Mc Biker Romance Novels & Stories

VOLUME ONE: HURRICANE Tatum I jerk my head upright as the roar of a motorcycle breaks through the otherwise peaceful Bowling Green, Kentucky morning. The book on my phone's reading app is forgotten as I put a hand to my chest and cut my gaze directly across from Cash's Customs, the body shop specializing in foreign makes and models I work at. Walker's Wheels, which specializes in domestic vehicles and motorcycles, is my dad's shop, and the man leaving the parking lot is the one who pissed me off a year ago. In all honesty, he's still pissing me off. I glare at his leather-jacket covered back as he rides down the street. Pissed off because he ruined my concentration, I try not to think about

“Satan’s Bar. We own it.” “We?” “The Road Devils.” “Are what are you?” She thought about the men’s names, the matching vests, the gun, the tattoos. “Are you a – a biker gang?” “You mean, are we a motorcycle club as seen on prime time TV and in Hollywood movies?” She nodded. “Yes and no.” He sighed. “We are indeed an MC but we aren’t criminals.” “You aren’t?” “Well…” A strange look crossed his face, then he seemed to snap back to himself. “Yeah. I mean, no, we’re not criminals.”

Speaking of massive things, I have a massive empire and a ton of wealth ready for my baby Daniels whenever she is ready to stop being sore from handling her new motorcycle. Finally, Daniels wheels her sleek, sandy-colored sports bike out from behind the pine tree. She looks absolutely adorable. Her bike is painted a dusty sand color, matching the shade of her hair, and she has those same brown eyes peeking through the visor of her helmet. A mafia driver with doe eyes. A total predator on the road, but with the complete innocence of a lamb. Luca’s POV

Crowe, entry thirty one, matte black bike* I went and pulled everything. The surface layer was straightforward. Jaxen Crowe, twenty eight. Director and founder of the Moon Biker's Club, established four years ago as a regional outfit and expanded within eighteen months into something that made the industry pay attention. Clean record, no charges, no civil suits, nothing that would raise a flag on a standard background check. Tax filings current. Business registration clean. The kind of paper trail that belonged to someone who either had very good lawyers or was genuinely careful about how he operated.

“But to the outside world, this entire operation—and the Alpha himself—runs under a different title. Welcome to the Boulderback MC.” I tilted my head, the acronym sounding foreign. “MC?” “Motorcycle club," she nodded, a proud gleam in her eye. “A biker gang.” A gang. I swallowed hard, a sudden wave of panic hitting me. God, what kind of world have I stumbled into? Did I sign up for way more than my human mind can handle?

He stretched out his hand. “Alexander.” I shook it. “Jaxson.” The other twin followed, quieter. More guarded. His eyes assessed before he spoke. “Adrian.” I nodded in greeting. James looked between us, clearly pleased. “You guys would get along.” I raised an eyebrow slightly, unsure. “They’re bikers,” James added. That clicked something into place. Alexander’s eyes lit up with interest. “You ride?” “Yeah,” I said. “My dad owned an MC.”

“For once, I’m not the pathetic one. People actually look at me now, not through me.” Blue’s eyes softened for a second, but only a second. “Because I love you, River and loving you means not cheering you on while you walk into a damn lion’s den with a smile.” Tears burned the back of my throat. “He’s not like that.” “Oh, come on,” she scoffed, throwing her hands up. “The biker leader of SGBC? The one who burned down a rival bar because someone insulted his crew? That guy? You think he’s gonna buy you flowers and walk you to brunch?”

"Needs to remember she is thirteen. Needs to—be child for a while instead of savior." "How do we do that? She will not stop. She pushes herself constantly. Like she is trying to outrun guilt. Trying to—" A motorcycle roared up the mountain road. Single bike. Loud engine. Unexpected. We moved to the window. Old instincts. Always watching. Always ready. The rider dismounted. Tall. Lean. Moved with easy confidence. Cascade MC patch on his jacket. But younger than Garrett's usual crew. Maybe early twenties. Dark hair. Tanned skin. Completely out of place in our quiet mountain refuge.