Knuckles Sonic Riders Novels & Stories

He just said, “Now.” The quick-witted female in front of the server banks smacked her finger onto a key. "Not an alarm. A switch." Panels slid back with a hydraulic hiss from above. No sprinkler systems. The four cylindrical objects lowered, each with a low-pitched, piercing hum that resonated in your bones. Sonic disruptors. Non-lethals, but totally debilitating

With a smirk playing on my lips, I decided to take a shot in the dark, figuratively speaking. "Look time no see, Piero," I remembered this fuckface. "You were the one who helped Massimo to unload smuggled the guns." He sneered at me like he was a venomous snake about to spit. "It's Pietro, you dumb fuck." I couldn't help but chuckle darkly at Piero's correction. Even Enzo seemed to be enjoying the show. I retrieved the brass knuckles from my pocket, feeling their solid weight in my hand. The knuckles were crafted from gleaming, hardened brass, reflecting a polished sheen as they glistened under the light. Their intricate design showcased a rugged elegance, boasting four individual finger ho

Gunner, Aiden, and Skullz; one of Aiden's riders; take down Gold tooths men. Every gun is trained on Gold tooth.

Lucas growled. Ryan smirked. “I could say the same to you.” Lucas clenched his fists. “Move your damn car.” Ryan tilted his head slightly, as if considering. Then, he reached inside his jacket. But Ryan didn’t pull out a gun. Instead, he pulled out a pair of brass knuckles and slid them onto his fingers. My stomach dropped. “Let’s make this fair, shall we?” Ryan said, flexing his fingers. “No weapons. Just man to man.”

I declared. Kent’s attention was back on me. He lifted his hands. I saw one of his nails transform into a long, curved, sharp shape. He touched my cheeks with this nail. His touch left traces of heat as he trailed down to my neck. I swallowed because I realized I had forgotten to breathe and he moved along with the movements of my throat.

Kelly Blackwell, number 17 for the Dynamos, gliding toward me with that stupid, cocky grin I’ve hated since junior hockey. “Rough game, Jackson,” he says, stopping just close enough to make sure I hear every word. “Guess the Phoenix Frost isn’t so hot after all.” The crowd’s cheers fade into background noise. All I can see is Kelly, his smirk daring me to make a move. “Walk away, Blackwell,” I growl, my fists already curling. “Why? This is tradition, isn’t it?” He smirks, leaning on his stick. “You lose. I win. I rub it in. It’s what we do.”

Noel chimed in getting beers out for the new arrivals. “I certainly don’t have time for a man with thirteen kids.” “But do you have time for a drink?” Knuckles asked directing her back to the bar. “Maybe for you, if….” Knuckles grinned at his cousin before handing over the keys to his bike. “Don’t stay out to long-" “Don’t lay her over, wear a brain bucket, don’t talk to guys wearing other colors, don’t put a girl on the back and for Gods sake, don’t let Scrapper know that I took your bike.”

"Good," Shannon said, as she began to rip the package open. The black leather ring, fell to the bed just below Ron's balls. It was less than in inch wide, and had 4 holes closer to one end, and a about a half inch long rod protruding near the other end, obviously to be inserted through one of the eyelets. Shannon picked it up and experimented with how it hooked together. "I don't get it, Rick's was just solid rubber that rolled down over his dick. How does this stay together?"

Every drop of shame. My gaze slid past her, to the glass cage looming behind. Reinforced, layered thick glass. “Tyla,” I called, already tugging a pair of earplugs from my holster. “It’s time.” She grinned, shoving her own plugs in place. “Finally.” I slipped mine in, then lifted the sleek, silver pistol from my side holster—the Sonic Screamer. Its core hummed, building a pitch that made the air vibrate even before I pulled the trigger.

The Riders were armored primitively, but Keron had been in enough encounters to know that their protection was strong enough to withstand direct hits. The feet of the Riders were shodded in black boots with protruding spikes on the toe area. Above was their silver shin guards riveted in red bolts. Above were their thigh guards that looked like large skirts at first glance, followed by their utility belts where a pair of pistols are holstered, then the cuirass which were comprised of hexagonal iron-forged plates. They wore no arm guards, only pairs of leather gloves simply covered their hands and on their heads were pointed straw hats that fully obscured their features. Within, their eyes glo