Claimed By The Bikers Novels & Stories

“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—”

Athena Chaos is supposed to be loud, but this was quiet. It didn't explode; it just sort of seeped into the clearing like a bad smell. The bikes rolled in with a low, oily growl. No chrome, no insignias just matte-black frames and riders who looked like they’d forgotten how to blink. The morning mist didn't stand a chance; the heat from their engines shredded it into nothing. Inside me, my wolf wasn't just bristling; she was pacing a tight, frantic circle, her claws snagging on my psyche. These guys weren't here to talk. They were here to see who bled first.

I lift a brow and shrug, fully admitting I have absolutely no clue what that means. He grins. A proud, dangerous grin. “It means we let young upcoming riders take our bikes out for a spin. We watch them. We sort out who has the talent — and who just thinks they do.” Oh. That kind of interview. “You’re looking for new riders?” I ask. “Yep.” My heart kicks up. “Are you going to stop racing? Or Sean?” I don’t want to sound too hopeful. “NO.” He crushes that hope at conception. “Not even close.”

“Leave them behind?” “I don’t want to,” I said. “But I also don’t know if I can be what they need long-term. A biker’s girlfriend? Three bikers’ girlfriend? Living in a compound, always looking over my shoulder, accepting violence as part of daily life? That’s not who I was raised to be.”

The engine is still running. The black SUV behind us accelerated, headlights blinding through the broken glass. Two bikes appeared from the opposite lane, engines roaring like predators closing in for a kill. These are professionally organized. Not some random thugs preying on rich people. This one's here for a mission. To kill. I narrowed my eyes. Deluca never used bikes. Neither does my ex-business partner. Who the fuck are these people? “Shit…” Marcus muttered, still gripping his arm tightly. The biker on the left raised his arm. Grenade.

A couple of minutes later… Roslyn heard the roar of a bike engine and she knew she couldn’t be caught now. She was so close to finding her story, so she turned to hide but then she knew she couldn’t let the man get caught either. She knew the bikers that had come to the compound earlier. They were Hade’s Messengers. They were nothing but bad news any way you sliced it. She turned around to see the big guy lying there, still out cold. She couldn’t just walk away and leave him here.

“At least we will give everyone equal rights.” A smile tugged at my lips. “Let’s name it… MoonClaw,” I said. “What do you think?” Elly stirred excitedly. “What about MoonClaw Riders Pack,” she suggested, “with everyone having their own bike. Something different. Something powerful.” I inhaled sharply. “Wow,” I whispered. “That actually makes sense.” But then reality struck. “How do we do that?” I asked, the familiar doubt creeping in. “Don’t worry,” Elly said calmly, settling inside me. “We’ll find a way.”

My movement is clean and fast, so satisfyingly well-executed I nearly give myself a pat on the back. I might hate getting on a bike, but I know exactly how to get off one. Funny how fear works like that. “You named your death machine?” I ask coolly. His eyes narrow, clearly clocking what I just did. He clicks his tongue but lets it go. “Harley,” he corrects. “And she’s not a death machine. She’s beautiful. I built her myself. From scratch.” That actually gives me pause. “You did?” The surprise slips out before I can stop it.

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.