Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Elizabeth Knox (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📖

Chicks will do anything they can to get what they want.

Unfortunately, some people didn’t like what I did to put those bitches back in their place, so I got into a ton of fucking fights and was kicked out of school. Fighting seemed to be my thing from there on out. I found out about an underground fighting syndicate and got into that. I won every one of my fights, taking a few punches and broken bones along the way.

I was a brawler and that was that.

My first stint in prison was when I was twenty-one and it didn’t stop there but that time inside was a pivotal point for me. While in there they thought they could bully me and intimidate me, but the fuckers found out really quick that I was not one to push over.

Plus, I got a helping hand from two guys, Blake and Ice. They were part of an MC and they took me under their wing. When I got out the fuckers were waiting for me and took me back to their clubhouse where I stayed for six years.

During the six years, I learned how to do everything a good mechanic can do. I also got into fighting again and brought some mega bucks to the club. They support me through everything, they would die for me and me them.

They were my brothers through and through, blood or not. So when I met Jenn my life felt complete. We were married for three years before it all fell into the pits of hell and it sucked me down with it.

The club moved into a new business venture and some local punks didn’t like the idea, so they caused some motherfucking chaos. They shot up our home when we were on a run for the club, these cunts knew we wouldn’t be there, but they also knew that all of the clubs Old Ladies would be in one place.

The Old Ladies were hurt badly, but some came away without a scratch, but my Jenn was killed; she took a bullet right through her heart. I always knew that my blackened soul would catch up with me. I never thought I was good enough for her, but she always seemed to make me believe in myself.

Until that day.

Knowing that one day the other shoe will drop is a shitty way to live life, but I did it and I am still living it. Not being able to cope with being around our house, or the clubhouse anymore, I left. Handed in my patch and declared myself a Nomad. It took the club some time to agree since they wanted to keep me safe and support me through my grieving, but I needed out.

The feeling of being caged is not good for anyone’s soul, but mine spiraled deeper in Hell. It could feel the flames licking at my heels as I descended, but the throttle on my bike was the only thing keeping me from completing my fall.

When I became a Nomad, I had one thing in mind; track down the cunts that killed my Old Lady and make them die a slow, painful death. It took me a little over two years to find them and slit the throat of the fucker who ordered the hit after I broke every bone in his hand.

Broke his jaw, broke a few ribs. Sliced him up and then added salt to the wounds, hearing his cries of pain was almost enough to soothe my demon but he needed more, so I took great pleasure in locking them all in their shitty little run-down clubhouse and burning it to the ground.

I can still hear their screams, along with the crackling of their wooden clubhouse burning. It took two hours for the building to finally collapse and I watched every second of it from up on a hill. The fire crews couldn’t control the fire, they didn’t even attempt to try and save anyone inside. They knew who was in there and no doubt were happy that they were ended, so their little town could relax for once.

To know that your Old Lady got hurt because someone in your club looked at one of their men wrong is beyond thinking about. It was fucked up and completely unnecessary.

Knowing that the fucks where dead, I thought I would want to go back home but the feel of the free road called to me. The feeling of going wherever the hell I wanted was too appealing to me to let me go back home and stay in one place. Plus, knowing that Jenn wasn’t going to be there when I got home wasn’t lost on me, so I stayed Nomad.

Being Nomad was something I was made for I know that now eight years on. I keep myself in good shape for the long rides and the heavy lifting jobs I am sometimes needed for. Other clubs associated with my club back home, call on me when they need shit done, they know I will always see a job through.

I only have a few conditions, no women or children get hurt, as long as the woman isn’t a gigantic cunt. No elderly and I get paid for each job. Living as a Nomad is easy riding, but I still need to eat and staying in my tent gets real fucking old.

Not knowing what tomorrow will bring I live each day as if it is my last. I live for me and me alone, with no regrets.

2

My back aches telling me it is time to stop and take a break, I have been riding for the past six hours to get to my destination to help a club out with a rodent problem and by rodent, I mean little fucking punks who think they can come in and take over the home club’s drug business.

Unfortunately for the club, the little fucker leading the crew is the local politician’s