Novel & Cerita Biker Or Not

“Maya. We’re not just billionaires. We do shitty things. I’m into money laundering. Not just selling hard drugs. I mean, selling just cocaine can’t build me this …uhmm mansion.” I stood up again, walking around, my hands running over my head. “Maya… I am a biker king. Since I’ve been into this shit for years, I got the role of the biker king. I kill people. People think my bike riding is just for stunts and regular bike riding, but it’s way different. I ultimately refused. I told them I wasn’t interested in being the biker king anymore. Now, that decision literally cost me my life.

tomorrow.” He gave me his card with a number on it. I headed out back to the bar where Axel was waiting. “So? You gonna prospect for us?” I don’t know yet, I’m thinking about it.” “Ok brother, I can respect that. Come on, let me introduce you to some of the brothers. He led me to the biggest guy I had ever seen. He must have been easily 6ft and built like a wall. I don’t know how but he looked familiar. I couldn’t place him though. “This is Tank.” I shook his hand. “Ryan.” He nodded. “This big guy over here is Rider, he is the club enforcer. He will make sure you are following the rules and not bringing trouble back to us.” Fuck me. This guy is even bigger than the last. He was about 6 and

"They get turned after they get their member patch. But most of us were born werewolves." "Think of it this way," Gunner said, "not all bikers are werewolves, and not all werewolves are bikers. The other clubs around these parts are all human, and they don't know anything about this side of us." "So the Blood Dogs and the Bone Hills Howlers just sort of share the town?" I asked.

He stopped on the other side of the counter. Unlike the other bikers, he didn’t smell like grease or gasoline. There was a clean scent about him. Fresh soap. Leather. A hint of cedar. It suited him far better than engine oil ever could. “You know,” I said, “I should be asking you the same thing.” “I have important things to do.” “So important they can’t wait until morning?” A slow smile spread across his face. It looked unfairly good on him. Annoyingly good. “You’re concerned.”

She giggled. Just like that, his whole posture changed. The tension in his shoulders softened. the dangerous edge vanished, and for a second, he wasn't a biker with a reputation. He was just a man. I watched the shift happen. And it hit me. People think they know men like him. Scars, Tattoo’s, Motorcycle, Broken knuckles. and they reach for the easy labels: Dangerous. Violent. Bad news. But Lily looked at him like he was a jungle gym and a superhero combined.

“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…”

“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.

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.