Jackson Teller Harley Davidson Novels & Stories

I growl loudly and rip the phone off the nightstand, answering it with spit in my voice. "Theres a big problem at the pack house and I need you here." Jackson says quickly into the phone. I stay quiet for a while. Jack can handle the problem on his own because I have things to do. My mate to do! I quietly watch as she curls underneath my shirt which she's wearing and mentally beat myself. I should have got it off her. "It involves Hazel." He says, catching my attention.

“Gentlemen.” “What exactly do you want with her?” Harley suddenly asked before we could walk away. Jaxon draped a protective arm around my shoulders and corked an eyebrow at them both, making my entire face heat. “That’s our business,” Jaxon said, his voice dropping low and making my stomach flip inside out. “Don’t worry… I’ll make sure she’s plenty satisfied.” I knew Jaxon was just trying to get a rise out of them, but I wasn’t sure why. Both Harley and Zach looked furious, and Zach let out a low growl of warning.

"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

Hunter appeared from under a Ducati chassis and gave the Triumph a professional look and offered a preliminary structural assessment that the client seemed both startled and reassured by. He left a five-star review online that mentioned, specifically, being given a tour by "two extremely confident nine-year-olds" and called it "the most efficient customer experience I've had in twenty years of custom work." Knox still comes on Fridays. Every Friday, closing time, the Harley in the parking lot. I look up from whatever I'm working on and I wipe my hands and I go meet him and we ride home, sometimes with the twins if they're still in the shop, sometimes just the two of us on the two bikes, the