Biker Or Not Novels & Stories

I chuckled. “Of course. The only biker who can race more than I do is the Masked VA.” As she spoke, she had a look of admiration on her face. “You know the Masked VA?” I asked her curiously. She gave me a weird look. “Every biker does. He is the king of biking, I dare say. I hope to meet him someday.” She smiled with a fawning voice. “Good for you.” I shrugged. “You don’t seem impressed.” She observed.

“Poison, you aren’t solving any of your problems by running away.” “Well, I wasn’t solving any of my problems by staying there either.” “Boss has checked him out. He thinks you are safer with him than on the road. Whatever happened between you two, he thinks it was a misunderstanding.” “Easy for him to say. Either way, too bad, so sad. I am a biker b&tch now. You made me that way.” “You are not meant to be a biker. This world is not for you. Not long-term anyway.”

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.”

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 heard low conversations, the clink of bottles, boots scraping against concrete, but it all seemed to dull slightly when people noticed us. Or rather… noticed me. The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and no matter how much I gulped, nothing seemed to change around here. I could easily cower and show them that they were affecting me, but I kept my head up, refusing to shrink under the weight of it. Near one of the tables, two bikers were talking in hushed but heated tones. “…told you he shouldn’t have gotten in Zander’s face like that,” one muttered.

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.

"Before I stop being polite." The tall Viper looked like he wanted to argue but one of his friends grabbed his arm. "Come on man. It's not worth it." They backed away slowly then turned and walked off into the growing darkness. Maya watched until they disappeared around a corner. Her hands were shaking and she shoved them in her pockets so no one would see. "You okay?" Blackwood asked again. "I'm fine." Maya looked at her bike. At the neighborhood around her. At the six bikers standing there like they were waiting for something. "I just need to fix my starter."

They knew that meant if they gave her trouble, they'd be out of the club for good. It was Friday evening and Jocelyn, Lainey, Corina, Tricia, LaShelle, and Miranda were sitting at a table talking and continuing to get to know each other. "We know the basics, you were dating a guy and broke up with him, then he killed himself. And now his family is after you. There's got to be more to this. Like how did your family not know who he was kin to?" LaShelle asked. "Yeah, Biker families always vet any guys or girls any of the clubs date, especially their kids." Tricia replied.

"He here?" "Nope, but the bouncer said he might be down the road." Like him, Deacon rode a bike, but he wore no cut and no patch. He was Nomad all the way, not wanting to have to answer to anyone but getting protection from everybody. It worked well for him. "Shit." Deacon tossed the cigarette he'd been smoking on the ground, grinding it with the heel of his boot. "What the fuck are we gonna do if we don't find him?"

- 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.