Biker Or Not Novels & Stories

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 you’re on.

As the car drifting event comes to a close, the focus shifts to the next thrilling spectacle - a high-energy bike race. Handsome boys, their faces hidden by helmets, rev up their powerful superbikes, their sleek machines gleaming under the moonlit sky. Among them stands a figure cloaked in mystery - a rider in a black balaclava, his aura of enigmatic allure capturing my attention. The race begins, the bikers tearing through the twisting track with speed and precision, their bikes weaving through the night like streaks of lightning. The balaclava-clad rider steers the course with unparalleled skill, his movements fluid and calculated as he gains ground on his competitors.

“Let’s not talk about who likes me and who doesn’t. I don’t want to talk about my life or who likes me. I don’t want anyone to like me—not even a son of a biker.” Her smile widened. “He is a biker. The twins are bikers. And their father is a retired biker. So…” “So that’s exactly the problem.” My voice dropped, tightening in my throat. “I don’t want to get involved with them. With anything or anyone related to bikes.” Her teasing vanished instantly. She read me too well. “Okay, Tessa. You won’t get involved.” “Good,” I said, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I need to go to my room. I’m tired.”

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.

“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.

- 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.