Novel & Cerita Booktok Biker

Ryder growls at his paramour. When he says nothing else, I look to find them kissing. That is an effective way to shut Sidhe up. I’ve seen Gator and Angel do the same thing to silence the lunatic. “Alright, children!” The older blonde biker's voice booms. “Wow, I cannot believe I’m related to these horny people,” the teen said with dark reddish brown comments from beside him. “Zip it, Rasmus.” An enormous Irish biker commands while putting away the drones.

Kim replied. Ice didn't like to hear that. "So, he's history?" "Way history! I need a real man. Someone to make me feel alive. And I figured out just what type of man that is! It can only be a biker! They've the ones that really get my motor running! Yep, a real man, a biker!" Kim grinned as she turned to look in the crowd of brothers. "Now to decide which guy to choose. Hey Crash? If I choose a guy from your chapter, will you let me know if they're ok or not?" Kim asked.

“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?”

RHEA “Turn around, Dot.” I don’t want to look. I really don’t. But my feet slow anyway, traitors to my good sense. He’s across the street, leaning against his motorcycle with the kind of lazy confidence that should be illegal. One boot hooked on the curb, black tee stretched tight over muscle, every line of his body on shameless display. The tattoos on his arms peek out like they know exactly what they’re doing. His long hair is loose, dark and wild around his shoulders.

he says with a toothy smile, his dimple showing. I don’t buy it. His smile, his words. I cross my arms over my chest, slightly annoyed. “You could’ve told me you meant a biker's bar.” Who knew the nerdy, shy Shane was hanging out with a bunch of hardcore, bike-riding men? “You wouldn’t have said yes,” he tells me. “I promise it’s safe, Alina,” he murmurs. “This…is where I come to when things get heated at home. They serve non-alcoholic drinks, and the bikers are super friendly.”

~biker one "Oww i can just eat her up" ~biker two "How about you and me baby go and have some fun" -~biker three with a wink I just stand there and wait for them to finish , not even blinking i was used to this by now. Finally they ordered some food. Lucas POV

Thomas raises his eyebrows but does not oppose and departs with an “As you wish Mr. Barlow” Within minutes I hear the thundering roar of a motorbike. I can see the excitement in Mr. Barlow’s eyes. He wears his gloves, helmet, and jacket then hands me a jacket and a helmet. “Meet my favorite bike, Raya. My Harley Davidson Street Bob, sit tight and hold on to me as you are in for the ride of your life” he tells me as he sits on the bike.

He asked. “Sure. I don’t mind it.” She replied. The guy sat with her and started a conversation with her. She learned that his name was Damon. He was part of a biker gang called Lobo's. He had a low-rider cruiser made by Harley Davidson. When he learned that she rode an H2R Ninja, he was in awe. It’s rare when you find a girl, gorgeous and sweet, loving fast bikes. She enjoyed that evening having an innocent, but simple conversation with Damon. He didn’t know it, but he helped her forget about her problems for a moment. It was one of the best nights she endured since the second she left home.

If he saw me talking to another man, the bruises on my body were going to multiply. The bruises from last time were still yellow and fading. I wasn't ready get into any more trouble. “She asked you a question,” the trucker sneered, taking a step toward me. “Or are you too stupid to—” The biker moved faster than I thought possible. One moment he was feet away, the next he had the trucker pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against his throat. “Apologize to the lady.” “I ain’t apologizing for shit,” the trucker choked out. “That clumsy bitch—”

Two. The lead biker’s front tire exploded. The bike flipped forward, sending the rider flying into a brick wall like a rag doll. The second biker swerved to avoid the wreckage, and I took the opportunity to put three rounds through his chest. He slid across the pavement, sparks flying in a long, bright arc before he disappeared into the dark. I dropped back into the seat, breathing hard. “I think that's the last of them.”