Biker Books Novels & Stories

The man who thought he’d never pay for what he did. By the time I arrived, the place was alive with roaring engines and the buzz of excitement. Bikers milled around, their cuts stitched with patches of pride and reputation. Spectators lined up behind barriers, cheering as bikes revved in anticipation. I spotted them immediately—their matching leather vests, their cocky grins. And at the center of it all, like a king among peasants, was Alexander Stone. Tall. Broad shoulders.u Dark hair slicked back. The kind of man whose presence alone commanded attention. And I hated him for it.

I asked before biting into my food. "The biker bar owned by the Alpha." He said. "You mean where y'all deliberate on your next kill?" Max chuckled. I had not been expecting that reaction. "No, that's where we take requests," he chuckled, winking at me. "Really?" "No. Of course not. It's just a bar that doubles as a biker's bar. That's it. I'd take you there, but I'm not sure how the Alpha would feel." "Thanks for reminding me that I'm a prisoner. Because prisoners get gourmet meals and charming jailers," I said, picking at my food even though my appetite had started to sour.

I burst through the doors and hit the street. I ran until my feet bled. I threw my heels into a bush and kept going, my breath hitching in my chest. I scrambled toward the highway, desperate to get away before the black cars found me. I was halfway across the old bridge when I heard the roar of an engine. A massive black motorcycle came screaming around the bend. I didn't even have time to jump out of the way. The rider slammed on the brakes, the bike sliding sideways and coming to a stop just inches from my legs.

"Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me directly." The bikers exchange glances but don't argue. Whatever Ryder Kane is to them, his word is law. "Come on." He guides me toward the clubhouse entrance, his palm warm against my spine. "Let's get you looked at." The inside is even more impressive than the outside. Exposed wooden beams stretch across a cathedral ceiling. A massive stone fireplace dominates one wall, with animal heads mounted above it. Pool tables, leather couches, and a well-stocked bar create distinct areas for socializing. Everything screams wealth and power.

"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."

Maybe it was the knowledge that when I walked downstairs, I wasn’t walking into that room as someone waiting for permission to belong. Today, I was walking in to receive proof that I already did. I had never seen the clubhouse so full. Even before we came downstairs, I’d seen the bikes outside through the bedroom windows. They lined every available inch of gravel, packed so tightly together they looked less parked than gathered, chrome flashing beneath the afternoon sun while brothers from other chapters laughed and smoked below. The smell of barbecue drifted through the open windows, mixing with exhaust, leather, and the kind of celebration only bikers could turn into something halfway betw

It seems he knew all of it was a made up story. “And this biker, what's his name?” he asked, eyes still locked on his notepad. “Mordred Sinclair,” I replied, letting the hate drip into every syllable. “He’s got a crew. Black Vipers or some biker gang bullshit. Check the cameras outside. You’ll see.”

If he saw me talking to another man, the bruises on my body were going to multiply. The bruises from last time were still yellow and fading. I wasn't ready get into any more trouble. “She asked you a question,” the trucker sneered, taking a step toward me. “Or are you too stupid to—” The biker moved faster than I thought possible. One moment he was feet away, the next he had the trucker pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against his throat. “Apologize to the lady.” “I ain’t apologizing for shit,” the trucker choked out. “That clumsy bitch—”

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.