Badass Biker Novels & Stories

"May I ask what you are talking about?" Drake swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat. "A lot of the families we help are terrified of us. We're bikers, former military, and we're men. We actually need you to make first contact with them. You could set them at ease. Well, as at ease as women in their situations can be. You can be the go-between for the women and the club. As my woman, you would have access to everything you need to do your job. Information, the ability to build a false background, the false identity. Things that will help these women survive after they get out." He watched her soak in the information that he was giving her. "Please, Sam. I think that you will be a

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.

The fourth biker says nothing. He is smaller than the others. He is covered in tattoos. And he has a gun. He points his pistol at Jim. I don't want Jim to die. Jim turns to face me, his eyes wide. "Run!" he says. "It's okay. I can take care of myself." I roll my eyes. "No you can't, human," I say. He looks so bemused. But he's going to look even more so in a second when I shift. Somebody else emerges from behind the wall of bikers.

But with the Alhaj's backing, they would be more than willing to. The bikers joined us where we stood, the most popular and feared biker in the whole of Harmony City was Baraka. A large, wild man with a big beard and a piercing fierce look to go with it. He got off his bike and came straight to the Alhaj. They embraced like they were good friends.

The bikers each took a step back as they sensed the threat drawing near. Scarface gulped audibly but still tried to appear brave. “You think you can intimidate me?” he asked with a shaky voice. I bared my teeth. “I don’t think. I know.” The air around us grew hard, and then before I could utter another word, one of the bikers launched himself at me. But I was faster, catching his upraised arm and flipping him onto his stomach with a twist before slamming his front half against the truck. The others were charging forward when Lysander was suddenly there, moving with the deadly speed of a well-schooled warrior.

A cloud of dust rises as a sleek black motorcycle roars down the desolate highway. Its engine growls with power, propelling the bike forward with unstoppable force. The rider, known to many as Dante the Lycan hunter, sports a rugged leather jacket adorned with countless patches and insignias. His eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, He exudes an air of mystery and danger. As he approaches a weathered roadside bar, the sound of his engine echoes through the open landscape halting at a bar.

I should get my own bike. He pulled up in my house and I jumped off the motorcycle. He didn’t turn off the engine. I gave him back the helmet, smiling with gratitude. “Thanks for the ride.” “I knew that there was a wild girl underneath that sophisticated look that you always have.” He smirked with a daring look. “There’s a lot more to you, Sianna.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You like adventure. A boring life is not for you. You need a badboy.” He licked his lips and revved the bike before riding off.

One of them even took a step back. A slow smirk spread across my face. Oh, right. This. See, Travis himself wasn’t the big bad biker everyone was scared of. Honestly, the man was kinda basic. But his friends? The three guys he rode with? They were the real deal. The most ruthless, feared bikers in three counties and nobody, nobody, was dumb enough to mess with anything that belonged to them. Or, by extension, anything that belonged to Travis. It was the one perk of this whole miserable arrangement. I walked the rest of the way to the front door with a little swagger in my step, smiling to myself. I’d take my wins where I could get them.

As the car drifting event comes to a close, the focus shifts to the next thrilling spectacle - a high-energy bike race. Handsome boys, their faces hidden by helmets, rev up their powerful superbikes, their sleek machines gleaming under the moonlit sky. Among them stands a figure cloaked in mystery - a rider in a black balaclava, his aura of enigmatic allure capturing my attention. The race begins, the bikers tearing through the twisting track with speed and precision, their bikes weaving through the night like streaks of lightning. The balaclava-clad rider steers the course with unparalleled skill, his movements fluid and calculated as he gains ground on his competitors.

"When I was fourteen, I started riding with the older guys in the club. Terrified. Shaking. But I acted like I owned the place." "You were a delinquent. That's different." "I was confident. Confidence is confidence." Duke caught her shoulders. "Emma. Look at me." She turned. His daughter. Dark-eyed and stubborn and trying so hard not to show how frightened she was. "You are the toughest kid I know," Duke said. "You've grown up with bikers, handled a blended family, dealt with things most fourteen-year-olds never face. High school is nothing compared to what you've already survived."