Biker Or Not Novels & Stories

“They say that if the pipes are loud, ongoing traffic will hear them, but the sound from the exhaust goes straight out of the back end. All it does is make them go deaf prematurely—” “And piss pedestrians off,” Brennan grumbled. As the bike approached, I tilted my head to the side, recognizing that it wasn’t a Sunday rider on the back of it. “Biker,” Conor confirmed. “No tags,” I murmured. “Does there need to be? Nearest MC to us is the Sinners,” Brennan pointed out. “He’s not wearing a cut.” I lifted my cellphone and as the biker drove by, I snapped a photo, full frontal and a real beauty, then immediately sent it to Conor, whose own cell buzzed as he received it.

He explains. "I'm not most people, you didn't even give me a chance." Macie replies. "I didn't want you to have a biased view of me until you got to know the real me. I like making up stories and writing about them. I love BDSM. I'm also a biker in a MC. No, we don't do illegal shit, and no we aren't thugs, or criminals." Caiden explains.

“Blade—how many of them are there?” “Too many to count and they’re not going to stop until Cruz—or you—are down,” he said, his voice grim. “We need to disappear. Now.” The alley loomed ahead, dark and narrow. I glanced behind us. The bikers had remounted, engines roaring like beasts in the night. One shot rang out, missing by inches, slamming into the wall where I’d been a moment before my ears rang. Cruz groaned again. “Nova… don’t…”

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.

“Fuck, hell no!” The one who was in the accident shouted. “My bike!” The Viking looking biker was hunched on the road, lamenting over his wheels. Goddess, he should be more concerned about the state he is in I thought as I took in the scene. The wolf’s leg was bent in three places and the left side of his arm was almost scraped to the bone.

"Frederick probably doesn't even know who Tyger is." "Heh, he doesn't even know that Tyger has fallen, so how could he possibly know about Tyger from the biker gang?" Tyger was indeed very famous around here, but it was the kind of notoriety associated with a bad reputation. This so-called biker gang was the group under Tyger's command, and they were usually arrogant and domineering. A motorcycle rode straight into the pedestrian street, ignoring the crosswalk. After hitting someone, the rider didn't even look back and straight vanished down the road.

I responded, and Colt slammed his helmet shut again, reversing immediately without signaling to his colleagues. I smiled into his jacket, even among a group of rebels, he was still a rebel. He did not wait for whoever was in charge here to suggest a place to wait out the storm. As he drove in the opposite direction, I stared at the bikers we flew past from behind my visor, their bandannas, neck scarfs and arm bands signifying what club they belonged to. This Hungarian club was different from anyone I had ever seen, ranging from boys and girls who were at most sixteen, to hardened men who were well over sixty.

That only leads to mistakes, which leads to news articles all over the web, which leads to the General finding me. "I didn't enter this one," I told Junior as he grabbed a competition number. "You'll have to represent both of us." He chuckled and mentioned something about a cat, but took his seat at the table where a few rather large bikers were sitting. At the revv of an engine, the competition was underway with one biker seemingly drinking mugs of beer as if they were shots. Thirty seconds later, the biker was named champion and Junior looked a little bit green. "You ok there?" I asked as he stepped my way.