Biker Names Novels & Stories

She opened her mouth to scream when the sound of motorcycle engines roared down the street. Six bikes appeared from around the corner moving fast. They weren't Vipers. The engines sounded different. More expensive. The bikes pulled up in a half circle around Maya and the three men and suddenly the air felt different. Heavier. The riders killed their engines and the silence that followed was worse than the noise. They climbed off their bikes and Maya saw their vests. Iron Wolves MC. She didn't know if that was better or worse than the Vipers. One of them walked forward and the others followed. He was tall with dark hair and the kind of face that probably got him anything he wanted. His leathe

The twins napped in the office around one, curled together on the little couch under Riley's leather jacket, and I walked through the shop properly for the first time. I'd been in it before — we'd cooked in her kitchen, ridden in the parking lot, passed through the front — but I hadn't really looked. I looked now. Every bike she'd worked on had a small plaque: the client's name, the date, two or three lines about what the commission meant to them and what she'd done with it. A guy named Marcus who'd survived cancer and wanted his bike repainted the color of his wife's eyes. A woman named DeShonda who'd inherited her father's Harley and asked Riley to restore it exactly as he'd left it. A tee

Layla rolled her eyes once more. She had just confessed to her friends that she was held at knifepoint by a junkie weirdo and all they wanted to do was talk about her kissing a biker. "His name is Marrok," she admitted. "Marrok Kenneally." "Marrok Kenneally, what a strange name for a biker," said Amy trying to recall any bikers she'd ever heard of with that name. "What's his club name?" "The Howler M.C. I think," replied Layla thinking back to Brick and his impressive patches.

Felix shook, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yes, Alpha. Yes, I swear, never again, Alpha,” he stammered, the words tripping over each other in his panic. I let go. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, hitting the dirt with a dull thud. He winced but he didn’t dare look up at me. “Pathetic,” I muttered under my breath. Then louder, I snapped, “The rest of you, get out of my sight.” The other bikers, who’d been loitering near the edge of the clearing, scattered immediately, relief written in every hurried step. They didn’t need to be told twice.

I whispered. "Not just his club." Viper handed me binoculars. "Look closer." I did. My breath caught. Mixed in with the Devil's Reign bikes were others. Different patches. Different colors. "He called in every ally he has," Viper explained. "The Iron Brotherhood from Nevada. The Wild Kings from Arizona. Even the Nomads from Texas. He promised them all a share of my territory if they help him get you back." He lowered his voice. "Do you understand what that means? He is willing to start a war that will reshape the entire MC landscape. All for you."

He stretched out his hand. “Alexander.” I shook it. “Jaxson.” The other twin followed, quieter. More guarded. His eyes assessed before he spoke. “Adrian.” I nodded in greeting. James looked between us, clearly pleased. “You guys would get along.” I raised an eyebrow slightly, unsure. “They’re bikers,” James added. That clicked something into place. Alexander’s eyes lit up with interest. “You ride?” “Yeah,” I said. “My dad owned an MC.”

“Really? You can pronounce their names?” “Well, no. But I’ve done close approximations for them.” He handed his notebook over to me. There were rough sketches of the Masters with names next to each. Comfort, Unscathed, Dark Melody, Skull Face, Cheeser, Manly, Killdozer, Gamba and Bisquik. You had to hand it to Maurice, he put the time in. “Nice. I thought his Dad sounded more like Biscuit.” I handed the notebook back.

I answer for Carson, "It's short for Masquerade, and he refuses to tell us the story behind the name." "A guy has to have some secrets. Collins here just took out three letters and named his bike Colin. Not very original." "But it works. I wanted to name it Donovan Rider, but it's a bike, not a car, and besides, Rider was already taken." "So Felicia, when you get a bike, what will you name it?" "Oh, I'm not getting a bike. I'm perfectly content to ride and not drive a motorcycle." Sam shakes his head at Felicia's comment. He laughs and says, "That's what they all say. We'll see how long it takes before Colin has you driving instead of riding."

The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers and screams as the bikers sped across the terrace, their faces etched with determination. A loud cheer erupted from the audience as everyone kept on yelling names of several motorcycle clubs they were supporting. “Wild Hogs!! Wild Hogs!” The voices on the left audience became louder, amplifying their excitement and eagerness to see them win “Sprint lazers!! Sprint Lazers!!” The other side of the audience screamed the name of a particular motorcycle club with a thunderous roar. And then came the name– “Asphalt warrior!!!!” The voices of the People gingered Adrian. He stood on his bike and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a calculative gaze as he

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.