAFIA ROMANCE A. Gupta

-I BELONG TO YOU FOREVER - ENDLESSLY MINE - INFINITELY OURS -WHEN YOU LEAVE YOPUR HEART BEHIND .... so far there are still more to be uploaded. ***** POWER AND TEMPTATION MAFIA SERIES( romance/erotic/betrayal)************ - BOOK 1 ITALIAN MAFIA ************INDIVIDUAL STORIES************* - FEARLESS LUNA (WEREWOLF SEXY ROMANCE STORY) **** **** SPANISH VERSIONS AVAILABLE AT BUENOVELA****************** **SAGA DE HOMBRES LOBO ( 3 LIBROS DISPONIBLES Y COMPLETOS) EN BUENOVELA

] 4|Evan ~ CEO/Billionaire Romance [Devin’s spin-off, but it can be read as standalone] 5|Falling For My Husband ~ Mafia Romance 6| A Game With No Rules ~ Mafia Romance 7| HellBound: The Last Tribute ~ Fantasy/Mystery Romance Lastly, this novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Don't forget to follow me on lnstagram Castiel.Lj. xx 12.19.21

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Ace remarked. "I'd still have to go to the Vet MC to talk with the ladies. Raine, Kim, and Sam are telling their stories." She explained. "That shouldn't be a problem." Ace replied. "And before you ask, I'm only writing about the romance part and names are changed. Nothing about real club business. Everything I write is purely made up. After all you have to have some drama and bad boy stuff to spice up the reading and keep the readers entertained." Pamela explained. "I have one question." Ace replied.

I leaned over the railing, watching as the expensive and well-made prosthetic finger bounced a couple of times before falling into a drain hole. I felt his large, warm body press in close behind me, his breath tickling my ear. “Wear it as a badge of honor. And maybe people would respect you a little more. Mafia princess.” I tore my gaze from the ground, whirling around to slap him, shove him, anything in retaliation for what he just did. But he had vanished. In my anger, I threw the champagne flute over the railing, the sound of it shattering on the ground below doing nothing to placate my rage.

For all you lovers of the Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club, just so you know... not all scenes make it in the in the story. I like to imagine these little cells that resemble tiny circular pink aliens drafting scene like hundreds of them competing in my head for a small chance to get noticed. They work day and night and by morning —they're all stacking it up in my head, some make it to the laptop and others don't. And from the laptop only the best parts make it to the book. but every now and again we miss one or two interesting parts.

And she had. She had been addicted… until she discovered another kind of obsession: mafia romance books. They drank in silence for a while, Mateo quietly suggesting ways to strike against Antonio. Vito rejected each idea, his sharp gaze cutting down every plan, until Milan finally spoke. “I can bring Antonio to you.” Almost immediately, both Mateo and Vito turned their eyes toward her, stunned. “What? You don’t believe I can?” she asked, smirking. Confidence and that familiar rebellious spark surged back within her, stronger than it had been in months.

my eyes followed him as he grabbed an apple off the fruit basket on the table. “Join in on what?” I asked slowly. “Your fun with Spice,” he grinned with a mouthful of his red apple. “Who the hell is…” I remembered that Killian had called Marlowe ‘Spice’. My blood incensed in my veins and the only thing preventing me from using the butt of the Desert Eagle in my pocket to bash Maxim’s cheeks in was the affection I had for him as my younger brother. “Go to bed,” I shook my head, refusing to give in to whatever demon it was that was pushing for the night to take a violent turn.

A window exploded inward, shards of glass cascading like deadly rain. “Get down!” Ivan barked, flipping the table over with a swift motion and pulling me behind it. Gunfire erupted, bullets ricocheting off the marble and gilded surfaces. Diners screamed, some diving for cover while others froze in terror. Men dressed in black stormed into the restaurant, their faces partially obscured by masks. The unmistakable emblem of the Mexican mafia adorned their jackets. Ivan pulled his gun from a holster beneath his jacket and returned fire, his movements precise and calculated. “Damien, we’re under attack,” he barked into a small device clipped to his wrist.