Claimed By The Bikers Novels & Stories

But with the Alhaj's backing, they would be more than willing to. The bikers joined us where we stood, the most popular and feared biker in the whole of Harmony City was Baraka. A large, wild man with a big beard and a piercing fierce look to go with it. He got off his bike and came straight to the Alhaj. They embraced like they were good friends.

It seems he knew all of it was a made up story. “And this biker, what's his name?” he asked, eyes still locked on his notepad. “Mordred Sinclair,” I replied, letting the hate drip into every syllable. “He’s got a crew. Black Vipers or some biker gang bullshit. Check the cameras outside. You’ll see.”

The crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers and screams as the bikers sped across the terrace, their faces etched with determination. A loud cheer erupted from the audience as everyone kept on yelling names of several motorcycle clubs they were supporting. “Wild Hogs!! Wild Hogs!” The voices on the left audience became louder, amplifying their excitement and eagerness to see them win “Sprint lazers!! Sprint Lazers!!” The other side of the audience screamed the name of a particular motorcycle club with a thunderous roar. And then came the name– “Asphalt warrior!!!!” The voices of the People gingered Adrian. He stood on his bike and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a calculative gaze as he

“While you still can. The biker crew president—Garrett—walked the battlefield like a king. “You broke an alpha’s nose and stole his bike. I'm not sure if that's guts or stupidity. I haven’t decided yet.” His eyes found mine. “But you’re claimed, and you have the club's protection.” A pause. “Understand, there is no easy exit—except by their word.” He nodded to my mates. "Or death," he finished. Not a threat, but a statement of fact, understood by every biker here.

“Satan’s Bar. We own it.” “We?” “The Road Devils.” “Are what are you?” She thought about the men’s names, the matching vests, the gun, the tattoos. “Are you a – a biker gang?” “You mean, are we a motorcycle club as seen on prime time TV and in Hollywood movies?” She nodded. “Yes and no.” He sighed. “We are indeed an MC but we aren’t criminals.” “You aren’t?” “Well…” A strange look crossed his face, then he seemed to snap back to himself. “Yeah. I mean, no, we’re not criminals.”

Beggar My bitching and moaning finally paid off and Killer taught me how to ride my own bike. My biker licence was fake but the red and chrome machine I swing my legs over is real. As real as the cut I am wearing that says National Soldier. Got my patch party a few months back. It was a National thing and after I walked through that fire, I became one of them. “Are you two ready to roll.” Snake asks from the other side of me and I see the long line of bikers saddle their bikes.

I demanded, my voice carrying every weight of punishment. No one responded. “Alpha!” One of the bikers called out, and he ran towards me, taking a bow. I looked over at him. “Speak,” I commanded, my voice thundering with so much authority, “tell me, why is everyone fighting?” The biker trembled, this was totally normal to me. “The bikers loyal to Raymond started the fight, they talk about how you’re not…” he paused, realizing that his next words had the tendency to get me mad.

"I'm doing this. With or without legal approval." Sarah closed her eyes briefly. "Fine. But I'm going to be there. With paramedics on standby. And if this goes sideways, I'm pulling you out myself." "Deal." As we walked out of the police station, I kept my arm around Lisa. People stared—we'd become infamous. The biker enforcer and his society bride. The alliance nobody wanted. "Jackson," Lisa said quietly. "That photo of your truck. You weren't anywhere near the Iron Wolves clubhouse that night."

Never in such a manner. We have enemies, yes, but only a fool would attack the clubhouse knowing that the club is filled with highly trained bikers, not only that, some members are former military and they know how to fight. But this feels and smells like a massacre. I jump out of my bike and Hera is already off of it. " What the hell?" She whispers and her words are enough to make my blood boil. I run forward, heading to the entrance of the clubhouse. The sight before me is enough to have me freeze.

“As much as I enjoy watching you all roll around in the dirt, I have something important to announce.” “Here we go,” Kara muttered. “The annual Biker Pack Tournament,” Felix continued, pausing for effect, “is officially around the corner.” A wave of excitement rolled through the field. Warriors began murmuring, some cheering outright. Even a few of the older fighters exchanged eager grins. Felix’s smirk widened. “I take it some of you still remember how it works?” “Do we look dead to you?” someone yelled from the back. He ignored the comment, continuing, “All packs from the region will be joining this year. Four in total. That means more competition, more glory—”