Romans & histoires Booktok And Bikers

"Sedatives for both of you if needed. The empathy connection goes both ways—if you flood her, you'll feel it too." "Good point." I hadn't considered that. "Okay, medical support standing by. What else?" "Transportation." Cass taps the table. "We're not showing up in regular cars. We arrive on bikes, full pack colors, making a statement." "I like it." Ryder grins. "Show them we're not ashamed of who we are." "Wardrobes." Luna looks at me. "You need something that walks the line between formal pack Luna and badass biker queen. Elegant but dangerous."

Right now, I wanted all the names of the girls and boys living in that town. I needed both genders. From my research, most of the bikers were low-key gay men who wouldn’t come out of the closet but would touch young boys inappropriately. We live in a society where boys are not taken seriously when they talk about being abused or touched in the wrong places. As usual, the parents of these kids would never speak up. A biker was as deadly as a mafia mob. They were crazy gang members who wore vests and rode noisy bikes around town with no authorities to keep them in check. They’d do anything they wanted—sleep with different women, young and old, and men, young and old. They caused noise pollutio

Beautiful. Behind us, explosions. The facility collapsing. Imploding. Burning. Taking everything with it. Victoria. Rookie. Jax. All buried under tons of concrete and fire. We kept running. Away from the blast zone. To where Marco's army waited. Thirty bikers. Iron Serpents. Desert Reapers. Bratva soldiers. All watching the facility burn. We stopped. Caught our breath. Watched the place that had been our prison. Our hell. Collapse.

"I don't get nervous easily. Takes more than some bikers drinking beer to rattle me." "Is that right?" He leaned forward slightly and I caught his scent. Leather and smoke and something else underneath that I couldn't identify. Something that made my pulse quicken despite knowing how dangerous this man was. "That's right. I've worked rougher bars than this." "I doubt that." His voice was quiet but there was steel underneath the words. "The Iron Horse in Portland is a biker bar but it's nothing compared to what happens here. The men who drink in this establishment have done things that would give your Portland bikers nightmares."

THE BIKER KING CALLS Despite how dangerous the atmosphere of the room felt, dinner was… quiet. Arthur stretched subtly in his seat, looking over at the plates set neatly on the long wooden table stretching through the center of the room. A single overhead light glinted off the rim of his glass as he sipped on his wine. Slowly, he looked around at the plain walls and the men standing at the dark corners of the room. A few had their arms folded, others rested their hands behind their backs. Every time they moved, their leather jackets would lift, revealing guns tucked into waistbands and knives strapped to their thighs. None of them spoke. None moved unless Victor told them to.

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.

Huh, were we going on bikes? They're row after row of gleaming metal, the engines rumbling low. The scent of fuel and leather mixed in the air, intoxicating and deadly. My pulse quickened. Of course. I had forgotten, this family, these Alphas… they weren’t just wolves. They were bikers. Dangerous, untouchable, feared. One by one, everyone climbed onto their bikes, their movements easy with practiced confidence. Everyone but me. I stood awkwardly at the edge, my arms crossed tightly as I tried to mask the rising panic in my chest.

"Thanks Paulie." Paul hums in response as he opens the cheese stick, handing it to Tyler with a fond smile, as Tyler instantly starts pulling the cheese into strings as Paul sticks the straw into the box. Turning my attention away from them with a smile to see a group of bikers wandering the booths toward us; making my breath hitch as I wonder if they're like 'The Gray Rebel's' and good people or like some of the rougher motorcycle clubs. I'm going to go out on a limb and say they're like 'The Gray Rebel's' since they're here at a fundraiser for runaways, orphans and LGBTQ+ kids. When the group reaches us, there are four men and three women; the three women are under the arms of three of the

I heard low conversations, the clink of bottles, boots scraping against concrete, but it all seemed to dull slightly when people noticed us. Or rather… noticed me. The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and no matter how much I gulped, nothing seemed to change around here. I could easily cower and show them that they were affecting me, but I kept my head up, refusing to shrink under the weight of it. Near one of the tables, two bikers were talking in hushed but heated tones. “…told you he shouldn’t have gotten in Zander’s face like that,” one muttered.