Biker Booktok Novels & Stories

“You okay?” “Motorcycle club?” I asked. He nodded. “Like Hell’s Angels?” Booker smirked. “In theory.” “Crap.” I glanced up at him. “I really should go.” “Go where, darlin’? There’s nothing around here for over a mile in any direction.” “Clarify something for me. Are you a club because you have really nice bikes and like to hang out and drink beer on occasion, or are you like outlaws or something?”

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.

Mason replies. " You know the lives of bikers. Dangerous missions, alcohol and women. That's our lives. It was my life before I met you. I don't need to pretend to be something I wasn't. I used to fuck,alot. Different women every time. Some who just wanted to be fucked by a biker, others who were trying to get into a relationship. I don't want to sugarcoat things for you, Hera. What you see is what you get." I assure her. She stares at me with an unreadable expression. I can't decipher what's going through her mind. Her thoughts.

“Stop looking at me like that.” I snap out of my horny daze and look up at him. He’s frowning, clearly not enjoying being checked out. Never met a biker who didn’t like the attention of a woman. Then again, I’ve noticed he’s different from every other biker... or any healthy man, for that matter. Maybe he’s gay. The hot ones always are. “Fuck you. My room, my rules. You came in here, so I can check you out if I feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t see me. Wait a minute—do you even have a biker license? That’s it, I’m calling the cops.” I punched 911 on my dial pad and dialed the number. The biker unzipped his leather jacket and rummaged inside. I could only guess what he was looking for—but a chequebook wasn’t it. He scribbled just a signature at the bottom and handed it to me. A blank cheque. “That’s for your laptop.” I stared hard at him, wondering what about me screamed miserable enough that he felt the need to shut me up with money. “How are you—do you think you can just buy me off like that? If so, then you’ve got another thing coming because I don’t know how your parents raised you, but I’m sure the

I was reminded of that morning in the exercise room when he had a fit about me being there. A little devil tapped me on the shoulder, and don't ask me where I got the nerve. "Are there going to be a lot of men at the fair? Do you know them? I hear they're mostly bikers, hot ones, not like the ones from around here." Chantal had said as much about the bikers coming to town anyway, which she'd heard from Wolf. As to them not being like the ones around here, I have no idea if that's true; I'd added that to get his goat, and it seems to have worked if the look he gave me was any indication. "You're playing with fire, little fawn." Why does him calling me that make me feel so warm inside?

My ribs screamed with every breath—courtesy of Derek's boots three nights ago in that motel parking lot outside Tucson. "You cannot run forever, Jenna," he had said, his voice cold as winter. "I will find you again." But I had run. Again. A rumble split the air. Deep. Mechanical. The kind that made your bones vibrate. I lifted my head and saw them. Six motorcycles rolling down Main Street like they owned it. Leather. Chrome. The devil's head patch on their backs—red eyes, fangs bared. Devil's Reign MC. My blood turned to ice.

I exhaled slowly, when his finger touch my cheek. “Can you take me home?” “I don’t know where your house is,” he replied. “Maybe you can give me an address… or I can take you on my bike.” My eyes widened instantly. “You have a bike?” He smirked slightly. “It’s right this way.” He led me to where an elegant, nightshade, black bike was packed. His bike was a damn beauty, and from looking at it, I could tell it cost quite a pinch. “It’s beautiful,” I said, smiling brightly as I ran my finger over the machine.

“Yes, Mi lady,” “Hey reckless princess,” he said to her with a broad smile. Elara smiled back. “I'm not reckless” I walked towards the bikers, while Henry's voice which teased Elara, and hers which replied savagely echoed in the background which I barely paid attention to. “Coach, any word for us before we step out there for this tournament?” A biker said, resting his hand on the handlebar of his bike while standing elegantly beside it. Everyone of them turned their gazes to me, anticipating what I had to share.