Bikers Novels & Stories

Athena Chaos is supposed to be loud, but this was quiet. It didn't explode; it just sort of seeped into the clearing like a bad smell. The bikes rolled in with a low, oily growl. No chrome, no insignias just matte-black frames and riders who looked like they’d forgotten how to blink. The morning mist didn't stand a chance; the heat from their engines shredded it into nothing. Inside me, my wolf wasn't just bristling; she was pacing a tight, frantic circle, her claws snagging on my psyche. These guys weren't here to talk. They were here to see who bled first.

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.

Vincent ordered, his eyes darting through the chaos, constantly scanning for danger. The scene in front of us resembled a medieval battle—both sides charged at each other like warriors in a deadly clash. For a brief moment, I was frozen, transfixed by the sheer ferocity of the fight. The bikers moved with precision, their actions coordinated like a seasoned unit, each movement deliberate despite the mayhem erupting around them. Before I could process it all, a burly biker with a mohawk and intricate tattoos running down his arm sprinted toward us. My instincts screamed at me to flinch, unsure if he was friend or foe.

He had already contacted Roger, sending him Barbara's home address so that he could catch up, or if things didn't go as planned, Roger would arrive first. Abihirt had searched for the fastest way home, the least traveled. But that, too, seemed to be a big mistake. Instead of the darkening skyline accompanying the faint sounds in the air, wild bikers were ungraciously making their presence known. One after another popped up. They were speeding. Then one of the bikers had an absolute collision. Abihirt made a steep slam-his foot pressed against the brake until it jerked violently forward, while the man with the head protector roll

Jackie could not figure out why Clemont would have a sudden change of heart, but things would not end just because he said so now. They had no way of getting in touch with the blonde guy. As the light flickered, the bikers released their brakes, and their rides bolted off. Feeling the rush from the sounds of roaring engines, the crowd cheered. Most people pulled out binoculars to observe from a safe distance. The bikers sped ahead, and on the lead was Clarice’s black Harley-Davidson. They gasped in awe. “The female rider is something else.” “I’m impressed. She shows the need for speed.”

Another biker joined and then another. More bikers began to appear beside the biker girl. They were numbering up to fifty men and women on motorcycles of different styles and makers. I realized that they had all slowed down but were in motion. "Biker girl just brought the whole Toll Riders," Frank said as their number dramatically increased. "Turn around," I ordered Frank. Frank looked at me as if I was an extra eye just opened on my forehead. "I do not think that we can take them all boss," Frank cautioned but my mind was already set.

They will do whatever it takes. The bikers are all now brandishing weapons, too. A few have rifles, but most are armed with crossbows. All are aimed at our company. They have to know that any fight with us will be a total mismatch, but they don’t seem to care. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sneak disappear. If things go bad, he’s not going to allow himself to be a target. Good for him, I think to myself. “Turn those damn bikes off,” Dad commands. “Don’t you know what those engines can attract?”

“He’s got his father backing him—you saw the way this is staged.” Darius crouched down and ran fingers along the asphalt. His face lit with the small, ugly satisfaction of a hunter. “They switched to bikes,” he said. “Ducati—Diavel. High-torque. Look at the skid pattern.” He tapped the ground with a gloved finger. “They left fast, two up on each. They moved light and fast—no time for the cars to follow.”

Just when I thought I had seen it all, my jaw dropped. Bikes. Tons of expensive, vintage, fairly used bikes. They were like nothing I had ever seen, like the types bikers used in movies. I couldn't believe they were actually real, and many of them had designs that a human couldn't possibly think about inspiring. “Close your fucking mouth and get over here.” His voice cut through my haze as he glared at me and I blinked severally before running to where he stood. “Drag that one out to the surface, you need to perform your task in the open, under direct sunlight, plus, its fucking hot in here.”

He would never step foot in the Black Aces clubhouse. “Parker, it’s not really safe to go out after dark around here. It can be pretty rough, it’s not like home.” “Because of the bikers?” His words caught me by surprise. My eyes narrowed. “What do you know about Bikers?” He gave a shrug. “I met one earlier, he was cool.”