Outlaw Motorcycle Gang Books Novels & Stories

She needed something to work out halfway good for once instead of all the gloom and doom. "Can you cover my shift for me tonight? I've got a little bit of an emergency with my brother, and I'm gonna need a few hours." Denise bit her lip. She had heard rumblings about Roni's brother. Word around town had it that he was part of a major outlaw biker gang called the Heaven Hill Motorcycle Club. Whatever Roni would be doing to help her brother would probably be illegal. Would that make Denise an accomplice? "Would it make you a what?" Roni asked as Denise stood frozen with the phone to her ear.

“There’s something I need to show you.” Alice frowned as Mira pulled out a small, leather-bound book, its edges worn and stained. She handed it to Alice, her fingers brushing hers—warm, too warm. “My family’s kept this for years. It’s… history. About the packs.” Alice opened it, her hands shaky. The pages were old, filled with cramped writing and strange symbols—circles, crescents, claws. One word jumped out: Hybrid. Her stomach twisted as she read a line: Born of man and moon, the one who carries both bloods shall break or bind the packs.

Why me? "Undress now, whore." The stench of the man's breath hits my nostrils, forcing me to calm my gag reflexes. Holding my breath, I give the man a bright smile and gently push him back. I start to deliberately slide one of my sleeves down from my shoulder, watching as the drunk's eyes begin to light up. Once I knew he was distracted by me undressing, I took a step forward and kicked up. Putting all my weight and momentum into my foot, making contact with drunk man's balls. Drunk man's eyes are bulging, and he collapses to the floor, rolling and crying on the floor. Just for good measure, I break the earthen jar on the man's head to knock him out. It works!

The longer I stayed with Marco, the more I saw how good he could be. Yes, there were times he was violent and ruthless — especially when it came to running his organization. But when it was just the two of us, he became someone completely different. Gentler. Almost human. As for Greg, Claire told me he had been looking for me everywhere. He even went as far as bothering my mother back in the province. Good thing Marco had already sent people there to protect them.

She ducked into the shadows of an alleyway, her breath hitching. ​A fleet of motorcycles tore around the corner, black chrome gleaming under the sparse light. They weren't just riders; they were a legion. At the head of the pack was a massive black chopper, its engine sounding like a caged beast. ​The riders pulled into a gated yard behind a derelict warehouse. Elena, driven by a cocktail of fear and morbid curiosity, crept closer. She peered through a gap in the rusted corrugated fence. ​The men dismounted. They wore heavy leather cuts with a terrifying insignia on the back: a skeletal vulture gripping a bloody gear. The Iron Vultures. The city's most notorious outlaw motorcycle gang.

The same woman has answered before and she said the same thing. Fox is the president of the Desert Crow outlaw motorcycle gang. My half-brother, Lee, was a full member. Lee died when hit by a stray bullet during a drug buy, or at least that’s what his drugged out girlfriend, Pauline, told me when she called about his death. The myth is that clubs like the DC take care of their own. That’s not the first lie I’ve uncovered since the beginning of this nightmare. I knew absolutely nothing about Pauline before the phone call. She told me my brother was dead and she wanted to know what I would do about the brat he left behind. Brat was her word. Lee never said anything about a child.

Two minutes later, he was dead. Two shooters. No security footage. No witnesses. No suspects. And even now, a prosecutor with decades of enemies, his case remained unsolved. The NYPD called it a mafia hit, but no family ever took credit. No names were ever whispered. She poured herself a double shot of whiskey that night, let it burn down her throat like liquid armor, and told herself she didn’t care. It wasn’t the first lie she’d told herself. And it wouldn’t be the last. —

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.

Book Three of the Badboy Trilogy Written by: Vendité Johnson The Badboy Trilogy Book One: How to Destroy a Badboy Book Two: The Emancipation of a Badboy Book Three: A Rhapsody for the Playboy Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

"What is wrong with you? No guilt? No remorse? No tears?" "Crying won't make me any more sorry." I shrugged. "Plus the whole crying thing isn't for me. I don't like eye leakage." The guy laughed. "Maybe she should be the leader of this group." "Alright, wise guy, you go next." Nelson stated "Name." "Reno. I'm a gambling addict." I laughed. "Your parents named you Reno and expected you not to gamble?" He laughed with me and ran his fingers through his charcoal colored hair. "That's exactly what I said."