Claimed By The Biker Giant Novels & Stories

" Claimed?" Raven smiled. " The seat at the back is only reserved for those who have been claimed. In a way, it signifies that the person is already taken. That you belong to that rider and no other man should mess with you. That's how we, riders, introduce our partners." Raven revealed. I stood there, flabbergasted. I didn't know what to say. When Mason said that I was the first woman to sit at the back of his bike,I took it lightly. Did he mean to tell me that I am his? That he has claimed me as Raven said? " He is serious about you." Raven stated but I shrugged.

I found my spot, wedged between a group of rowdy bikers and a pair of scouts, blending into the frantic energy of the crowd. Below us, the dirt track was a blurred circle of chaos. I locked my eyes on the rider in the black and chrome—Dare. He was leaning dangerously low, his bike screaming as he tore through the first turn. But he wasn't alone. A rider in the jagged red of the Saints was glued to his flank, his bike heavy and wide, purposefully swerving into Dare’s path. "Jax, he’s targeting him!" I hissed, my hand gripping the cold metal of the railing. "The Saint... he’s trying to ram Dare off the track. He’s going to kill him!"

He wanted them to see the eyes of the man they had tried to break. "PHANTOMS!" Ruan’s roar echoed over the sound of the crashing waves. "Tonight, we don't ride for territory! We don't ride for money! Tonight, we ride for blood! We ride for the legacy! If you’re not ready to die for the heir, turn your bikes around now!" No one moved. Instead, the air was shattered by the simultaneous roar of two hundred engines. It was a sound that shook the very foundations of the city, a thunderous declaration of war.

~ RAVEN~ The night air buzzed with the low growl of engines and the flash of chrome. The parking lot outside the downtown event hall shimmered under the neon lights, crowded with bikes from half the state. Hellfire. Iron Serpents. The Hounds. Even the Vipers — their so-called “rivals.” It was the biggest biker event of the season, and for me, it was my stage. I stepped out of my car slowly, black heels touching pavement like a promise.

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.

The black tank top showed him just how big my tits were. His athority ran off him, however, I was just as powerful. “I was looking for Tatum. He was recommended to fix my bike. Is he around?” This part was always fun for me. “I’m Tatum. This is my shop.” He looked taken aback as he looked around. “Y-you are Tatum?” “I didn’t stutter. What is wrong with your bike? Did the chain fall off?” His eyes narrowed at me. “Funny. Have you ever seen a Ducati Streetfighter V4?”

"They did, but no one is allowed to enter the place yet, as far as I know. If she doesn't come through soon, I may have to take care of it myself." "That's going to be hard to do." "Why is that?" "The place will be crawling with out-of-towners this weekend." "What the hell are you talking about?" "Haven't you heard? There're flyers all over the place, some kind of biker rally to save the kids." "What, kids? The ones we took?" "I guess I didn't stick around to find out, but it seems like one of those biker things you read about. They raise money to help runaways, and some of them even find missing kids and take them back home."

I exhaled slowly, when his finger touch my cheek. “Can you take me home?” “I don’t know where your house is,” he replied. “Maybe you can give me an address… or I can take you on my bike.” My eyes widened instantly. “You have a bike?” He smirked slightly. “It’s right this way.” He led me to where an elegant, nightshade, black bike was packed. His bike was a damn beauty, and from looking at it, I could tell it cost quite a pinch. “It’s beautiful,” I said, smiling brightly as I ran my finger over the machine.

Frank did not hold back, waving his hand and crushing the Lamborghini into a ball of steel less than eight inches wide! It went without saying that the biker was astounded—Frank swooped in to save him at lightning speed, saving him, and then crushing an entire car into a ball? All those things were impossible! Pointing at a nearby hill, the biker asked, "Excuse me… If I'm not mistaken, you're the mountain deity here, right?" Frank smiled, shaking his head. "You're imagining things. There are no gods, but you have to go right now. I'd rather not get you into trouble once the fighting starts."

Over the crest of the hill, headlights appear. Two. Then four. Then ten. Then twenty. A wall of light descends the ridge. The roar becomes deafening. It drowns out the whine of my Ducati. It drowns out the rain. The pack is here. I see the lead bike. It’s a massive black Harley. The rider is a giant in a shredded tactical vest. He rides with one hand on the bars and one hand holding a shotgun resting on his thigh. Drakon. He isn't alone.