Booktok And Bikers Novels & Stories

But I was stunned when I heard loud growls, and the next I saw was the bikers flying off their bikes as they landed hard on the floor. Then I saw the terrifying biker who had yanked my backpack off my shoulders, zooming off as he left my bag lying on the pavement with my textbooks, pen, and girly stuff all over the floor. Moving my gaze to the one responsible for all these, I saw Cameron holding a bat stick tightly within his grip, his eyes burning as he stared hard at the two bikers who were coiled up into a ball as they clutched onto their aching tummy while groaning in pain...

Krystal's resolute nod reinforced our commitment to follow his advice, understanding the necessity of maintaining a low profile in this volatile Following Krystal's lead, I followed her towards the bar, the familiar strains of Bob Seger's "Main Street" resonating through the air. The choice of music only confirmed what I had already suspected – we were indeed in a biker bar. In my mind, Fat Bob had always been associated with images of Harley-Davidsons, cold beers, and Tom Cruise's infamous underwear dance. Little did I know that tonight, I would be adding toothy strippers to that rather eclectic mental picture.

At each stop, the bikers laugh, share stories, and take pictures, all while raising awareness and funds for domestic violence. King keeps me practically attached to him, his arm wrapped around my waist at all times. I honestly thought all of his extra protection would eventually get on my nerves, but it doesn't—not when I feel safe with my boys and the rest of the club, plus War, looking out for me. The gun in my pocket doesn't hurt either.

she added and finally stopped staring at Petal and smirked at Sunny. "Yeah, right. The Rebels may be an impressive name in the gang world but we are stronger and have more allies. Once the other MC's hear what you've done, they will be begging to join us and destroy you." I shot back. "What exactly have we done, little boy?" She asked me. "You've taken women that belonged to our MC. You've attacked us. That is against every biker code." Shooter snarled. "These women don't belong to you and we didn't attack you, we rescued women that you were holding against their will." Thor finally spoke up.

That would make me sound crazy. I held on to Xavier as he took the longer route home. We never did get a text from Grace or Shiloh before leaving Xavier’s apartment, but I trusted they were fine. I’d be worried otherwise. The rush of wind against my face was exhilarating as Xavier revved up his motorcycle along the winding roads. The sensation of wind against me as Xavier sped along the road on his bike was incredible. It truly felt like I was flying, and in that moment, I finally understood why Matt, Tom, and Xavier referred to cars as "cages."

“You okay?” “Motorcycle club?” I asked. He nodded. “Like Hell’s Angels?” Booker smirked. “In theory.” “Crap.” I glanced up at him. “I really should go.” “Go where, darlin’? There’s nothing around here for over a mile in any direction.” “Clarify something for me. Are you a club because you have really nice bikes and like to hang out and drink beer on occasion, or are you like outlaws or something?”

"That's not our contact here in Owensboro, we need to get outta here." "How do you know?" she asked. To her it was amazing that someone could differentiate motorcycles based on sound alone. "Those are European bikes. You can tell by the volume of the rumble. It's probably the Vojnik." "The who?" she asked, hopping on behind him and grabbing him securely around the waist. "Bosnian for soldier. They are the local Bosnian biker gang, we ain't exactly friendly. They're probably trying to steal the shipment," he flashed her what could only described as a bad boy smile. "We stole one of theirs last week."

he said softly. Before I could respond, the front door of the bar swung open. A group of men walked in, and the atmosphere in the room changed instantly. They weren't wearing Vipers colors, but they were bikers—large, rough, and looking for trouble. One of them, a man with a shaved head and a tattoo of a coiled snake on his neck, scanned the room until his eyes landed on our booth. "Well, well," the man said, walking toward us with a swagger that made my skin crawl. "If it isn't Ruan Montague. I thought you only hung out in the city, Prez. What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

A low growl rumbled in his chest, making the ground vibrate subtly beneath my feet. Suddenly, the compound was alive with movement. The rumble of engines, the glint of chrome. The motorcycle club. They appeared out of the shadows, a tide of leather and steel, encircling Damon and his small envoy. Each biker pulled up, engines idling, forming a tight, menacing ring. And then, the wolves. More of them than I’d ever seen, their eyes glowing in the darkness, their huge forms flanking the bikers, mirroring their aggressive stance. The air crackled with a dangerous energy.

Her suitcase was zipped, her favorite books tucked under her arm, and her diary was carefully hidden in her bag. She took a deep breath and whispered, “I'm finally free. Blaze, Axel, Jace… I’m finally going to go to college and be with you guys. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll take over the motorcycle club too.” A smirk curled on her lips. “And ride my own bike.” She picked up the rest of her stuff, her mind drifting back to when she was seven. Her parents' funeral. It was dark and wet, everything felt numb and the men she barely knew—Blaze, tall and protective even at fourteen, had a hard jaw and soft eyes.