Claimed By The Biker Giant Novels & Stories

Publicly. How was that even possible? Yes, he had always feared the bikers. He had heard countless dangerous stories about them, which was why he had avoided the Rogue Kingdom for years. But this was different. This was no time for fear or caution. This was no time to be a coward. He would reclaim his Luna—even if it cost him his life. The moment his car and the warriors’ SUVs came to a halt a few miles away from the Devil’s Riders’ clubhouse, they all jumped out. Rowan turned to his men—his inner circle—and addressed them.

This fascinated him, ‘Why would complete strangers, from other countries and cultures, be interested in an American Biker Gang? The answer was really quite simple. William explained: the Gang had an Outreach Facility that responded to crises all over the world, offering vital help and support wherever it was required. Often, it was just a case of getting essential supplies of food and water to isolated villages that trucks struggled to reach, but their powerful motorbikes always got through. They had a network of warehouses full of the things that would be needed after floods, earthquakes, tsunamis, whatever the natural disaster, governments soon understood the Bikers could be trusted to hel

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.

It is my only superpower. “It means nothing, huh?” He draws out the words, speaking slowly, but it is downright menacing. “Yeah, nothing.” “Is that why you pulled up your skirt and hopped on the back of a bike with a kid? Because it means nothing?” “Chris is not a kid, okay? And he can drive that Harley like nobody’s business. That is what it is called, by the way, a Harley, not some normal bike.” “And why did you get on that not-some-normal bike?”

His motorcycle didn’t announce itself. It roared. That deep, violent sound tore through the silence of the compound like a warning shot. Conversations died instantly. Heads turned. Even the guards shifted uneasily, hands moving instinctively toward their weapons before they realized who it was. Everyone knew that sound. Everyone knew him. Kade Roman. The biker Alpha they had once tried to erase from their territory. The man who refused to stay gone. The gates of the estate swung open with a heavy metallic groan, and there he was riding in like the world still bent to his rules. Black bike. Black jacket. Eyes colder than anything human should be allowed to carry.

Men and women ready to stand with me. With us. The Devil's Reign MC. I walked to the window and watched them gather. Fifty bikes became a hundred. A hundred became two hundred. Everyone Colt ever helped. Everyone who owed him a debt. Everyone who believed in what he built. They came. For him. For me. For us. Razor appeared beside me. "Impressive turnout." "Colt built something special. Something worth fighting for." I turned to him. "Are you ready?" "Always." He extended his hand. "I know I questioned you. Doubted you. But I was wrong. You are exactly what this club needs. What Colt would have wanted."

13 stormed off, that time steadily with a determined look. Vex began to overtake, and before long, Vex was in first place. Biker No. 14 was right next to Vex's bike, and he made an attempt to knock Biker No. 13. However, Vex spotted him in time and dodged it, leaving Biker No. 14 down. He was out of the race. Vex proceeded with the race and seemed to enjoy the praises people were shouting out.

It turns out that there were some things that Angelina didn't know about her Dad. She asked Xavier why her dad never mentioned it to her and he told her that it was because Damien thought Angelina was too little to know about it because the game can be somehow dangerous sometimes. All the competitors were ready for the competition, including the mafia Don. His motorcycle was brand new, one of the latest designs and safe to use. He was wearing protective gears and he was so ready for the ride. What Xavier loves the most about being a biker is the thrill that comes with it.

He is large, tattooed from collar to knuckle, and he is smiling the way men smile when they've already decided the outcome. "Lost, sweetheart?" he says. I grip my bag. I say nothing. I look for the gap between him and the bike to his left, narrow but possible. I am calculating the angle when the sound changes. A new engine. One bike, arriving from the opposite direction at a speed that makes the other four pause. It skids to a stop between me and the man who spoke, and the rider is off the bike before it has fully stopped moving, tall, dark jacketed, moving with the absolute zero hesitation of someone who has never once in his life needed to calculate whether he was the most dangerous person

Mark continues, clearly enjoying this part, “he competed in the Isle of Man TT — and not only won, but did so in the fastest time ever recorded.” That one hits deeper. I’m proud of the championship, sure — but the TT? That race is brutal. No safety net. No forgiveness. One mistake and you’re a headline. I didn’t just survive it. I owned it. “Hell, yeah!” Logan shouts, throwing his champagne flute into the air. The boys follow suit, glasses clinking, champagne sloshing, noise spreading like wildfire through the room. The energy is infectious — raw, loud, victorious. “And with our upcoming Reaper bikes,” Mark adds, “new records are practically guaranteed. No one’s going to keep up with us next