Biker Giant Novels & Stories

“But maybe you can help me with something better.” The second biker chuckled. “You sure you’re in the right neighborhood for that?” “I’m exactly where I need to be.” Before they could say more, a low rumble filled the air — the sound of a bigger engine, deeper, meaner. The crowd around the lot shifted. A matte-black bike rolled in. Its rider dismounted slowly, pulling off his helmet. Jace Malone. Everyone called him Viper. President of the Vipers MC. Mid-thirties, maybe.

He was seated, his gaze on the little scene unfolding between Cohen and I. I sighed. A part of me was relieved that I still have him to protect me, that he's still looking out after me like he had always done. Cohen glanced at Papa's direction before he brought his gaze back to me. “Nice to have you back, twin sister” He smirked, a smirk I wished I could rip off his face. Then he disappeared out of sight. The tournament started, the bikers getting to the track to ride. Bikers filled the track, lining up in rows with their colorful bikes.

Alpha Scott linked quickly. One of the bikers from the gang wiped out on some fresh cut grass the city workers left in the road, and they are going to ask their boss to talk to you about extending their time to fix it. I looked around, waiting for a response and making sure no vehicles were driving our way. We still needed to get rid of all of the blood.

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.

Kenzie demands. He turns around with anger on his face and crosses his arms. A few of his brothers snicker. He glances at them and they look away. "You know I'm really disappointed in you. I encouraged Macie to give you a shot. Told her not to believe all those stories that bikers are thugs, criminals, and heartless bastards. I told her there's good and bad in all people. And I hate to be proved wrong!" She began. "I told her just because you're a biker, it didn't mean you weren't a decent guy. But boy did you prove me wrong!" He tries to speak but she holds up her hand. "No, you don't talk, I'm talking!"

He replied, while pouring her a glass of the sangria she brought. The meal progressed and she enjoyed Drakes company and his cooking. During their dinner conversation, she learned that he was a Rhodes Scholar and a Yale graduate. He had graduated with a double major of law and business. He had taught himself to cook. He enjoyed a challenge, mental or otherwise and whether he bested it or was bested, he learned from it. His double major had been proof of his love of a challenge. His family was very wealthy. Old money. With that money, he helped the people that he could. When he formed the motorcycle club, it was with the idea to help women escape from deadly abusive relationships, and assi

Everyone in the family advised him against it, but he never listened. I think once someone becomes a biker, they just stop seeing the downsides. My cousin, who was fondly called Zipco even though his name was Andrew, was too deep in his biker life to listen to anyone. He ignored his parents, my parents, and our grandparents whenever they talked about him leaving the bike group to come take over the family company.

I climbed off my bike and headed inside, pushing in through the worn door, and stopped short at what I saw. It was packed, mostly with guys I didn’t recognize. They weren’t wearing any cuts, but they were clearly bikers. They were sitting around in groups, not really mixing with the few Demons guys I saw. Dow caught my eye and nodded. I headed over and sat next to him at the bar. “The fuck is going on today?” I asked him. “Rebels,” he said, shaking his head. “Shit.” TomTom slid me a glass of whisky, and I nodded at him. “Already?”

CHAPTER 1 The Knights MC The Knights Motorcycle Club is made up of 18 guys retired from special forces, thier name is Knights MC. Due to their love of motorcycles and wanting to continue the team mentality like they had when they served, the club was born. They have three teams of six men each. They call them teams A, B, and C. Team A has Prez, Scribe, Cash, Doc, Chopper, and Data on it. Team B includes VP, Soldier, Rocket, Patch, Edge, and Hacker. Team C has Radar, Tracker, Ace, Navy, Jammer, and Gamer on it.

he said softly. Before I could respond, the front door of the bar swung open. A group of men walked in, and the atmosphere in the room changed instantly. They weren't wearing Vipers colors, but they were bikers—large, rough, and looking for trouble. One of them, a man with a shaved head and a tattoo of a coiled snake on his neck, scanned the room until his eyes landed on our booth. "Well, well," the man said, walking toward us with a swagger that made my skin crawl. "If it isn't Ruan Montague. I thought you only hung out in the city, Prez. What brings you to this neck of the woods?"