Akira Bike Irl Novels & Stories

A black shape drifts around the corner of the alley, tires screeching on the wet pavement. The bike is massive. A beast of matte black steel. The rider doesn't slow down. He accelerates toward the Reapers blocking the exit. They scramble, diving off their bikes as the black Harley plows through them. Metal screeches against metal. Sparks shower the alley like fireworks. The rider skids to a halt ten feet from me. He plants a boot on the ground, stabilizing the bike. Drakon. He’s not wearing a helmet. His dark hair is plastered to his skull. His face is a mask of pure, concentrated violence.

I dried my hands on a towel and walked to the window, telling myself I was being dramatic. Rain had started falling, big fat drops hitting the glass. The streetlights made everything look blurry and yellow. And then I saw it. Matte-black Harley, silver claw marks scratched into the tank exactly like the ones I just painted today. Exactly like the ones Knox put on my old bike when we were seventeen and stupid in love. The bike slowed down… circled once… twice… then rolled to a stop right in front of my building. My stomach dropped to my feet. The rider sat there for a second, rain pouring off his helmet. Then he reached up, pulled it off slow, and shook out wet black hair.

“We are the Elite Wolf Group.” Leora blinked. “Elite Wolf Group?” The girl in front — tall, sleek black hair flowing behind her — introduced herself first. “I’m Akira,” she said smoothly, her lips curved in a smirk. “Leader of the Elite Wolf Group. My pack is second only to the Alpha’s, so I’m used to giving orders.” To her right, a boy with ash gray hair leaned casually against a desk, his grin mischievous. “Call me Jarek. Fastest runner in the kingdom. Fastest talker too, if you ask anyone. Bet you’ve heard of me, Luna?”

nicknames is the way to go. How original. “I’d rather you just call me Wren.” “That wouldn’t be fun now, would it?” Ezra and I are… enemies. We strongly dislike each other, we always have. But sometimes it’s hard to really hate someone that’s always around. We step out of the airport, and the guttural rumble of engines is the first thing I hear before I see them. My mouth drops open. Half a dozen bikes surround the sleek black Camaro, riders in leather with the familiar Raven Reapers patch on the back of their kuttes, similar to Ezra’s.

Mason called out, one brow arched, clearly trying not to smile too widely. Erin grinned and nudged him. “Who’s the lucky challenger?” I opened my mouth to explain—but stopped mid-breath. Aiden was already rolling confidently into position on the paved drive, astride the sleek mountain bike Derek had given him after the accident in Barbados. It was still too big for him, technically, but he handled it like a pro. He wore his helmet like a crown and had a determined glint in his eye that said he’d been planning this. His “super-speed bike,” he called it. He looked like he was preparing for the Olympics.

I can’t wait to paint that pretty ass of hers red for this disrespect. He secured the scarf and swung his leg over his bike; the bright red Honda Fireblade gleamed as the early morning sun touched it, while Justin gave him a wide grin. ‘It was a mighty fine little ass to, pert and firm, perfect for spanking.’ With his mind full of the image of her naked body, he swung his leg over his more conservative jet black Kawasaki Ninja. Both bikes purred rather than roared into action, belying their powerful engines as the two men manoevred them gingerly onto the highway heading for their MC.

"Grip tight! I don't want to take responsibility if you fall later," Aryan yelled while opening the visor of his helmet. "Yeah, you're so noisy," Laura replied with an annoyed expression. Earlier, Laura had tried to dress as attractively as possible to be Aryan's lady, wearing a hijab and a pale pink t-shirt, skinny jeans, and applying a thin nude lipstick on her sensual lips. She was surprised when Aryan brought his sports motorcycle keys. Laura didn't like riding sports motorcycles, not for any particular reason, but back in high school, she had asked Ricard, her classmate who owned a sports motorcycle, for the reason, and his answer had left Laura stunned. He had said it was enjoyable bec

"What does that guy want?he left us to his green pasture then why is he back?" " I tell you men are a messed up set of jigsaw,but damn you were his friend"Si jie tease. "Please"Hope snort "He was our friend,turned out to be a jerk and we both threw him out of our lives" " Like jerks"Solemnly so jie you with her hair. " Like jerks" Hope repeated. Akira maeda an eighteen years old Japanese with deep toned skin, Alluring oval face,deep blue eyes matched with blonde hair.

His eyes—gray like storm clouds—held a quiet intensity that made me pause. I was used to being one of the only girls at these kinds of camps, so I didn’t expect anyone to acknowledge me right away. But Kai did. He glanced at my bike—a sturdy blue road racer I had practically begged my parents to buy—and then at me. "That yours?" he asked, his voice surprisingly deep for a thirteen-year-old. I nodded, gripping the handlebars. "Yeah. It’s not the fastest, but it gets the job done." I added proudly, an involuntary smile spreading across my face.

“Yes, “ Akira replied as she lowered her voice. She had told her royal dragon father that she would buy him a jade belt from the capital’s market but she couldn't get anything and still put others in trouble. She felt so ashamed of herself. Akira opened the door gently and stepped on the stool as Prince Biha helped her down from the carriage. Immediately Akira got down from the carriage, she saw different maids, eunuchs and soldiers walking around the palace. There were even royal officials leaving the palace and some were coming in. This is her home. She really missed her royal dragon father and Kariya. Tears gathered in her eyes but Prince Biha couldn't see it as she was putting on a mask