Biker Wings Novels & Stories

“I’ll teach you. This afternoon, if you’re up for it.” A distraction from the nightmare James had created. A skill that might serve her well if she needed to run again. “Okay,” she agreed. “This afternoon.” Duke’s “teaching bike” was smaller than his custom Harley—a Sportster, he called it, lower to the ground and more forgiving for beginners. They’d driven to an abandoned airstrip outside town, where miles of cracked concrete stretched empty in all directions. “Basics first,” Duke said, walking her through the controls. “Clutch. Throttle. Brake. Gears.”

He stretched out his hand. “Alexander.” I shook it. “Jaxson.” The other twin followed, quieter. More guarded. His eyes assessed before he spoke. “Adrian.” I nodded in greeting. James looked between us, clearly pleased. “You guys would get along.” I raised an eyebrow slightly, unsure. “They’re bikers,” James added. That clicked something into place. Alexander’s eyes lit up with interest. “You ride?” “Yeah,” I said. “My dad owned an MC.”

“Good morning, ma. I’m Evelyn. The Alpha sent me to get you ready for the wedding. A female voice spoke from outside. I was still sleepy. But today was THE big day. I would be getting away from my father and his toxic family, and I would also be finally getting over Kade. But as for the cartel, there was no way I would let Alina inherit it. I would come for it once I was ready. I pushed myself up, my body still heavy, and opened the door. A woman in her early thirties stood there, smiling brightly. “Oh my goodness,” she said, eyes lighting up. “You’re even prettier in person.” “In person?” I frowned slightly. “Yes! The Biker Lord has had your picture as his wallpaper for years. I kept wonder

His head tilted slightly, tracking sounds the rest of us couldn't hear. There were six other riders. Seven total. I recognized Marc on the black bike, he was decent, played fair. But then there was Vic on the red bike, and my stomach dropped. Cole on the yellow. Jensen with the scar across his jaw. Three others I didn't know, but they had that look. That hungry, desperate look of riders who'd do anything to win. "That's a lot of competition," Sarah said quietly. "They're not competition," Orion said, and I heard the pride in his voice. "They're just in the way."

"It is everywhere. Simultaneous raids across seventeen states. Every major independent club. All being arrested for weapons trafficking, narcotics distribution, money laundering." Subject Seven moved to the window. "This is not coincidence. This is coordinated elimination. The boy is using federal law enforcement to dismantle every organization that could provide resistance." "Why bikers specifically?" Rebecca demanded. "Why target clubs?" "Because you are organized. Mobile. Independent of government oversight. You have communication networks that bypass standard surveillance. You have resources and loyalty structures that make you dangerous to centralized control." I pulled up my own phone.

The city blurs — streetlights stretching into streaks of gold and white as I tear through intersections as if rules are optional suggestions. I hear the other bikes behind me, engines snarling, keeping up — or trying to. The song crashes into my head uninvited, loud and relentless, every lyric punching straight through my chest. Oh, oh whoa whoa oh whoa I’m an angel with a shotgun Fighting til’ the wars won I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back My jaw tightens. I lean forward, push harder, wishing like hell I was on my speedbike instead of the scrambler. The road feels too small. My body feels too full.

I asked, refusing to look back at the body. “It won’t even take long. He’s lucky I didn’t rip his wings off,” Zander said as we neared the edge of the alley. “Wings?” I asked in shock. “I didn’t see any wings.” “They were just starting to come out of his back when I pulled him off of you. Most of us try to keep them in because they rip off our shirts,” he said without looking at me. “Act like you’re snuggling me, we don’t want mortals to get involved,” he said.

I can't change the color, but I like the dark shimmery blue of my wings. I can shape it into spikes sharp-edged appendages to hurt and maim. And a trick I know is that I can separate my wings from my back temporarily. It hurts a little, but the stunts I can do by doing so are worth it. Like scaring Mike. He seriously thought my wings came off when I first tried this trick. His expression was priceless. Also, they're bulletproof. Not actually, but when the wings and bullet meet, the bullet is in for a surprise. Not to mention, somebody as klutz as me can use two extra hands, which my wings are more than willing to meet as a requirement.

And immediately wished I hadn't. The unidentified biker lay at the bottom, body twisted at an angle that made my stomach turn. Even from this distance, I could see the damage. The missing fingers on his left hand. The dark, gaping holes where teeth should have been. His face was a mess of bruises and dried blood, swollen beyond recognition. "Goddess," I breathed. River's hand found the small of my back. "Don't look." "I have to look." My voice came out harder than I intended. "He was one of ours."

The towel around me loosened and I grasped it tightly. "Okay." He nodded, his face still dissolved in angst. "Pads with wings." I added. I don't understand the significance of pads without wings. They are as good as a phone with no front camera. He blinked innocently. "Wings? Red bull?" I gritted my teeth, rolling my eyes. "No, the ones with flaps around them, ask anyone or it's written on the packet. Get them fast Bryan, my blood won't wait." He nodded and ran out. I actually felt pity for him. He never had any experience with this stuff and here I was ordering him to get me pads.