Novelas y relatos de Biker

he questioned. Thinking they might easily take Austin down, the riders charged. Austin, however, had a secret: he was a trained fighter from college days. The first biker swung at Austin, but he readily dodged the blow. Austin struck back with a quick jab, finding the biker's jaw. Following the sound of the impact, the motorcyclist yelled in agony and tripped backward. Other riders immediately followed, each one trying to bring Austin down. Austin was a force to be reckoned with, though, his actions rapid and exact. He took down biker after biker, his fighting abili

To the place where good man died for helping us. We arrived at dawn. Desert stretched endlessly. Red rock. Empty sky. Beautiful and terrible. Garrett's body lay where they left him. Beaten. Broken. Discarded like garbage. But his face—his face was peaceful. Like he accepted it. Like he died knowing it meant something. The bikers gathered around him. Silent. Respectful. Mourning their leader. Their brother. Their friend. Then they began the ritual. MC tradition. Honoring the fallen. Each biker placed something on Garrett's body. Patches. Coins. Tokens. Pieces of themselves. Pieces of history. Pieces of brotherhood.

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.

Thomas asked. The biker’s voice tightened. “He called me by name.” The words hung in the air for a moment. “I’d never met him before,” the biker explained. “We’d never spoken. My name isn’t written on my vest or jacket. There’s no reason he should’ve known it.” My wolf stirred uneasily. This was wrong. All of it felt wrong. “What did you do?” I asked. “I asked him how he knew my name,” the biker said. “He just smiled faintly and avoided the question. That’s when I got really suspicious.”

Most parents wanted to talk about their kids but Lily’s dad seemed not to want to talk to her at all. Just when she was losing hope of seeing him, the sound of a motorcycle shook the building. She watched the man getting off the huge black Harley looked like something from a bad dream. He was tall and wide, he walked with a lot of confidence, his dark hair was pulled back, and even from far away, she could see the tattoos on his arms like sleeves. "Are you the teacher?" His voice was rough as he approached which made her want to step back. "Ms. Vance," she said. She put her hand out with a fake smile. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Miller. Please, have a seat."

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.

"And if you try to run, I will find you. And I will break both your legs." I believed him. Jackson was waiting by his bike. He wore dark jeans, a black t-shirt under his leather cut, and sunglasses that hid those cold gray eyes. He looked me over slowly, his expression unreadable. "Get on." "I have never been on a motorcycle before." "Then today you learn." He handed me a helmet. "Put this on." My hands shook as I fastened the helmet. Jackson swung onto the bike and looked back at me expectantly. I climbed on behind him awkwardly, not sure where to put my hands.

I knew the lifestyle they had, I loved it also furthermore I have actually dated bikers before and I think I can say, I understood the rules of it. Something about these particular bikers was very different though, It wasn’t just a bunch of dumb kids having fun rather It was something much more than that especially because the sex was mind-blowing and the time I spent with them all outside of the bedroom had great weight and I trusted them with some pretty intimate details of my life also including the good, bad, and ugly then most importantly, I have shared my dreams with them and they had done nothing but support me. I guess p

The bike stops right in front of us, so close I feel the heat from it. I can't map out the rider, but they feel scary. “Hey, what the fuck, man!” the brunette snaps, irritation edging into his voice. The biker swings a leg off, never turning the lights off. They lift something long and solid. Is that a bat? They roll it once in their hand, casual. Almost bored. “Who’s first?”

Someone had turned them into this twisting raceway that went under the city. There were makeshift bleachers along the walls, packed with people I could barely see through all the cigarette smoke. Bikers in leather, rich people in fancy clothes, and everything in between. They were all here for the same thing, danger and speed. I watched Tristan get ready for his race. He moved like he'd done this a million times before. He checked his bike the same way he worked on customer bikes at the garage, his hands going over every part. When he walked over to me, putting on his black helmet that covered his whole face, my heart was beating so hard.