Biker Names Novels & Stories

“Blade—how many of them are there?” “Too many to count and they’re not going to stop until Cruz—or you—are down,” he said, his voice grim. “We need to disappear. Now.” The alley loomed ahead, dark and narrow. I glanced behind us. The bikers had remounted, engines roaring like beasts in the night. One shot rang out, missing by inches, slamming into the wall where I’d been a moment before my ears rang. Cruz groaned again. “Nova… don’t…”

King explains. “Exactly, what family you are born into, that last name you have can be the difference between acceptance and rejection. Let’s use bikers, what is the reason for bikers having a bad name?” I look around. “Because they’re wrong, they deal with illegal shit. Have no respect or morals.” Samuel glances at King.

Grunts could be heard as the other wolves staggered to their feet. Keeping a keen eye on me, one of the other bikers, a burly male with a tatted bald head and unruly beard, stepped behind Luca and crouched down. Gripping under his arms, he pulled Luca to his feet, muttering, "You okay, Whiskey?" Whiskey? And then I remembered. It was probably Luca's alias. I didn't have time to wonder or care why he was still using it. "Yeah, Frank," Luca grunted, stumbling a bit while the biker steadied him.

PRESENTLY... My biker Boy Fantasies, that was what everyone was calling it. Everywhere Elias went, people's gaze followed her. She was the hottest topic in school right now, and she's never felt more vulnerable in her life. People made fun of her as she walked by. They called her all sorts of names and a few stood out to her especially 'Pervy Nerd' 'Hardcore Hottie' 'Kaelen's number one fan' 'Miss XXX rated'

I knew those illegal bike races he stared would eventually get him in trouble. Standing here in the room are the most feared and notorious men who are from the invisible mafia whispered in dark corners. William Sanders, the beast racer, nobody has been able to beat him as far as bikes go, he's also Suzie's brother, the girl outside with Millie and Sam, next to him is Jaime King, this one is the most notorious, he's calm but deadly, he goes by King, no one who isn't his friend calls him by his first name unless they want their bones broken. Who the fuck doesn't want to be called by their name?

Bigger impact. Something that doesn’t just serve the patch—but earns it respect. I’m organizing a biker toy run. Not some cute little I*******m charity. Not a “look at us handing out dollar bills” moment. A real, boots-on-pavement ride for kids who’ll otherwise wake up to nothing on Christmas morning. And if I pull it off right? The Black Daggers won’t just be known as the rough crew outside city limits. They’ll be the club that shows up when the town needs something done.

I always do when I go to church. "As a matter of fact I did, I also prayed for yours too." I try hard not to smile when he chuckles. He doesn't say another word as he turns away from me and I admit I'm disappointed. The young biker strolls right on overto were I'm standing. He extends his hand. It's the first time I get a good look at the guy. "Names Killer." He's absolutely fucking gorgeous. So gorgeous, I cream my panties staring into the bluest eyes I've ever seen in person.

He also knew he was looking at the future King of the Blue Moon Bikers. Maverick learned quickly; he had to. Sean tried his best to scupper every chance he was given, and at first, the younger boy fell for his schemes, wanting to be the ‘Prince’s’ friend. The teenager soon discovered he was being set up to fail and look stupid in the eyes of William, the first time those kind eyes turned to him in disappointment was the last. He stopped trying to be Sean’s friend and, more importantly, he stopped covering for his mistakes. His gut instincts told him the King’s brother would soon make a fatal mistake as he took more and more risks as he tried to impress his friends and look like a future King

Mason You didn't become a top enforcer for the biggest motorcycle club in the whole Austin, Texas area without cracking a few fucking skulls. To put it fucking mildly. I came from nothing. My momma named me Israel but I earned the name Mason. Even as a little boy, I loved all things with a motor, especially bikes. I got my nickname because my asshole father was a renowned mason. He was quite gifted, and good at his job, and his plans were for me to follow in his footsteps when I got older.

Krystal's resolute nod reinforced our commitment to follow his advice, understanding the necessity of maintaining a low profile in this volatile Following Krystal's lead, I followed her towards the bar, the familiar strains of Bob Seger's "Main Street" resonating through the air. The choice of music only confirmed what I had already suspected – we were indeed in a biker bar. In my mind, Fat Bob had always been associated with images of Harley-Davidsons, cold beers, and Tom Cruise's infamous underwear dance. Little did I know that tonight, I would be adding toothy strippers to that rather eclectic mental picture.