Novel & Cerita Biker Or Not

I didn’t want him to think I was ogling him as the package and not the bike-- oh God no! I still can't have anything to do with any man until I've done away with Oliver for good. It'd be unfair to cheat emotionally with whoever I'll be with right now and a biker? Damn, that's far from it. They tend to be wild, dangerous, toxic- I've read a lot of biker romance and good Lord, it's about biker gangs and shit. No, thanks, I'll pass. I turned my head to steal glances at him again when I suddenly saw the biker's helmet right next to my window.

"The motorcycle club, where the bikers hang out." At her words I jump forward, sitting on the edge of my seat. "Katy," I whisper as if somebody else could hear us. "You can't break in and look around a motorcycle club." They were bikers, for god's sake. With leather chaps and shit. I don't care what Anessa says about them being her best customers. There are limits. Snooping in on a mobster with good pasta okay, I'll consider it, but this is too far. Everyone knows bikers don't know how to cook. "This is why I didn't want to tell you."

he explained, his voice rough and low like always. Bike? “Look…” he pointed to the dark trail on the pavement. “It’s not one. Two.” “No one in the pack used bikes. I mean, they did, but definitely not someone who could come here.” But then something clicked. Dom. Dom uses bikes. A biker. He was— It couldn't be Dom. No way. What would he be doing here at this time? “So… who do you think it could be?” I asked, even though I already had a suspect in mind.

NORA’S POV A biker. Zane was a biker. And a fucking famous, wealthy good one at that. I watched him hum through his obstacles, swerving excellently with perfect precision around hoops. People cheered and chanted his name, but all I could think about was how many times I had spread my legs, how often I had held my phone in my hands, eyes on his pictures and videos as I rubbed my clit.

The fourth biker says nothing. He is smaller than the others. He is covered in tattoos. And he has a gun. He points his pistol at Jim. I don't want Jim to die. Jim turns to face me, his eyes wide. "Run!" he says. "It's okay. I can take care of myself." I roll my eyes. "No you can't, human," I say. He looks so bemused. But he's going to look even more so in a second when I shift. Somebody else emerges from behind the wall of bikers.

Whenn she flushed, he continued, "Don't be embarrassed Sam. I haven't really enjoyed the company of a woman such as yourself in a long time." Drake opened a door previously unnoticed on the wall in the mudroom. Going through the door, they walked out onto a wide wooden deck where a table sat with beautiful china and crystal. Samantha was in awe. There was depths to this man. He was a biker. A beast of a man. Rough around the edges, but with manners to rival any old moneyed family. She began to wonder just who was Drake, President of a motorcycle club.

I just needed to figure out what to say when I messaged her. X-Biker Friend: Hi there, I wanted to let you know that I'll be unavailable for a while - more than just a few days. I won't be able to take any phone calls, and my responses to texts might be delayed, but I'll get back to you when I can. I enjoyed hanging out with you and am excited to see you again once I return.

My movement is clean and fast, so satisfyingly well-executed I nearly give myself a pat on the back. I might hate getting on a bike, but I know exactly how to get off one. Funny how fear works like that. “You named your death machine?” I ask coolly. His eyes narrow, clearly clocking what I just did. He clicks his tongue but lets it go. “Harley,” he corrects. “And she’s not a death machine. She’s beautiful. I built her myself. From scratch.” That actually gives me pause. “You did?” The surprise slips out before I can stop it.

Clearly, Jax's claws and fangs had done brutal work. I felt a wave of satisfaction as I saw ripped throats and blood pools on the snow. The third biker lay on the snow-covered ground nearby. He clutched his gut. Blood pumped between his fingers. His face had gone pale. Jax glared at the biker. "Who sent you?" The biker coughed. Blood bubbled on his lips. “Fuck you. You… and the witch…You won’t expect what’s coming." "What does that me?"

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?”