Biker Gangs Books Novels & Stories

That’s his second mistake. “That must’ve hurt,” I murmur, brushing the ash away with my thumb, almost gentle. “You poor thing.” Bones shifts, eager to end it. I lift a hand. “Don’t make him repeat himself,” I say, irritation slicing through my tone. “Where. Are. My guns.” “We don’t have them!” he sobs. “We sold them, okay? We’re just a small gang—we needed money, men, leverage in these streets. We—”

Like it was built to keep people out. As we walk, I notice the others. Men scattered along the grounds, some near motorcycles parked in neat rows. The sound of an engine roars in the distance, and I turn to see a group of riders speed past the gates. Black leather jackets, helmets, the glint of chrome. My chest tightens. A biker gang. I don’t need anyone to explain it to me. The signs are all here. The mansion. The heavy security. The bikes. This client is definitely not a regular person.

“You really are determined to destroy everything your father built.” Anger flared through my chest. “You grabbed me.” He tilted his head. “You slapped me verbally in front of half the city.” “That is not the same.” “No,” he agreed calmly. “It isn’t.” He turned to face me. “But what your little biker friend did inside? That is.” A cold knot formed in my stomach. Adrian watched me carefully. “You should know something about men like him,” he said. “What?” “They don’t survive in my world.”

“Alpha Jaron. I’m referring him to you. He’s in recovery, unable to walk at the moment. I need you to give him your best as his physical therapist.” I froze mid-breath, the name striking me like a lightning bolt. My pulse quickened involuntarily. “Alpha Jaron?” I whispered, barely loud enough for Marga to hear. Marga’s jaw dropped, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Do you mean the Alpha Jaron? The Biker? The most feared, the handsome Alpha of Steel Fang Pack?” I blinked, the weight of her words settling on me. The Alpha of Steel Fang Pack. The man whose very name commanded fear and respect in the supernatural and human communities alike.

“I used to think you were at the beginning.” “You want that punch?” “I’m saying…” I moved to my seat. It wobbled. Or I wobbled. Who knows? “I’m saying this was a bikers club. It wasn’t really family. Buggy and I just needed a roof over our heads and I was tired of being hunted down by the police—” “Because you were hacking into bank accounts and stealing money.”

Even from this distance, I could see the fear creeping across her face. People walked by without saying a word. Some looked away. Others crossed the street entirely. Nobody wanted trouble. Not when motorcycles gangsters were involved. That was the problem. To this town, a biker was simply a biker. Nobody cared what patch he wore. Nobody cared which club he belonged to. Bishop’s men had spent years terrorizing Greystone, and somehow every crime they committed stained all of us equally. I pulled the truck to the curb and climbed out. The sound of my boots against the pavement made one of them glance over his shoulder.

Just thinking about stuff', I replied awkwardly. 'About what happened yesterday', he clarified my misinterpretation. Oh. About that. Not wanting to lie, I said, 'I'm coping', truthfully. 'Maybe this may help you', he said, pushing today's newspaper to me. 'What is it?', I asked as I finished the last of the pancakes. 'Five people of a biker gang killed yesterday in a police drug raid', Kade replied. I sucked in a breath, dreading the answer he was about to give. ' did you do it?'

Athena Chaos is supposed to be loud, but this was quiet. It didn't explode; it just sort of seeped into the clearing like a bad smell. The bikes rolled in with a low, oily growl. No chrome, no insignias just matte-black frames and riders who looked like they’d forgotten how to blink. The morning mist didn't stand a chance; the heat from their engines shredded it into nothing. Inside me, my wolf wasn't just bristling; she was pacing a tight, frantic circle, her claws snagging on my psyche. These guys weren't here to talk. They were here to see who bled first.

He touched it with a gentleness I hadn't seen him show to anything else. By the time dusk rolled in, I couldn’t stay cooped up anymore. The walls of the room felt like they were pressing in. I slipped out and wandered through the dimly lit hallways of the clubhouse. Most of the bikers ignored me, their attention on card games or greasy food. Some stared, curious but silent, their eyes following me like shadows. I heard whispers, hushed tones that carried through the smoke-filled air. About “the girl Reaper brought in.” About me being “another broken bird.”