Books About Bikers Novels & Stories

Lines of code, bright against the dark. The first bike jolted, then veered sharply, the rider screaming as he flipped over the handlebars and slammed into the asphalt. Another followed, then another, dropping like dominoes. “What the—” My voice cracked. One by one, every biker convulsed, lost control, their machines swerving wildly before exploding into fire or skidding across the road. The smell of burning gasoline filled the air, the sound of shattering bones mixing with the scrape of metal.

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.”

“You’re walking into the Annual Meeting with wolves who smell blood. If you’re going to survive biker politics, you need more than sharp instincts.” “I can ride,” she said quickly. “You’ve seen me.” “I’ve seen you ride,” I corrected. “I haven’t seen you command.” Her brows furrowed. “Hmmm, there’s a difference?” “Obviously,” I replied sounding almost sarcastic. “In this vast world of ours, motorcycles aren’t transportation. They’re statements. The way you ride tells everyone exactly who you are, either; weak, reckless, or untouchable.” She crossed her arms. “And you think I look weak?”

“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…”

The attacks against us were not only physical, but most of our businesses had stopped, Basheeru, the leader of the bikers, my loyal friend was betrayed and killed, and the other bosses were already in hiding. Most of them were also betrayed by men close to them and they barely escaped assassination. Everything was crumbling around me, but that was not the worst of it. A blogger started publishing stories about us... He used different names of course, but the details were so accurate that all it needed was for anybody to pay attention and they would know who the publications were about.

Lila fell asleep within four minutes of buckling in, exhausted from whatever four-year-old warfare had consumed her afternoon. I merged onto the main road, radio low, half listening as Maya launched into another chapter of her supply-closet dragon saga. "—and he only comes out at night because he's 'lergic to the fluorescent lights, Uncle Tristan, that's a real thing, Ms. Patty said—" That was when I caught the bikes in my mirror. Three of them. Matching black, riding closer together than casual traffic should allow. It was probably nothing yet I felt an itching sensation. Bikers rode in groups all the time, and this was a busy stretch of road in broad daylight, nothing that should have set

He touched it with a gentleness I hadn't seen him show to anything else. By the time dusk rolled in, I couldn’t stay cooped up anymore. The walls of the room felt like they were pressing in. I slipped out and wandered through the dimly lit hallways of the clubhouse. Most of the bikers ignored me, their attention on card games or greasy food. Some stared, curious but silent, their eyes following me like shadows. I heard whispers, hushed tones that carried through the smoke-filled air. About “the girl Reaper brought in.” About me being “another broken bird.”

The world turned orange as the blast ripped through the silence, sending a shockwave that rattled my teeth. "GO!" Ruan bellowed. The Phantoms surged forward, a wall of black leather and chrome screaming into the light. Gunfire erupted—not the muffled thuds of the assassins, but the heavy, rhythmic roar of the bikers' weapons. It was a symphony of chaos. I watched from the ridge, my heart in my throat. I saw Ruan dive off his bike while it was still moving, sliding across the asphalt and firing his revolver with a precision that was haunting. He was a god of the road, a creature of fire and lead.

The boys froze, their smirks faltering as the sound drew closer, louder, until headlights cut through the dark. I blinked against the brightness, my heart hammering. A group of bikers rolled into the street, leather and metal glinting under the moon. The roar of engines silenced only when boots hit the ground, a dozen shadows dismounting with lethal grace. The boys around me cursed, panicked, but it was too late. The bikers moved fast, too fast. Snarls filled the air, inhuman and feral, and before my terrified eyes, they tore into the boys with a violence that made me stumble back. Fists cracked against bone. Teeth bared. They weren’t just fighting—they were biting. Wolves in human skin unle

We looked at the pack land together in the early morning, and I thought about the highway in the dark and the bond reaching toward something it couldn't reach yet, and I thought about what it meant to be the thing it was reaching toward without knowing it. "I want to ask you something," I said. "Okay." "The riding." I paused. "The motorcycle. You've been doing it your whole life. What is it about it." He thought about this for a moment. "It's the only thing where the speed is inside the experience rather than outside it," he said. "In a car you're watching the speed. On a bike you're in it. Your body is part of the physics." He paused. "During the feral years it was the only time the noise i