Biker Giant Novels & Stories

A particular one on his arm caught my attention. It was a dragon spitting fire. "If we don't leave now, his friends would join us here." The Biker dude gestured towards his bike I didn't even notice was parked by my side. "Get on." "Why would I go anywhere with you?" I folded my arm across my chest, suddenly feeling wary of him. 'Who was that gun shooter and why was he aiming at me?' I wondered, having an answer as I stared at this dude in my presence. It was probably because I was with him, he was a Biker and probably a gangster as well.

Crowe, entry thirty one, matte black bike* I went and pulled everything. The surface layer was straightforward. Jaxen Crowe, twenty eight. Director and founder of the Moon Biker's Club, established four years ago as a regional outfit and expanded within eighteen months into something that made the industry pay attention. Clean record, no charges, no civil suits, nothing that would raise a flag on a standard background check. Tax filings current. Business registration clean. The kind of paper trail that belonged to someone who either had very good lawyers or was genuinely careful about how he operated.

Eleanor “Are you alright?” Eli asked. My brows pinched. “Eli?” Only it wasn't Eli. The Eli I knew had a soft tenor voice but this Eli had a deep baritone. When I lifted my eyes to meet his gorgeous green eyes, my blood ran cold and realization hit me like a punch in the face. This wasn't Eli. This was his twin brother, Killian. If Eli was dangerous, Killian was dangerous himself. He was sporting the NightFall Wolves Biker Gang's leather jacket as usual. His long black hair pulled back in a loose bun. I tried not to start at the way his jacket stared across his broad shoulders or how his dark tattoo peeked from his collar. He was ruggedly handsome.

The bike was a towering, custom built iron behemoth, twice the size of the others, its frame painted a matte black that swallowed the light. The outlaws instantly dropped their weapons, stepping back into a perfect, terrified line of rigid military attention. He's stepping down, the young biker whispered, his teeth chattering from a fear that had nothing to do with the storm. Clear the lane. Clear the lane right now. The heavy black leather boot hit the pavement with a thud that seemed to echo louder than the thunder. A massive, towering figure stepped off the machine, standing well over six feet three, his frame so broad he completely blocked out the headlights behind him. His arms were cov

Damien had his gun ready. The stairwell door above us crashed open. But instead of Reeves's soldiers, I saw leather jackets. Biker patches. Familiar patches. Cascade Motorcycle Club. Garrett appeared at the top of the stairs. The same man who had tried to collect Richard's debt. The same man who had threatened Hope. Older now. Scarred. But alive. "Going somewhere, Flora?" "How did you get in here?" Victoria aimed her weapon. "Service tunnels. This facility was built on old mining infrastructure. We know these mountains. Rode our bikes through maintenance passages Marcus never bothered to secure properly." Garrett descended the stairs. Twenty bikers behind him. All armed. All dangerous. "Hear

"Before I stop being polite." The tall Viper looked like he wanted to argue but one of his friends grabbed his arm. "Come on man. It's not worth it." They backed away slowly then turned and walked off into the growing darkness. Maya watched until they disappeared around a corner. Her hands were shaking and she shoved them in her pockets so no one would see. "You okay?" Blackwood asked again. "I'm fine." Maya looked at her bike. At the neighborhood around her. At the six bikers standing there like they were waiting for something. "I just need to fix my starter."

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.

Asphalt Kings is the most popular bikers society in this city. The bikers aren't only madly good, but also madly handsome. Rumours say it's run by a powerful secret organization to launder money, and that's why they could snatch the road from government. But who cares? The boys just want to race. Here, Saint St. Graves is the top racer. Most girls come here only for him. In bed, he's A+, and on top of the bike, he's A++ Saint rules the road here. Like right now, everyone on the road is screaming his name except the jealous boys in the society.

She giggled, waved him goodbye, and ran into the house. As I made to walk inside, Ryder pulled my hand. "Whatever Lison said today, don't take it to heart." He said before my hand slipped from his. "See you tomorrow. I need to fix some things." He hopped on the bike and drove out. I was curious what he needed to fix, but I also remembered he ran a day and night business, so he hardly had time. Running a biker business wasn't for the weak. I watched him leave, my heart still pounding. When Annie called him dada, he heard. I was so embarrassed. I just prayed he didn't think I had told Annie to call him that. But then he just said dada would be back.

"You have been cooped up inside this concrete compound for days now. I thought you might really need some fresh air to clear your head." He led me out through the back door and into the bright sunlight of the yard, walking toward the long line of shiny motorcycles parked against the wall. His bike was completely unmistakable—it was a massive, heavy black Harley-Davidson motorcycle with bright chrome details that caught the sunlight and a large Iron Reapers skull painted right onto the fuel tank. He reached over, grabbed a black helmet from the handlebars, and handed it to me. Then, he stepped closer and helped me strap it tightly under my chin, his large, tattooed fingers moving with careful