Biker Gang Books Novels & Stories

We are started out as friends, then we became enemies, before in a cheesy way love conquered all. I was broken, abandoned, abused, and bullied. But all that only made me who I was supposed to be. Their woman, their wife, the mother to our girls. I may not be a mafia princess, but they are my bikers. They are my best friends, my men, and my destiny. And I can’t wait to see what else is thrown at us because I know no matter what it is, we will come out of it on top and stronger than before. The End.

“Okay, Yu. I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to freak out.” I nodded quickly, holding my breath. “Bin… he’s not just your everyday troublemaker. You know that biker gang called Garuda Steel?” Arum paused, watching my expression. I just nodded slowly. I’d heard the name before, but I never paid attention to it. “He’s the leader, Yu. The leader of the biggest motorcycle gang in Bandung. A lot of people respect him, some are even scared. His gang’s gotten into fights with other gangs, and… well, Bin’s never lost.”

Her suitcase was zipped, her favorite books tucked under her arm, and her diary was carefully hidden in her bag. She took a deep breath and whispered, “I'm finally free. Blaze, Axel, Jace… I’m finally going to go to college and be with you guys. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll take over the motorcycle club too.” A smirk curled on her lips. “And ride my own bike.” She picked up the rest of her stuff, her mind drifting back to when she was seven. Her parents' funeral. It was dark and wet, everything felt numb and the men she barely knew—Blaze, tall and protective even at fourteen, had a hard jaw and soft eyes.

Gabriel had arranged everything, and by the time we pulled up in the Jeep, the place was already packed. Cars lined the edges of the strip, and people crowded around, at least a hundred of them. Some I recognised from Gabriel's crew, others looked like they'd come just to watch two dons go head to head. Money was already changing hands, bets being placed on who would win. Two bikes sat in the middle of the strip under floodlights, sleek and black and powerful. Gabriel stood next to one of them, talking to someone, his arms gesturing wildly. When he saw us pull up, he grinned and waved.

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.

Asher replied, his tone easy. Her gaze flicked over him, then me, lingering longer than I liked. A crooked smirk tugged at her mouth. “Two bikers in one week. Haven’t seen that in years.” She took a drag, exhaled smoke through her nose, and tapped ash onto the ground. “Heard the others asking about some runaway girl.” My pulse thudded in my ears. I forced a light shrug. “Small towns love stories.” Her laugh was a low, cackling thing. “And stories love small towns.” She pointed her cigarette toward the road. “You kids be careful. People who go looking usually find something — even if it’s not what they wanted.”

But the peace doesn't last long. The heavy thrum of engines starts to vibrate through the walls. It’s a low, rumbling growl that I can feel in my teeth. The bikers are arriving. The doors swing open, and the silence of the morning becomes officially dead. Enforcers, road captains, and sergeants start filtering in, their leather vests creaking, their heavy boots clunking on the hardwood. The air instantly fills with the smell of exhaust and leather. I stay where I am, kneeling by a booth, pretending to be completely oblivious to the room. I concentrate on a non-existent spot on the table, but my ears are ringing. I hear the whistles. I hear the murmurs.

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

He said with bowed head and I rolled my eyes, puffing out the smokes and I turned, heading to the hall. *** *** *** The hall was already filled with bikers, all eager to learn. Of cause they will, I'm the tutor. The girls passed with seductive winks but I ignored them like they were non existent. “The Ballisters are one of the toughest mafias over here in the City, Getting into thier volt like home isn't going to be easy! You'll need skills, stamina and Strength! The three S to a perfect plan's accomplishment!” I said and they nodded.

I began as I also gave Yulia and Miles their own files. “Biker gangs are more than four, Issa, they are close to twenty or more,” Jamal said. “These four are our persons of interest because they deal with something different from the rest of the gang,” I said. “Dark magic,” Miles added. “What else can you tell us about them?” Jamal asked. “The first biker is called Austin Jordan, went to prison for seven counts of rape and sexual assault, he was sentenced to ten years, now he is an enforcer for the gang and mostly deals in human trafficking,” I said.