Jax Teller's Bike Novels & Stories

she said. I spoke up. “I will teach you.” The words came out before I could stop them. Victor nodded. “Good. Jaxon will teach you. Go. Now. You have the whole day.” Scarlett stood in the courtyard. The new bike was there. It was sleek and black. It was beautiful. I stood next to her. “This is the clutch. This is the brake. This is the gas.” I showed her everything. I was patient. I was calm. I liked being near her.

She tapped Jackson on his shoulder and pointed her finger toward the bikes. "Yup, let's do it." He replied. They rented yellow and white bikes from the renter. Jennie had the yellow, and Jackson rode the white. The wind blew through their hair as Jackson screamed. "Where next?" Jennie held the bike handle with her right hand and used her left to take out the paper. "Luxurious Massage Therapy," she answers. "Yes! I need to get some hot stones laid on my back because paddling this bicycle is giving me cramps." He replied.

Or it might trigger an alarm if someone would touch it. His eyes lit up as he smiled down at me. “That’s MTT Turbine Streetfighter with 320 horsepower connected to its accelerator. They only make five units per year.” Then I realized something. He knew a lot of things about this bike. I chuckled. “This is yours.” He grinned, his dimples showing. “Noted.” “What?” “That you wouldn’t mind riding with me with Stella.” I frown. “Who’s Stella?” “She’s my Stella.”

“You two look like you found something.” I glance at Nyx, and she nods, letting me take the lead. “We went to Rusty’s,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I talked to a beggar who’s always there. She didn’t know Snake’s face, but she saw a guy with the Shadow Riders tattoo on his wrist. Said he goes to a shop across the street, buys burner phones, in and out quick.” I reveal. Hera's face remains expressionless. She then narrows her eyes, her mind already working. “Burners,” she repeats, her voice hard.

The air was thick with the promise of violence. Jax leaned against a rusted forklift—shoulder bandaged from the cemetery wound, leather jacket open, eyes steady but tired. He’d called us here—midnight sharp—after vanishing for days. His message had been simple: Warehouse 17. Bring Elliott. No feds. She’s coming to finish it.

“OK, OK. Fair enough.” “I’m not your type, trust me. So just try your luck elsewhere.” She turned her drink around and around between her hands. “I’m a good girl, and I don’t go home with bikers.” “Well, thank Christ for that,” Jax said. “‘Cause I’m not a biker.” “No?” she said looking him up and down, taking in his boots, jeans, black t-shirt, and tattoos that ran the whole length of both his arms. “Nope. I mean, I have a motorcycle, but I’m not in any kind of club or gang, or whatever the hell you may be thinking.” He moved a bit closer to her. “I’m a business owner.”

I muttered. I stepped forward as he slid the helmet over his head. The dark visor covered his handsome face, leaving only the shape of his strong jaw visible. He swung his long leg over the seat, starting the engine. The bike let out a loud, powerful roar. The vibration shook the ground beneath my thin shoes. Jax patted the leather seat behind him. "Get on." I swallowed hard. I held my bag tight against my chest. I stepped up to the bike and carefully climbed onto the back. The leather was cold. I didn't know where to put my hands at first.

The old warehouse had been empty for a few months, but with generators connected, the music playing, and the bikes all parked in sections, it looked like the perfect way to spend the day. He parked his bike in an empty space, waiting for Jenna to park the truck right behind his bike. He couldn’t park with the Warriors, it would be seen as favoritism, and that his allegiance lay with them and only them. This way, he was still just Wrath, the lone rider. He spotted the Warriors immediately, and Weasel took the shopping bags from Jenna’s hands. “You are sitting with us, aren’t you?” Jake grinned. “Yeah, Weasel, we’re sitting with you.”

"Hey, Tor." I straightened up slowly and turned around. Jax was standing a few feet away, holding an adjustable wrench, his arms crossed over his leather cut. He looked uncomfortable, his brow furrowed into deep, troubled lines. Miller stepped up right beside him, looking equally weighed down. These were guys I’d ridden with for a decade. Guys who had pulled me out of bar fights, shared tour buses with me, and bled on the same stages. "Yeah?" I said, keeping my tone flat and even, resting my palm flat against my bike’s gas tank.

If more people knew about this place, it would surely be very crowded. “Let it remain hidden so it stays beautiful like this,” Jaxter said as he dismounted his horse. Seeing this, Hayle quickly followed suit. Jaxter immediately helped his wife down by firmly holding her waist. “Eh, is your hand alright?” Hayle asked, concerned that Jaxter’s injured hand might be hurting again from helping her down.