Booktok Biker Novels & Stories

“Now, you can tell me a story. My favorite is the one about Cutter’s magic book. You know that one, don’t you?” “Can’t sssay I do,” I said, still slurring a bit. “Aw, come on Minus, you know it. It’s the one where the dumbass hero biker tells the scary guy with the big knife where Cutter’s book is,” he said, pulling a giant Bowie knife from a sheath on his belt. It was the same kind Viper used on Loro, from its size to the style of the handle. “You and your b… boyfriend Viiiper get those as a mmmatching set or something?”

“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?”

My knees buckled, and for a second, I thought I was going to faint. The biker dropped Marcus like a sack of potatoes. Marcus scrambled away, gasping for air, and ran away without looking back. The biker turned to me. He didn't offer a hand. He stepped into my space, his heavy boots making noise on the pavement, and pinned me against the seat of his motorcycle. He smelled of gasoline, expensive tobacco, and a musky, animal scent that made my inner thighs ache. "You're a messy little thing, aren't you?" he muttered, his eyes—those same piercing, predatory blue eyes—scanning my face. He reached out, his calloused thumb dragging over my bottom lip.

It's not as easy as those Bikers make it look; the damn thing is heavy, and I'm so small I'm finding it difficult to keep it upright, but gritting my teeth, I keep it going, albeit at a snail's pace. I know I am very visible, my long blonde hair is trailing out behind me, and I'm going so slowly that the other vehicles on the road are blaring their horns as they are forced to overtake me. Slowly but surely, I begin to get the feel of the bike, and I stop wobbling and actually begin to enjoy the ride. I increase the speed gradually, and the feel of the wind in my hair makes me smile. I can see the attraction these Bikers have to driving along the open road like this, and a big smile splits my

Ryker cleared his throat before answering, "To hang out at the bar as usual." "And drink and get drunk?" Rosalia shook her head. "No wonder," she said more quietly. Ryker who heard that was drawn closer to her. "What does that head shake mean?" Rosalia girded her loins even though she was scared to death of Ryker and those men. "That's what I thought about the biker gang and you confirmed it." Ryker quickly picked up the screwdriver Rosalia was holding. "We're not an ordinary biker gang. We're not what you think we are." Then he threw the screwdriver at the wall and it stuck there. "We're more dangerous than you think."

"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."

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“Poison, you aren’t solving any of your problems by running away.” “Well, I wasn’t solving any of my problems by staying there either.” “Boss has checked him out. He thinks you are safer with him than on the road. Whatever happened between you two, he thinks it was a misunderstanding.” “Easy for him to say. Either way, too bad, so sad. I am a biker b&tch now. You made me that way.” “You are not meant to be a biker. This world is not for you. Not long-term anyway.”

Rebel being the rebel she is has her first lesson today and I am her teacher, after all. She wanted a bike, so I bought her one. Angel freaked the fuck out, thinking I was getting her a bicycle. I did, I’m not that bad. I just stripped it down and made it look like a motorbike. I worked on it myself, it even has stabilisers. It’s pink pearlescent, with a unicorn decal on the cover that would be the tank. She even has a full bike visor helmet in pink and a little pink leather cut, with daddy’s Princess embossed on it with the club patch.

Even over the music, the tension is crackling, electric, a live wire ready to snap. And my wolf; traitorous, relentless, thrashes inside me, demanding I close the distance. Demanding I taste him, even as my brain screams no. ~~ Then it happens. A hand snakes around my waist, yanking me off balance. I whip around, ready to break fingers, and come face-to-face with a drunken human biker. His breath stinks of beer and bad teeth, his grin wide and leering. “Didn’t know they let pretty little things like you hang with the dogs,” he slurs, lips grazing my ear. “How about you come play with me instead?”