Sinister Motorcycle Club Novels & Stories

My heart raced as Xavier slowly eased the motorcycle onto the road. The bright moon and stars illuminated the night sky, creating a peaceful and quiet atmosphere, interrupted only by the motorcycle roaring down the road. Riding with Xavier, I started to grasp his passion for this experience. It was as if we were soaring through the night, feeling liberated and untethered from the world around us.

- I've never heard of it. - They are famous in the right places. They make a point of imposing an evil aura that even drives away the devil. There is a club like a motorcycle club association and several MC offices spread throughout the city. The inhabitants don't mess with the bikers, and the bikers don't mess with them. “The Wolves MC” is not part of the association. The degree of violence they show makes them “persona non grata”. Little do they know that the safety of all the humans who live there, including the members of the motorcycle clubs who do not accept friendships with the Wolves, owe their lives to them. They are a group made up of werewolves, witches, vampires, and some humans.

Trevor slapped the table angrily. “Where did they take the others?” I asked. “Probably to one of their clubhouses in town.” The prospect replied. The Dead Revenants were another motorcycle club, and we're our sworn rivals. Dead man's alley was their territory, and they guarded it carefully. It was quite unfortunate that my prospects would go riding through at night. “Get him out of here.” I nudged my head at the doorman. “Get him patched up.” “You heard the boss.” Trevor chirped in immediately. “Come on, get this riffraff out of here. You're staining the rug!”

“And Crow.” Penny paused as she looked around at all of them, while feeling doubtful about these being their real names. “They have some unusual names.” Kizzy laughed. “They’re an MC.” Penny stared at her. “A what?” “An MC, lady,” the one called Greer stated. “Motorcycle club. You know. Bikers?” Her eyes rounded. “Why would Williams be with…” She shook her head. “Ok, well, I know of the man with the scar. Man, do I know of him. He’s the worst of the lot from what I understand.”

I was able to hang with her and her best friend, Lyla, whom I adored the moment I met the loud mouth, hilarious country girl. After the spa day, Candice invited us to hang out with her boyfriend and his friends. Little did I know, her 'boyfriend and his friends' consisted of a fucking MC. The Nightmare Warriors are a local motorcycle club and after hanging out with them for a few hours, the fucking most awesome group of men this side of the Mississippi.

One threat to a member was a threat to all. But when we reached my private garage, everyone stopped. The door was fine. Untouched. It was what was nailed to it that made my blood freeze. A motorcycle club patch, burnt at the edges but still recognizable. Grim Howl MC. A club that had been massacred three days ago in a turf war gone wrong. Or so we'd thought. Beneath it, carved deep into the metal door with something sharp enough to shred steel, were four words that ripped open every carefully buried fear.

And more specifically, asking about Cracker and Grace… Over the past week, men on black unmarked motorcycles had been spotted around the club and at my house. Driving up and down the road that led to Cracker’s and Steel’s place. We’d been trying to find out what MC, but they were smart and covered up their logo. Which really wasn’t good news.

Parents: Alyce Rose and Charles Robert Thomas Mother: Works part time for U-Tote-Them Residential Address: 2601 East Caron Drive, Phoenix Father Current Residence: Desert Meadows In-Patient Care Facility *note: Father being transferred to a hospice facility within the next week Sibling(s): Brother - Lee Robert Thomas Residential Address: Information unknown *note: Brother has gang affiliation with Desert Crow MC (NFIA) *note: Brother's juvenile record unavailable, no adult criminal record found Celina's brother is with the DCMC and there's no further information available. Why the fuck is he tied in with a white supremacist motorcycle club filled with mostly ex-cons? I have no doubt Celina's

Max I sit in my seat at church, located to the left of Austin. The long oval red oak table proudly presents the emblem of our club. The death symbol holding his usual scythe along with a shield. Under the emblem are the words Nightmare Warriors MC in black bold letters. We have only been in church a few moments and are still waiting on a few brothers to join us, but judging my Austin's nervous behavior, I can tell something is defiantly wrong. The thought worries me. This club doesn't need any more bullshit.

The Iron Wolves clubhouse squatted on Route Forty-Seven like a wounded animal, all rough timber and metal siding, surrounded by motorcycles that probably cost more than my entire year's salary. A hand-painted sign declared it "Wolf Territory," and the setting sun cast long shadows across the gravel parking lot that made everything look vaguely menacing.