Booktok Bikers Novels & Stories

"Hardly unarmed, My Dragon." "Time to go home, My Beastly Biker." She smirked up at him, then turning, she walked to the other side of the car to get in. Drake watched, hypnotized, at the sway of her hips. *********************************************************************************************** This is not the end of this story. I have at least one more chapter to do. If you would like to see something in particular, drop me a note on here, a DM, or a note on my profile.

"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."

SONG OF THE CHAPTER: TOUCH ON ME BY OCTOBER LONDON IVARA’S POV: The note still burns in my pocket as I crouch outside the warehouse. “Choose blood over bond.” My father’s words echo like a curse, but the sound inside is louder than the muffled whines of wolves. Not wild ones or rogues. Our own. I press my palm against the metal wall, my stomach churning. I’ve seen bikers cage wolves before, but never like this. Never organized. Never this… cruel.

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.

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.

Theria's tone carried a hint of embarrassment mixed with the hope Warren would respond in kind. "I love you too," Warren whispered under his breath. Zealot slung a sawed-off shotgun across his shoulders and marched back and forth in front of the assembled group of misfits. His free hand pointed to the Yale Hotel, "Inside that building is public enemy number one, The Bokken Riders." He paused and made sure no one spoke, "They have terrorized the city and its people for too long. Today we draw a line in the sand that says, your kind isn't welcome anymore."

“Is this the welcome committee?” “This is the peanut gallery,” Ryder muttered. “Ignore them.” I realised he had employed more guys from the Hellfire MC. That was good. At least, they'd get a salary every month. Ryder led me past the garage toward the showroom, where the polished bikes stood like art pieces. I caught sight of TB... the Tessa Bishop bike... from last week, front and center behind the glass partition. “She’s a showstopper,” I whispered. “She’s not the only one,” Ryder said, nudging me gently.

"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 rest are outside. We can head over to Ray’s while we wait for any information you might have.” Torch nods at me, and we file out, locking the doors. Sure enough, a total of ten bikers are on their motorcycles, dressed in nothing but leather. Leather vests, leather pants, leather fingerless gloves. “Hello everyone!” I lift a hand up in a small wave. “Thank you fur coming. We’re heading over to Ray’s, so just follow closely behind the car.” Then, I turn to Torch. “You’re riding with me.” He nods and gets in. And soon, we’re speeding towards Ray’s.

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.