Angel Biker Novels & Stories

- I ask him. - I don't know. I got dizzy and sleepy. But what do you think about going to my uncle's pack with me? - I'm too old for pack changes. Do you hate coming with me so much, Angel? The two of us, side by side, can run free in the forest. I lost my mate. You reject yours. We are just two mateless men. Nothing holds us anywhere. - I need to go to the bathroom and wash my face. - Angel says, getting up, but falls to the ground senseless.

The world turned orange as the blast ripped through the silence, sending a shockwave that rattled my teeth. "GO!" Ruan bellowed. The Phantoms surged forward, a wall of black leather and chrome screaming into the light. Gunfire erupted—not the muffled thuds of the assassins, but the heavy, rhythmic roar of the bikers' weapons. It was a symphony of chaos. I watched from the ridge, my heart in my throat. I saw Ruan dive off his bike while it was still moving, sliding across the asphalt and firing his revolver with a precision that was haunting. He was a god of the road, a creature of fire and lead.

I followed Reaper's gaze. Idling at the very edge of the jungle treeline, acting as a heavily armed escort for the weary scavengers behind them, was a pack of about fifty outlaw bikers. They didn't ride sleek hover-tech. They rode massive, ear-splitting combustion choppers, rusted and spiked for wasteland warfare. Even from the top of the wall, I could see the patches on their heavy leather cuts. They bore a single, jagged word stitched in crimson: Revers. At the head of the column sat their leader on a monstrous, elongated chopper. Across his rusted gas tank, a brutal, unforgiving motto had been spray-painted in thick white letters: Blood on the asphalt.

I don’t give a damn about the Osborne girl—she’s irritating, obsessed, and not my problem—but listening to a man talk about his own niece like that flips a switch in me. My eyes darken. I reach into my jacket and pull out Angel—one of the first knives I ever collected. She catches the light as I roll her lazily between my fingers, blade whispering against my skin. “Mind saying that again?” The girls at his side gasp. His grip on them tightens as his face drains of colour. “Relax, ladies,” he says quickly, forcing a laugh. “He’s a friend.” “Am I?” I tilt my head, smile slow and wrong. “My friends earn their place. If they don’t, they’re better off dead. Don’t you agree?” I lean in closer. “No

Even over the music, the tension is crackling, electric, a live wire ready to snap. And my wolf; traitorous, relentless, thrashes inside me, demanding I close the distance. Demanding I taste him, even as my brain screams no. ~~ Then it happens. A hand snakes around my waist, yanking me off balance. I whip around, ready to break fingers, and come face-to-face with a drunken human biker. His breath stinks of beer and bad teeth, his grin wide and leering. “Didn’t know they let pretty little things like you hang with the dogs,” he slurs, lips grazing my ear. “How about you come play with me instead?”

It had gotten dark, and a few lamps buzzed overhead, casting shadows along the row of vehicles lined up. Kaelen's Black motorbike stood out, sleek, black and predatory. Elias was right behind him, her pulse in her ears. She watched the way his back moved under the cloth, and the sharp, careless way he walked. Kaelen stopped at his bike and turned to face her. They hadn't spoken much since Bethany left, and his eyes caught hers in the dim light, dark and unreadable. She was the first to speak, "Goodnight, Kaelen," She had to leave now, afraid she might actually drool right in front of him. Plus, she wasn't sure how much her heart could take standingg right next to him.

"Get the bikes. The North Ridge trail. We stay on our side of the wire." "Of course, Alpha," Ezra bowed his head, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a flash of triumph that should have set off every alarm in my head. We rode hard. The roar of a dozen Harleys tore through the midnight mist of the Black Fang forest. I was at the front, pushing my bike to the absolute limit, the engine screaming as I leaned into the sharp, gravel-strewn turns of the ridge. Behind me, Kai, Ezra, and ten of our most lethal enforcers followed like a funeral procession of chrome and leather.

"And if you try to run, I will find you. And I will break both your legs." I believed him. Jackson was waiting by his bike. He wore dark jeans, a black t-shirt under his leather cut, and sunglasses that hid those cold gray eyes. He looked me over slowly, his expression unreadable. "Get on." "I have never been on a motorcycle before." "Then today you learn." He handed me a helmet. "Put this on." My hands shook as I fastened the helmet. Jackson swung onto the bike and looked back at me expectantly. I climbed on behind him awkwardly, not sure where to put my hands.

“Right now, you’re surrounded by a group of guys who can help you more than the cops, and sure as hell more than you can out there on your own. You have no idea how Brian found you this time, which means that he can find you again the same way if you run. You really want to take that chance? Because the next place you end up, the next time he shows up at your door, I can abso-fuckin-lutely guarantee you that you won’t have a bunch of hardcore bikers at your beck and call, all ready and eager to protect you.” “I – protect me?” “Yeah, angel. Protect you.” His eyes flashed warm and silver as he finally let his soft side out a bit. “We can keep you safe. We will.”

One by one, their gazes landed on her—searching, dissecting, demanding answers. “Heh, what the hell happened to you, Ra?!” Angel’s voice cracked, half panic, half disbelief. Meira exhaled slowly. “I fell off the bike,” she muttered, trying for nonchalance. But inside, guilt gnawed at her. The bike that had been hauled off by the tow truck… wasn’t hers. It was Chris’s. Damn it. If it had been her own, she wouldn’t have cared. But this? This was trouble.