Books About Bikers Novels & Stories

I burst through the doors and hit the street. I ran until my feet bled. I threw my heels into a bush and kept going, my breath hitching in my chest. I scrambled toward the highway, desperate to get away before the black cars found me. I was halfway across the old bridge when I heard the roar of an engine. A massive black motorcycle came screaming around the bend. I didn't even have time to jump out of the way. The rider slammed on the brakes, the bike sliding sideways and coming to a stop just inches from my legs.

There are only two things in this fucked up world I give a damn about, motorcycles and women. ​I ride them both the same way with a heavy hand and zero mercy. I like easing into the stroke, feeling the machine warm up beneath me, then manhandling them around tight corners until the metal screams. I want them redlining, vibrating through my bones until they’re begging me to let off the gas. I don't do gentle. I do control. ​Sup, Boss.

, the inquisitive little queen that she is. “There is a code we bikers live by. My father violated that code and by that same code my actions were considered justified”, I told her, since she'd learn about it sooner or later anyway. “That, and I had already been running the crew for a few years at that point”! “For a bunch of bikers, you’re hardly ever on them”, she says. Being a biker is so much more than riding them, but even we know how weather limitations work. “It’s cold and wet, we’re not reckless”, I tell her.

Someone had turned them into this twisting raceway that went under the city. There were makeshift bleachers along the walls, packed with people I could barely see through all the cigarette smoke. Bikers in leather, rich people in fancy clothes, and everything in between. They were all here for the same thing, danger and speed. I watched Tristan get ready for his race. He moved like he'd done this a million times before. He checked his bike the same way he worked on customer bikes at the garage, his hands going over every part. When he walked over to me, putting on his black helmet that covered his whole face, my heart was beating so hard.

I exhaled slowly, when his finger touch my cheek. “Can you take me home?” “I don’t know where your house is,” he replied. “Maybe you can give me an address… or I can take you on my bike.” My eyes widened instantly. “You have a bike?” He smirked slightly. “It’s right this way.” He led me to where an elegant, nightshade, black bike was packed. His bike was a damn beauty, and from looking at it, I could tell it cost quite a pinch. “It’s beautiful,” I said, smiling brightly as I ran my finger over the machine.

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.

After days of thinking, Dominic finally found a way to earn money. He bought a secondhand motorcycle and said he would drive passengers between town and the village. “Honey, I can still make money,” he said, forcing a smile. “People always need rides. I’ll drive slowly and carefully.” The motorcycle had been modified before we bought it. The seat was much longer than usual, welded awkwardly to the frame. It looked unstable, especially on the winding mountain road that led back to our village. I frowned when I saw it. “Is this safe?” I asked. “Your leg hasn’t healed properly. What if something happens?”

Maybe it was the knowledge that when I walked downstairs, I wasn’t walking into that room as someone waiting for permission to belong. Today, I was walking in to receive proof that I already did. I had never seen the clubhouse so full. Even before we came downstairs, I’d seen the bikes outside through the bedroom windows. They lined every available inch of gravel, packed so tightly together they looked less parked than gathered, chrome flashing beneath the afternoon sun while brothers from other chapters laughed and smoked below. The smell of barbecue drifted through the open windows, mixing with exhaust, leather, and the kind of celebration only bikers could turn into something halfway betw

I still have no idea what caused the decapitation, though. Trained warriors, the Marine’s shake off their shock quicker than the bikers and let loose a deafening fusillade of automatic rifle fire. The bikers don’t stand a chance. Their bodies jerk and dance as the bullets tear into them. Before even one can get off a shot, they’re all lying dead in the street, their corpses tangled up with one another and with their still idling motorcycles. I almost feel sorry for them, until I remember the human skulls adorning some of the handlebars. The world is a better place without this gang, I know.

Mom was begging the same guy who’d raped me and targeted me. “Come on, let’s go.” I didn’t fight when Lucas led me to the car, then we drove off. Mom was still with Becky. When we got home, Lucas walked me inside. I couldn’t think straight at all. I needed to know what the hell was really going on. “Listen to me, Casey. Stay away from Becky. He’s dangerous. He’s a drug dealer, he rapes women, he does all kinds of chaotic shit… “ I stared blankly at Lucas. “Aren’t all bikers like that?”