Cyber Motorcycle Novels & Stories

He held his breath as the image of Alex on her Ducati Monster-S2R motorbike, with the shield of her helmet still up, imprinted on his mind. That woman suddenly became much more interesting.

The instant it did, the forest lid up with another dozen motorcycles, roaring to life. The Wolf Riders! They circled the Black Skull Riders, hollering and laughing, before breaking into formation and heading back to the main road. Screaming woes and curses, Viper ordered his men to follow us as their bikes roared to life and tried to catch up... “I can’t believe he fell for that!” Knives grinned, way too happy about being shot at than any normal man would! I didn’t reply but grinned as well, as he hollered a “hoo-yah!” and took the lead as we sped down the road. As it would turn out, leaving Bunny with too much time on his hands and with money from his stepdad was a deadly combination. Appar

The pavement blurs beneath my feet as we run, bullets buzzing around us like furious wasps. I have no idea where we’re going. “Here.” He yanks my arm, veering us into a dimly lit alley. The motorcycle ahead of us is a beast on two wheels. Royal blue and black, tall, powerful, dangerous, and beautiful. The kind of machine that screams speed and chaos. Midnight mounts it without pause and extends a hand to me. I’m still catching my breath, but I don’t waste time. I grab on and climb behind him. The engine roars like thunder as he takes off.

He was mine! I gasped with horror. Where did that come from? So far, Dominic Sylvester was the most infuriating and arrogant man on earth. Frowning at my strange reaction to the devil, I walked out absent-mindedly. Why did I overreact to Cassidy’s remark? “It’s Dad’s Ducati Streetfighter - 1100cc engine power. Isn’t it cool?” “Yes, it’s the coolest motorcycle ever. Let’s go for a ride!” I recognized those voices immediately. They belonged to Diego and Leonardo. But weren’t they in their rooms fast asleep?

Then we grabbed my motorcycle and brought it to Miles’s flat which wasn’t very far from the cafe. I looked at my motorcycle and pondered if I should give the keys to him or not. I’d never lent ‘Mocha’ — what I’d named my bike although it was a black motorcycle and not dark brown — to anyone before. Miles seemed to notice my reluctance as he shook his head, smiling. “It’s fine, Xy. You can keep the keys. I won’t use it anyway.”

He leaned into the wind, the roar of his Harley a defiant challenge to the storm. After three hours of bone-chilling cold, Ruan finally began to slow down. We pulled off the main highway onto a gravel lot illuminated by a flickering neon sign that read: The Rusty Spur. It was a low, squat building made of weathered wood and corrugated metal. A dozen motorcycles were lined up under a makeshift porch, their chrome glinting under the dim lights. This wasn't a place for tourists or casual travelers. This was a sanctuary for the restless and the lawless.

Both drivers were wearing crimson red vests and helmets. “Too much of a coincidence not to be them!” I turned the motorcycle to the vehicle, revving my engine as high as it would go. The motorcycles and the van slowed down, like they expected me and them to pass. A few of my gang got out in front of the van, slowing it down and making it pull over to stop. I got out in front too and pulled over, stopping my bike and walking towards the van. The two drivers opened their doors and got out, walking towards me as well.

The underground circuit was alive tonight—rubber burning against concrete as the crowd buzzed with anticipation. I pulled up on shadowfang, my custom matte—black ducati panigale v4 with red accents. Crimson underglow lit the street beneath it, red rims spinning like fire. A wolf fang etched near the tank, and a nitrous boost sat hidden under the seat. This bike was tailored for one thing— Dominance. I climbed my bike, pulling off my helmet— the chill of the night slammed in on my face as I shook my hair. My eyes swept across the circuit. This place was like a second haven but I didn't come for fans of fame. I always came for the rush.

Looking at all these motorcycles lined up and cared for so meticulously I could see that the same was true for everyone in the Steel Vultures. "Can I ask you something?" I said and turned to look at Cain. "Go ahead," he said. "Why motorcycles specifically? I mean you're werewolves. You can run faster than any bike can go. So why bother with them at all?" Cain considered my question for a moment before answering. "You're right that we can run faster in our wolf forms. But riding gives us something different. It's about the experience and the feeling of the road beneath you and the wind in your face. It's about being part of something bigger than yourself."

"You have been cooped up inside this concrete compound for days now. I thought you might really need some fresh air to clear your head." He led me out through the back door and into the bright sunlight of the yard, walking toward the long line of shiny motorcycles parked against the wall. His bike was completely unmistakable—it was a massive, heavy black Harley-Davidson motorcycle with bright chrome details that caught the sunlight and a large Iron Reapers skull painted right onto the fuel tank. He reached over, grabbed a black helmet from the handlebars, and handed it to me. Then, he stepped closer and helped me strap it tightly under my chin, his large, tattooed fingers moving with careful