Biker Rules Novels & Stories

Ronan’s expression changed immediately. He was already thinking ahead. I could see it in his eyes. Then he spoke again. “Biker racing,” he said suddenly. The hall went quiet for a second. Even Thor looked slightly taken aback. Ronan continued, feeding the idea as if it had already been planned. “We both have racing units,” he said. “We both have trained riders. Let it be simple. Speed and control and a competition of skill. No bloodshed. Just dominance.” A few council members exchanged glances.

the commentator said. The crowd turned silent, all eyes on the two bikers on the screen, ignoring those who stopped halfway and others who were barely catching up to them. Dexter overtook Rider K half a mile in and the crowd roared in screams, but before they could relax, Rider K was close to the finish line, Dexter a few paces behind him. I was focused on watching Rider K. My eyes moved from his well tinted helmet to the gloves on his hand as he rolled the throttle of his bike. His movement was steady, precise and relaxed, like he knew he had this in the bag.

But deep down, I already knew the answer. Nothing. Not a single message. I stared at the empty chat for a while, feeling the silence settle heavier in my chest. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was a fool for trusting a piece of shit like him. I knew what bikers were. Everyone said it, playboys, liars, men who lived by no rules but their own. I should’ve known better. I should’ve stayed away. But I didn’t. I gave him everything, my trust, my heart, my body, and now I was the one left bleeding.

The woods obviously weren't safe and Eirika needed to be looked at. "What?" "Rule no 2: Do not touch my woman. Rule no 3: Do not ever touch my woman. Rule no 4—” “Seven hells! I get it!” “Good. Cause If you do—" Arric continued in a chilly tone, "I'm going to rip out your arms." "Do you know what happens to people who are overconfident?" "Hmm… you can enlighten me while you try to keep up," Arric said, “As long as you understand the four rules you should be tolerable.”

He nodded at me and muttered something along the lines like we will earn your trust. "Okay so the rules are 1) I don't want any back talking, And 2) you have to respect all your brothers. 3) you should not swear. 4) no drinking and drugs. 5) you are not allowed to have a boyfriend 6) you have to tell us every time when you go somewhere." His rules are reasonable.

He’d play the role of a bodyguard, keep me alive, and eventually bring me back safely to the pack. He lays down his rules as the bike slows down. “Rule one: You stay alive. Don’t do anything stupid. Rule two: You don’t wander off alone unless I say it’s safe. Rule three: Paxon and Ragriz are still hardcore rivals, and since you chose Paxon, congratulations—you’re officially a rival now too...” This confirms my suspicion that the peace treaty’s a facade to the underlined hatred. “...Rule four: Avoid paparazzi. Don’t be the reason your face ends up in some shitty tabloid.”

The ones who would engage would likely be the ones who disregard their morals and rules—probably the irresponsible ones. And if someone like Williams decided to go with me in his suit, along with all his expensive watches and shoes, he’d grab all the attention, and my going there would be ruined entirely. Every biker would want to talk with him to see why someone as rich as he is came to that biker's neighborhood. I can't take the risk. Most bikers are honest, but this one is far from it. They really don't give a damn and might just strip Williams to steal from him.

“Drake, you still don’t understand, huh? You can’t beat me, not because of your background, not because you started lower, and not because everyone saw me first. It’s because you have no sense of decency or moral boundaries. You want power, yet all you do is steal. You want recognition, yet all you do is take. You want to be seen, but all you do is climb your way up by stepping on the very people who should be protecting you.” The muscles in his face twitched. He said, “Easy for you to say. You were born at the table. Of course, you look down on people like me who clawed our way up from the ground.” “My father died when I was twenty-one,” I said, my voice calm. “I spent every day on edge, sl

Jax had brought a crate of the finest bourbon, and Bear had prepared a traditional Biker’s Blessing—a small bowl of ink and oil. "It’s an old tradition," Bear said, walking toward us. He dipped his thumb into the bowl and approached Arthur. He touched the baby’s heel with a tiny dot of the black liquid. "A drop of oil for the road. A drop of ink for the history. May his path be long, and his story be legendary." Ruan took a glass of bourbon and raised it to the room. "To the family we built. To the brothers we lost. And to the road that never ends."

I can't help but smile. " I wouldn't have remembered I did such a thing if you didn't mention it." I reply. " That Zero. Can't he shut his mouth for once?" I cuss at him. " We have a bro code. He can't keep anything from me especially if it concerns my old lady." Mason replies..I smile and look away, hiding a blush. Did he just call me his old lady? According to bikers,you only refer to a woman as your old lady after you claim her. It's a way of telling everyone else in the club that she belongs to you.