Badass Biker Novels & Stories

His eyes were red with rage, his face contoured with anger. “Asher Moretti!!!” He growled. Yes, asshole. That's me. You shouldn't have provoked the fucked up me. Music was paused. It means the people were getting focused on us instead of the party. I was supposed to stop, avoid scandals in the biker's world, but to hell be with scandals. At the moment, I don't give a fuck. And this man here, he should know by now. Before he could make a move, my hands met his chin, another blow landing on his face.

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.

And I found it very sickening. Going out of the house on jeans and jacket, in no time, I saw Carter leaning on his black big bike wearing black leather jacket with a black shirt beneath and fitted jeans. But he didn't look like any other guy in town nor a handsome bad boy. Weird but he looked like a prince from medieval period trying to fit in the modern world. The way he stood there, watching me carefully with intense preciseness, I can sense the power and dominance in him like no other. "You really brought your beast with you, huh." I glanced at his shining big bike and noticed it was from an expensive brand. Of course, why would a pagan god get a bike from a cheap brand? It should be like

I inform him of this even though I know that I want it to. River's neck extends, head bent slightly to the left, tilted away from the sun. The long column of his exposed throat now on full display. I know I shouldn't like the biker. He's more trouble than humble, but dammit, he is a fine piece of meat. I would never call him gorgeous 'cause he and that ship never met, but I would put him in the V.I.P of the bad boy cruiseline. I've never had dangerous before. "Come on, Hannah, just admit that you want to." Arrogance and certainty come off him in waves.

Four bikers lost control of their bikes and crashed violently on the road while the remaining ten swerved out of the way and broke the circle. I picked another curved blade and before I could hurl it, I felt my orgasm reared its head. I gritted my teeth as Xena squeezed my balls lightly as a warning. “Fuck,” I muttered and managed to keep the Humvee on the road. Even with our lives on the line, I found it difficult to concentrate on defending us. Biker zoomed closer to my wind and tried to reach the inside. Another foolish mistake. Xena giving me head was the last thing he was going to see.

Zaine and a Ducati rider follow. Flip. Last corner. I back it in — engine braking, rear sliding wide, bars turned, throttle feathered. It’s my signature. Controlled violence. Perfect exit. I stream past Ducati … stay tucked behind Zaine. First and third. Calculated. Deliberate. Another Reaper day. “Shit, man — thanks for that!” Sean grins, ripping off his helmet. “No problem.” He thinks I handed him glory. Truth? Winning means interviews. Cameras. Noise.

Maybe it was a bit far fetched, but that’s what happens when confidence is back. “It does, but I won’t paint it… yet,” I smiled. “What about this?” he said. I turned around and found him shirtless. I swallowed, my eyes moving through his collarbone, his chiseled chests, his well-defined abs and to his gray sweatpants hanging shamelessly below his waist, exposing his Adonis belt. I bit my lips, stopping my mind from thinking about something so wild and shameless, but could I be blamed? A hot biker stood half naked before me. “I could be your model,” he said, flexing his muscles.

I would still send him home tonight feeling lost. Just then, Dante walked up between us in his tall frame. “You both will ride with the spirit of the brotherhood. You are not allowed to die. If you fall, you rise again.” That was all he said before turning his back and leaving us alone. I didn’t need his motivation. I was ready for this. And thankfully, I had been using the painkiller Dr.Vance gave me to numb the tremble in my left arm. My jaw flexed, teeth grinding as I straddled the beast beneath me. The hell-bound bike was unlike anything street legal—matte black frame, skeletal structure, raw engine growl that sounded more alive than machine. The handlebars vibrated hungrily like it want

Vex was a famous biker, yet nobody knew Vex's background or gender. ‎Vex swung a leg over Biker No. 13. The bike dipped under the weight as if it recognized its owner. Gloves on. Helmet down. Visor shut. Now there was no face, nor gender, just a devil on two wheels. Thumb to ignition. The engine coughed once, then roared. The ground vibrated. Vex's heart didn’t. Headlights cut through the night like knives.

the motorcyclist proposed, his deep and resonant voice calming me. You can trust him, a little voice spoke in my mind. I sighed, nodded, and hoped I hadn't just invited a psychopath to sit in my broken-down car with my three young children. I watched the biker closely as he sat in the passenger seat, removed his helmet, and called the local mechanic. It sounded like they knew each other and had a cordial relationship. According to the handsome man beside me, Jack Turner agreed to be here within the hour and would give me a tow free of charge.