Booktok And Bikers Novels & Stories

He explained. "Really?" Sam asked. "Yeah, I do. Don't you?" He asked. "I've never thought about it. But I figured bikers didn't do kids." Sam replied. "Bikers are like anyone else. Some do and some don't. Our club isn't into the illegal shit so I'm good with kids." Smokey explained. "So, give it some thought." Sam nodded. "Guess who's coming to the clubhouse this weekend?" Smokey asked. "Snake?" Sam asked.

My ribs screamed with every breath—courtesy of Derek's boots three nights ago in that motel parking lot outside Tucson. "You cannot run forever, Jenna," he had said, his voice cold as winter. "I will find you again." But I had run. Again. A rumble split the air. Deep. Mechanical. The kind that made your bones vibrate. I lifted my head and saw them. Six motorcycles rolling down Main Street like they owned it. Leather. Chrome. The devil's head patch on their backs—red eyes, fangs bared. Devil's Reign MC. My blood turned to ice.

Someone who would love me as I was and save me from my sufferings. Days passed since that incident and my wounds healed faster than normal. I ignored it, however, making sure I didn't cross paths with Melissa again, no matter what. I never set my eyes on Brian since that day either, and I knew it was because he was busy with the race that occurred between our pack and the nearest wolf pack, Moonmist pack. I always wanted to know what it would be like to be a female biker but I knew it was impossible. Only alphas were allowed to be bikers. A mere wolfless omega like me would be killed before I even made it there.

But nothing that would suggest this place was run by hardass bikers. Merigold leads out a set of double doors that lead to a large backyard where a barbecue is going on. The only thing that lets you know this is a biker club is all the bikes out front, the emblem on the wall, and the vests the guys and a few women are wearing including Merigold. She told me one time they are called kuttes. There are kids playing in the yard, kids that are like nephews to me, Jace, and Jax. They are playing, laughing, and having a good time. “ Tank, why do you have that baby so close to the grill. Are you nuts?” Merigold shouts running up to a guy that is as big as his name leads to. This guy is massive. But

He coughed, massaging his throat as I sat back, adjusting my tie and smoothing the front of my jacket as though nothing had happened. “Valentina is safe with me,” I said coolly. “She doesn’t need your protection.” Marco gave a rough laugh that ended in another cough. “No wonder Rico likes you. You and him, you’ve got the same little habits. The same temper.” I ignored the jab. “The bikers. They’re moving again. Look what they pulled in Jersey and New York. They won’t stop there. We’ll have to keep a closer eye.” “I’m already doing that,” he muttered, straightening in his seat. “It’s not easy establishing contacts. They don’t exactly welcome outsiders.”

Shit kickers that had seen way better days and never smiling. They were the kind of bikers that put fear in every man, woman, and child when they rode through a town one hundred strong. They kinda remind me of the gunslingers of the old West. Only these days, old man Mallory was a lot more refined. He wore silk suits and loafers and shit.

What if he let it slide and the next man decided to go further than touch my wrist. Heavy doors creaked open, and I turned left, noticing the high-roofed hall just beyond the bar for the first time. Bikers rode in, moving their bikes into formation, while more started to leave their tables, hurrying towards this hall where it seemed the real entertainment was about to begin. Colt and the old man were whispering behind me now, but I really didn’t care much for what they were saying. My attention was completely arrested by the sight of two bikers standing on their bike, their chest tilted towards the tank, hips leaning forward, so their bikes were left standing on just one tire as they began t

Always trying to make their victims remember just how ruthless they could be. "I do not see you as a threat, more of a means to an end, so are we good to go," I said. This worm had wasted enough of my time. "We need a guarantee just to keep the good faith that you can keep your word," The biker girl said. I turned to Frank and nodded. With a burst of unexpected speed and dexterity, he grabbed his two handguns and three loud shots rang out and the three male bikers fell over their bikes never to get up again.

Colt speaks before walking away. “Babes, bitches is a name for women in the bikers community, along with sugarbutt. It wasn’t an insult,” King smirks at me. “Insult or not, I won’t be called a bitch,” I argue. “Fuck Babe, calm it,” he laughs. “No, King, I won’t calm it, and stop calling me Babe,” I argue. “What’d ya rather I call ya? Bitch, sugarbutt? Miss? Professor, or teach?” His mouth kisses my neck. I go to argue and hear someone.

“A tale from the old days. Back when the outlaw Minus the Kid would ride into town and raise hell.” “I have just as much blood on my hands as you do,” I said coolly. Sweet Pea, a man of few words, finally spoke, “But way more shit on your boots.” It felt good busting balls with my crew again, and to hear their laughter. Of course, we all kept up via text and the occasional email, but that’s no substitute for hanging out face to face. Plus, bikers aren’t widely known as the best pen pals.