Novel & Cerita Mask Rider Bike

I chuckled. “Of course. The only biker who can race more than I do is the Masked VA.” As she spoke, she had a look of admiration on her face. “You know the Masked VA?” I asked her curiously. She gave me a weird look. “Every biker does. He is the king of biking, I dare say. I hope to meet him someday.” She smiled with a fawning voice. “Good for you.” I shrugged. “You don’t seem impressed.” She observed.

The bike was a towering, custom built iron behemoth, twice the size of the others, its frame painted a matte black that swallowed the light. The outlaws instantly dropped their weapons, stepping back into a perfect, terrified line of rigid military attention. He's stepping down, the young biker whispered, his teeth chattering from a fear that had nothing to do with the storm. Clear the lane. Clear the lane right now. The heavy black leather boot hit the pavement with a thud that seemed to echo louder than the thunder. A massive, towering figure stepped off the machine, standing well over six feet three, his frame so broad he completely blocked out the headlights behind him. His arms were cov

Warrick Luna trails behind me as I stride from the house, heading for my custom- designed motorcycle. The salt air is kissing it into a bucket of rust, but nothing to do about that in these parts. My brothers and I worked on my baby for a solid year, testing and perfecting each change until we hit the sweet spot. She’s a vintage Harley, chopped low and mean like me. A chrome skull and crossbones leer from the handlebars, and the engine’s a loud growl, warning shifters and humans alike to get the fuck out of the way, ‘cause I’m going to blow through them, past them or over them. The frame’s been converted to a rigid hardtail, we added eight inches to the frame tube, and the steering neck rake

Mason called out, one brow arched, clearly trying not to smile too widely. Erin grinned and nudged him. “Who’s the lucky challenger?” I opened my mouth to explain—but stopped mid-breath. Aiden was already rolling confidently into position on the paved drive, astride the sleek mountain bike Derek had given him after the accident in Barbados. It was still too big for him, technically, but he handled it like a pro. He wore his helmet like a crown and had a determined glint in his eye that said he’d been planning this. His “super-speed bike,” he called it. He looked like he was preparing for the Olympics.

He said and without as much as sparing me another glance he left. My fist clenched besides me as I watched his back my heart feeling like it was breaking into a thousand pieces with every step he took away from me. ____ An hour later, I was back at the spot where Jettison and I had been sitting earlier, my heart lodged painfully in my throat as I watched him stepped onto the track with a massive bike. Rodger said it was his legendary one—the bike he’d used back in his prime years of racing. It was black, lined with white along the sides, and it looked huge beneath him, heavily built compared to the Death Rider he used back in Blackmoore.

Anastasia “He got you a bike? Are we talking ‘toto we’re not in Kansas anymore’ or hell rider?” “It’s Ghostrider. Don’t disrespect the Cage like that. It’s a luxury bike, Eva.” I folded my legs under my bottom and took a healthy swig of wine. Evangeline mirrored my movements through the screen of my tablet, raising hers in healthy salute before chugging it down with the grace of a werewolf princess. “Okay, so she’s a Ducati Diavel and she’s red. Like bright, traffic-stopping red. It looks like something a fantasy villain would ride. It’s perfect,” I released a sigh.

Madam Amelia seemed to know this as she nodded her head at me. “Now what? You can’t break your vow. What will you do? You can’t have a Wolf Rider running around Astoria.” There it was. She knew what her daughter was. The half human part of it was the least of it. The fact that she was a Rider—a creature that could control a werewolf with a simple command. A creature that ruined my family's life. A creature, who must be destroyed before it gains power. There hasn't been a rider born in half a century, and even before, there was only one that ruled Astoria.

“Kamari, I need to show you something outside.” I followed him out into the driveway, my hand instinctively going to one of my daggers. Old habits. Sitting in the driveway was the most beautiful motorcycle I’d ever seen. Black with purple accents that seemed to glow in the morning light. It was sleek, powerful, and aggressive at the same time. My chest tightened as I stared at it. “You got me a bike?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “It’s for the mission.” His tone was flat and emotionless. “You’ll need your own transport. The rest of us will be in the van.”

“Blasphemy! Come on, you have to see this.” “See what?” I asked, but she was already dragging me off the field. Caleb called after us, his tone half amused, half warning. “Don’t break anything, Kara.” “No promises!” she shouted back. I let her pull me along, laughing despite myself as we cut across the field. The air smelled of oil and burnt rubber the closer we got, and soon, the faint hum of engines reached my ears. We stopped at the far end of the training grounds, where rows of bikes gleamed under the sun sleek, powerful machines lined up like soldiers ready for war. Some were black and heavy-looking, others silver and sharp, and a few had custom designs that screamed personality.

His head tilted slightly, tracking sounds the rest of us couldn't hear. There were six other riders. Seven total. I recognized Marc on the black bike, he was decent, played fair. But then there was Vic on the red bike, and my stomach dropped. Cole on the yellow. Jensen with the scar across his jaw. Three others I didn't know, but they had that look. That hungry, desperate look of riders who'd do anything to win. "That's a lot of competition," Sarah said quietly. "They're not competition," Orion said, and I heard the pride in his voice. "They're just in the way."