Sinister Motorcycle Club Mga Nobela at Kwento

I wasn't sure who it was but somebody around here knew a biker club and next thing we knew these scary men and women were riding on motorcycles and taking residence in our town. They wore sleeveless jackets with lots of different color patches in the front and a logo on the back that was meant to scare everybody and called themselves The Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club.

LISA Finally, there's news about Mona, street cameras showed a blue and red bike with a tiger dented on the side, the exact description of the type of bike Asah saw Mona get on the day she ran away from her own wedding. Turns out, they're a very notorious motorcycle club. They're also suspects in female prostitution, robbery and drugs distribution, the police have never found any solid evidence on them, that's why they are still roaming around freely. This information makes me more worried and nervous, what if he's forced her into prostitution. The thought alone has bile rising up my throat.

The thud of boot steps sounded further down the hall, and I peered behind the newcomers to find a large group of people all wearing leather vests with the same emblem on them. “What—?” I started. Why were they wearing matching vest decals? “Elara Vance, let me introduce you to the Sinful Saints motorcycle club.” Grey gestured behind him. “We’ve traveled long and far to come to your aid.” Motorcycle club? Was that how they stayed off 5th Circle’s radar? “It’s nice to meet you.” I suddenly felt more self-conscious of the fact that I was coated in drying blood. This was not the first impression I liked to make.

I slide off the stool and follow him, my hand discreetly checking for the gun at my side. He leads me to a small building and slides the door up. I pause when I see the bike. Damn. I recognize it immediately from all the articles I read. “Yours?” I ask, stepping inside and pretending to admire it. To me it’s just a bike. I don’t get the hype. “Sure is.” I don’t know much about MCs, but I’m pretty sure this club can’t afford a bike like this without some serious outside connections. “Have you been on it?”

Not that I gave a fuck what that old man thought, but I didn’t need him getting in my way now, especially when Theron was already pacing inside me, ready to rip apart everything in our path. Finally, I reached the club, and I wasn’t surprised by the sight that met me—dozens and dozens of motorcycles were parked outside in crooked lines, their engines still warm, and the air was heavy with the smell of smoke, sweat, and gasoline, meaning my men were here already. The Vipers MC Clearly Kingston had gotten the message earlier and had rounded them up pretty fast. I stormed into the empty club, my boots slamming the sticky floor where broken bottles and glass were scattered about. The place reeke

“They’d kill me. It might not be as quick as when Tank killed Jefferson. It would probably be brutal like when I killed Stinger. And my body would never be found. My bike would be stripped and parts sold. Anything that would identify it as mine would be destroyed. All my stuff would either be sold or destroyed. My cut would be burned and my name never mentioned again.” “But the club….” “Is not as nice as you think it is. We got out of drugs and arms when Sinner and his family were gunned down. But we still do some shit.” He said in a no-nonsense tone. “The guys that got you in Germany and bounced you around? That’s part of what we do. Werewolf opened his security company; all the employees a

Riley reminds me and informs the others in the room who don't know. Humming in response, Riley continues; "All of us in this room are members, Patch holders and hold positions in a motorcycle club called 'The Gray Rebel's."\ Jerking in surprise as I turn my head to look at him; "Y-you g-guys are in a-a g-g-gang?"

That wave of pain caused me to lose control of the delivery van, which in turn caused me to go over the cliff into a heavily wooded area of trees. Ok, so that much you know already. What you may not have figured out yet is that Boomer and Viper were amongst the bikers that surrounded me that day. They are part of a large —and growing— motorcycle club called the Howling Rogues. After I went off the cliff, they rescued me and brought me to their clubhouse where I was treated for my injuries.

At least for me. Motor oil coats the ground and the slick smell dampens the air around the building as I walk into the garage, only half aware of the consequences of my actions, but it's too late to turn back now. A man clad in leather with the name Meatbone embroidered into the chest on the patch signifying he is a full-fledged member of the Pelican Bay Motorcycle Club smiles and watches me walk through the door. There's no time to go back on my decision now and I gather my strength, putting my shoulders back and remembering the correct posture and fuck-you attitude needed to handle a member of a motorcycle club.

The driver nodded, and the car sped off through the city streets. Sienna’s mind was a storm of fear and regret. If Marcus was telling the truth, Damien was about to put himself in danger. And it was all because of her. She clenched her fists. No. She wasn’t going to let Damien throw everything away because of her mistakes. As the cab pulled up to the club, she barely waited for it to stop before jumping out. The Blackthorn Club was an exclusive, high-stakes gambling den, hidden beneath the illusion of a high-end lounge. It was also where the city’s most dangerous men conducted their business.