Booktok Bikers Novels & Stories

Asphalt Kings is the most popular bikers society in this city. The bikers aren't only madly good, but also madly handsome. Rumours say it's run by a powerful secret organization to launder money, and that's why they could snatch the road from government. But who cares? The boys just want to race. Here, Saint St. Graves is the top racer. Most girls come here only for him. In bed, he's A+, and on top of the bike, he's A++ Saint rules the road here. Like right now, everyone on the road is screaming his name except the jealous boys in the society.

' We spent the night drinking and reminiscing, while our men spent their night enjoying the barflies, getting drunk and dancing to the band, but as the night sky turned from inky black to a beautiful myriad of dawn colours, more than a hundred Bikers were assembled in Gio's car park ready to ride. Juan and Miguel had also honoured their agreement with me, and as we headed for the confrontation, more and more Bikers joined us, and we made a formidable sight spread out riding down the highway. The road was empty, as we had called in favours to enable this, and it wasn't long before outriders had discovered where the FBI was hiding. I gave the signal for the men to surround it. Then, I ordered

the motorcyclist proposed, his deep and resonant voice calming me. You can trust him, a little voice spoke in my mind. I sighed, nodded, and hoped I hadn't just invited a psychopath to sit in my broken-down car with my three young children. I watched the biker closely as he sat in the passenger seat, removed his helmet, and called the local mechanic. It sounded like they knew each other and had a cordial relationship. According to the handsome man beside me, Jack Turner agreed to be here within the hour and would give me a tow free of charge.

I followed Reaper's gaze. Idling at the very edge of the jungle treeline, acting as a heavily armed escort for the weary scavengers behind them, was a pack of about fifty outlaw bikers. They didn't ride sleek hover-tech. They rode massive, ear-splitting combustion choppers, rusted and spiked for wasteland warfare. Even from the top of the wall, I could see the patches on their heavy leather cuts. They bore a single, jagged word stitched in crimson: Revers. At the head of the column sat their leader on a monstrous, elongated chopper. Across his rusted gas tank, a brutal, unforgiving motto had been spray-painted in thick white letters: Blood on the asphalt.

“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.

Mom was begging the same guy who’d raped me and targeted me. “Come on, let’s go.” I didn’t fight when Lucas led me to the car, then we drove off. Mom was still with Becky. When we got home, Lucas walked me inside. I couldn’t think straight at all. I needed to know what the hell was really going on. “Listen to me, Casey. Stay away from Becky. He’s dangerous. He’s a drug dealer, he rapes women, he does all kinds of chaotic shit… “ I stared blankly at Lucas. “Aren’t all bikers like that?”

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.

Marcus smiled. A big man, probably twice Marcus's size, climbed off his bike. It seemed as if he was wearing a size eighteen boot. He had a Bandana on his forehead with the American flag; his bike had the American flag on the bar. As he climbed off, it was like a cushion pushing back up. He walked over to Marcus, looking down at him, then grabbed Marcus by the Neck, choking him and lifting him with one hand. The crowd came closer, and they were mumbling something to the effect of saying, “they are just kids.” The bikers ignore the crowd. As the man lifted Marcus in the air, Marcus tried to break his grip loose.

The bikers started commenting, their voices mingling amusement and flirtation. “Where are you going, baby?” one of them said. “Do you need some help?” another chimed in. A third biker inquired in a deep and gruff tone, “Why are you all alone out here?” “Do you need some company?” he advised. The biker's remarks were becoming Sara more uneasy. she don't understand what to do now, she has been stuck. Sara tried to dismiss the bikers' remarks with a brief "No thanks," followed attempt to walk away. One of them, however, stepped in her way and stopped her. She raised her gaze at him; her eyes found his sly one.

The two drivers opened their doors and got out, walking towards me as well. “We don’t want any trouble, we are just lackeys in everything.” They held up their hands in surrender, holding still as I stalked past them to the van. I swung open the side door, its hinges protesting loudly. There was nothing inside except for road block equipment, vests, and someone’s half eaten sandwich. “Son of a bitch!” I slammed the door home and turned to the two wolves. I knew they were Black Haven, the stench of licorice was strong on them. The two bikers had joined the others, more than likely feeling safety in numbers. They were slight and about a good half foot or more shorter than me, making them as mor