Novelas y relatos de Biker

Biker gang is what springs to mind when I see him. “Mind if I have a go?” the biker asks my mystery man. My mystery man smiles devilishly. “She’s all yours,” he says. “Her safeword is ‘leather’”. The biker looks down at his leather jackets and chuckles. I look at my mystery man, but all he does is smirk and sit down on a bench, crossing his arms nonchalantly. What the fuck? I think to myself. I hardly even know the mystery man. What makes him think he has the right to give me away to another man?

"When I was fourteen, I started riding with the older guys in the club. Terrified. Shaking. But I acted like I owned the place." "You were a delinquent. That's different." "I was confident. Confidence is confidence." Duke caught her shoulders. "Emma. Look at me." She turned. His daughter. Dark-eyed and stubborn and trying so hard not to show how frightened she was. "You are the toughest kid I know," Duke said. "You've grown up with bikers, handled a blended family, dealt with things most fourteen-year-olds never face. High school is nothing compared to what you've already survived."

she looked at me and I nodded. "My Uncle Bruce was a member of the Demon Riders MC." she added quietly. Joker gasped along with Blade while Dom, Decker, Jaden and Ash looked confused. Thrash closed his eyes and muttered a curse. "Who are the Demon Riders?" Dom demanded. "Yeah, I've never heard of them and we've had business with every MC in the area." Decker added.

The BlackReign patch on his leather vest hanging over the chair should’ve told me enough. I glance around the room, my mind catching up fast. The rough walls, the faint sound of metal clanging, the smell of oil and smoke…yeah. This isn’t just a random biker hideout. I’m in BlackReign territory. My pulse quickens. Reign Conner…the rogue alpha biker. The ruthless bastard everyone talks about everywhere you go…I never thought I'd ever meet a man like him. The same man rumored to be Black Justice…he arrogantly shows up when packs oppress rogues, kills, and disappears. Some call him a savior. Others, a monster. Depends on which side

she said. She walked toward the door. She stepped into the hallway and Wendy heard her footsteps on the stairs and she came back out of the shock enough to follow her, to the doorway, to the sidewalk, where the biker was already at her bike, picking it up off the pavement and testing the handlebars. "Why—" Wendy said, and stopped. Her voice was not quite working. "Why did you do that?" "It seemed like you needed an escape," the biker said. She swung her leg over the bike and settled into the seat and looked at Wendy with those golden eyes. "I don't like people who don't take no for an answer."

He crumples to the floor. That … wasn’t planned. But damn, it feels good. “Now get the fuck out of this house.” He scrambles up, eyes wild, breathing hard. I see it then — the unhinged gleam. The kind you don’t ignore. Fuck. I need Mel away from this guy. He’s not meant for her. Not good boyfriend material. Just the thought hits me in the gut. “This isn’t over, biker,” he spits. I smile. Slow. Sharp.

As if she's disturbed for some reason. Beside her, there's a guy wearing a black T-shirt, armed, tattooed, nose and ear pierced. He looked like some kind of gang member. He's also looking at me with the same annoyed and hateful look as the girl. What the hell was their problem? Was I some kind of unwanted person among them? Trust me, I didn't want to be here either. Artemis just ignored me as always. He disappeared into the kitchen as soon as he entered the house. Which was kind of a relief. Because I didn't want to look at his annoyed face right now.

I exhaled slowly, when his finger touch my cheek. “Can you take me home?” “I don’t know where your house is,” he replied. “Maybe you can give me an address… or I can take you on my bike.” My eyes widened instantly. “You have a bike?” He smirked slightly. “It’s right this way.” He led me to where an elegant, nightshade, black bike was packed. His bike was a damn beauty, and from looking at it, I could tell it cost quite a pinch. “It’s beautiful,” I said, smiling brightly as I ran my finger over the machine.

I replied, sliding a wrench into my back pocket. "Good. Because the qualifiers today aren't just about speed. It's a contact sport," he warned, nodding toward the far end of the pit. "The Ravagers brought their new ringer. They call him 'The Butcher.' He likes to see how much chrome he can peel off other people's bikes while they're still moving."

- it isn't very easy to explain. - You already said that. Anyway, - he looks back at the photo. - I don't know what could have happened, but I'll see what I can do. It's the number you called me your contact number? - Yes, it is. - Perfect. I already registered it. I bet you'll be going now. - No, Killer. I can drink and talk to an old friend. I have time. The biker is happy. He puts his arm over his friend's shoulder.