Biker Mice Novels & Stories

She raised her gaze at him; her eyes found his sly one. The biker was chewing his gum deliberately slowly, his jaw moving deliberately. His eyes glinting with laughter, he smiled at Sara. "Hey, don't be like that," he said, his voice low and teasing. "We're simply trying to be nice." Sara's eyes narrowed and she requested him to step aside. "Can you please get out of my way?” she said, trying to maintain a strong voice. The biker chuckled, though, a mocking sound low. He didn't budge; as he chewed his gum, his eyes never left hers. Stuck as she was among the bikers, Sara felt a surge of rage and anxiety. *****

THE BIKER KING CALLS Despite how dangerous the atmosphere of the room felt, dinner was… quiet. Arthur stretched subtly in his seat, looking over at the plates set neatly on the long wooden table stretching through the center of the room. A single overhead light glinted off the rim of his glass as he sipped on his wine. Slowly, he looked around at the plain walls and the men standing at the dark corners of the room. A few had their arms folded, others rested their hands behind their backs. Every time they moved, their leather jackets would lift, revealing guns tucked into waistbands and knives strapped to their thighs. None of them spoke. None moved unless Victor told them to.

Marcus pulled his bike alongside mine briefly before his voice crackled through the comm system. “Road coming up on the right.” I spotted it immediately. A narrow dirt trail nearly swallowed by dead brush and darkness. Easy to miss unless you knew exactly where to look. The Butterfield trail. Brian hadn’t lied. I jerked the bike hard onto the path without slowing down. Gravel exploded beneath the tires while the entire line of Daggers followed behind us instantly, engines roaring violently through the dark hills. Dust clouds kicked into the air around the bikes while dead branches scraped overhead as we tore deeper into the pass.

Cargo being shipped to its final destination. The rumble starts low, almost lost under the thunder. At first I think it's another storm front moving in. But the sound doesn't fade; it gets stronger, closer, until the van's windows start vibrating. "What the hell is that?" the driver asks. Motorcycles, lots of them, by the sound. The rumble becomes a roar as engines surround us on all sides. Through the rear window, I see headlights cutting through the growing darkness. "Rogues," someone whispers.

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.

He was just about to signal them to stop and find shelter when a flash of something in the distance caught his attention, and he skidded the bike to a stop, pulling off his helmet. ‘Can you guys see that?’ He asked those around him, pointing to where something was catching the sunshine glittering in the distance. ‘Fuck yeah.’ Martin, the Leader of another MC club, said, and Nathan, another Leader, nodded to, looking around, he could see they all saw it, and it could only be one thing, Morningstar’s compound. All thought of the heat disappeared as they sped towards their destination, the bikes coming together in a formation ready for attack. His next signal sent some of the Bikers to surround

Manager Ben said standing in front of me and I turned staring at the girls then I muttered, “Busted!” “Oh my God, she’s Ms Nora Brown!” “What have we gotten ourselves into?” “We’re so dead!”

Ryder growls at his paramour. When he says nothing else, I look to find them kissing. That is an effective way to shut Sidhe up. I’ve seen Gator and Angel do the same thing to silence the lunatic. “Alright, children!” The older blonde biker's voice booms. “Wow, I cannot believe I’m related to these horny people,” the teen said with dark reddish brown comments from beside him. “Zip it, Rasmus.” An enormous Irish biker commands while putting away the drones.

I couldn't wait for Lexa’s unlocked kitchen door next week; I had to move tonight. An hour later, the compound erupted into a deafening, earth-shaking roar. The sound of fifty heavy motorcycle engines starting up at the same time vibrated through the walls of the room, shaking the glass in the window. I watched through the curtains as Stone led the massive pack of bikers out of the gravel yard, his large chopper roaring at the front of the line, his black leather cuts fluttering in the wind as he pulled out onto the highway. The long line of motorcycles followed him like a giant, metal serpent, their loud exhaust notes slowly fading into a distant, rumbling hum as they sped down the road.

The two drivers opened their doors and got out, walking towards me as well. “We don’t want any trouble, we are just lackeys in everything.” They held up their hands in surrender, holding still as I stalked past them to the van. I swung open the side door, its hinges protesting loudly. There was nothing inside except for road block equipment, vests, and someone’s half eaten sandwich. “Son of a bitch!” I slammed the door home and turned to the two wolves. I knew they were Black Haven, the stench of licorice was strong on them. The two bikers had joined the others, more than likely feeling safety in numbers. They were slight and about a good half foot or more shorter than me, making them as mor