Biker Names Novels & Stories

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.

I seriously doubt they never noticed some strange guy on a motorcycle hanging around the neighborhood. “Are you the only surviving victim of the Bike Stalker?” the nurse asked, shocking me. Now understand Theresa’s reaction. “I prefer calling him Tom, as that name makes him sound like a mythical person and not my once good friend slash my first crush.” Meri rationalizes. The other nurse nodded his head in agreement and turned back just as the doors opened. “Well I hope you testify and send him to jail. He hurt my friend when we had to treat him last year. My friend hasn’t been able to come back after that and it was that freak’s fault.” he revealed as stood at the door to keep the elevator f

he asked sharply. The biker realized who the man standing in front of him is. "You.. you are the king. The king of darkness. So what they say about you is true" he said out loud. Everyone heard about the king of the darkness. He is a legend. His name is taken with fear and respect in the mafia world. Everyone knows that Nero retired, but no one knows who replaced him except everyone calls him the King of darkness. He is ruthless and is like a phantom who stays in the shadows. Every person who has ever seen him is dead. So the Biker understood that he will die tonight. So he began to bargain.

He was completely disrespecting my status in my own pack territory, but strangely, the more this Rocco guy spoke, the more interest I picked up in him. He had real balls. The balls of a real villain. He wasn't like the bowing politicians or the crying servants at the palace. He was the 'my rules only' kind of guy. Which was good. Rocco leaned back again, looking at the photos. "There are at least fifty plus biker gangs in your pack territory, Delta Pack. And amongst these fifty, at least forty-eight of them run their businesses very calm and friendly. They don't want trouble with the law. And the others, if there is any rival or violence, it is strictly within themselves. Bikers are not know

This big, burly, viking god of a biker blushes. “Oh, when I saw you, when you were brought in. Your knuckles were scraped and bleeding. I knew you hit back. Hence the name Scrapper. But if you don’t like it, I can …” “Oh no, no, Scrapper is fine. Kind of like a cool nickname.” I say with a giggle. I fucking giggled. What is wrong with me? I never giggle. This man is making me turn into a sap.

Addie replied. "Well, not all bikers are bad. I should know, my brother is one. I also dated one for a while until I got bored with him." Paris explained. "Is your brother in the biker club that's here tonight?" Addie asked. "Yes, he is. His name is Ian, and he's one of their Sargent At Arms. His road name is Joker." Paris replied. "Road name?" Addie asked. "Yeah. It's like their nickname the club gives them." Paris explained.

It seems he knew all of it was a made up story. “And this biker, what's his name?” he asked, eyes still locked on his notepad. “Mordred Sinclair,” I replied, letting the hate drip into every syllable. “He’s got a crew. Black Vipers or some biker gang bullshit. Check the cameras outside. You’ll see.”

His motorcycle didn’t announce itself. It roared. That deep, violent sound tore through the silence of the compound like a warning shot. Conversations died instantly. Heads turned. Even the guards shifted uneasily, hands moving instinctively toward their weapons before they realized who it was. Everyone knew that sound. Everyone knew him. Kade Roman. The biker Alpha they had once tried to erase from their territory. The man who refused to stay gone. The gates of the estate swung open with a heavy metallic groan, and there he was riding in like the world still bent to his rules. Black bike. Black jacket. Eyes colder than anything human should be allowed to carry.

"Get the bikes. The North Ridge trail. We stay on our side of the wire." "Of course, Alpha," Ezra bowed his head, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a flash of triumph that should have set off every alarm in my head. We rode hard. The roar of a dozen Harleys tore through the midnight mist of the Black Fang forest. I was at the front, pushing my bike to the absolute limit, the engine screaming as I leaned into the sharp, gravel-strewn turns of the ridge. Behind me, Kai, Ezra, and ten of our most lethal enforcers followed like a funeral procession of chrome and leather.

Just like her mother. We'd decided not to find out the gender. Wanted it to be a surprise. But I had a feeling it was a girl. "What are we going to name her?" Jackson asked. "Or him." "If it's a girl, I want to name her Hope." "Hope Kane." He smiled. "I like it." "And if it's a boy?" "Michael. After my uncle who died trying to leave the club. He was the first person to show me there was another way."