Motorcycle Night Rider Novels & Stories

The rider was staring at the smoking ambulance. Cale walked up to the rider. "I need your bike," Cale said. "Excuse me?" the rider asked, flipping up his visor. "My partner is dying," Cale said. "I need your bike." The rider looked at Cale. He saw the hospital gown tucked into jeans. He saw the cast. He saw the blood on Cale’s face. And he saw the eyes. The rider got off the bike. "Take it," the rider said. "Keys are in it."

It skidded sideways across the gravel, kicking up a huge cloud of dust before coming to a smooth, sharp stop right in front of the open area. The rider sat tall on the machine, covered in sleek black leather biking gear, wearing a dark visor helmet that hid their face entirely. But the figure… Low whispers broke out among my apprentices behind me. "Who is that?" one boy whispered, leaning over to his buddy. "That machine is top tier..." I kept my mouth shut, watching the rider intently. The rider swung a long leg over the seat, stepping off the bike with absolute grace. They reached up with gloved hands, unlatched the helmet clip, and pulled the black helmet off in one smooth motion.

And then he veered toward something that made me pause. A motorcycle. Not one of those plastic, soulless speed machines—but a real one. Matte black. Low-slung. Growling with restrained power. It looked like it had eaten roads for breakfast and still hadn’t had enough. I slowed to a stop, lips curving into a smirk as the machine came into full view. Pure muscle and menace. A beast with two wheels and no apologies. Of course Ryden rode a motorcycle. It was too perfect. The tattoos, the rough edges, the way he’d let me break him open with my thighs and a whisper—he was built for this kind of cliché. The good kind. The kind that made you ache.

I can’t wait to paint that pretty ass of hers red for this disrespect. He secured the scarf and swung his leg over his bike; the bright red Honda Fireblade gleamed as the early morning sun touched it, while Justin gave him a wide grin. ‘It was a mighty fine little ass to, pert and firm, perfect for spanking.’ With his mind full of the image of her naked body, he swung his leg over his more conservative jet black Kawasaki Ninja. Both bikes purred rather than roared into action, belying their powerful engines as the two men manoevred them gingerly onto the highway heading for their MC.

If only he had the power to open the evil gates of the Shore with a snap of his finger. He laid there at his bed, staring at the ceiling. In an hour, he would be out there in the dead of the night. It won't be a grand attack, as what they are making the enemies believe. It would just be a straightforward one, quick and simple. Five minutes before midnight, everyone was already on their motors igniting their engines. When Ryder's watch beeped red, he said, ''Let's go.'' Six huge motorbikes built for battle sped across the road. It would surely alert the informants of the enemies that were placed in every corner of the towns but that was their purpose. They will let the enemy that they were co

The thunder of motorcycles cut through the night like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. Rain pelted against Raven Steele's leather jacket as she stood beneath the flickering neon sign of the Broken Spoke, a dive bar on the outskirts of Blackridge where respectable folks never ventured after dark. Her dark hair clung to her face, mascara threatening to run in rivulets down her cheeks, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore—not since they'd taken everything from her.

“Want to go for a ride?” Before I can answer, he reaches behind him and grabs a spare helmet hanging from the handlebars. He holds it out to me with a raised brow. I stare at it for a second before I hesitantly take it. It’s late. Too late to be wandering outside, even later to be climbing onto a motorcycle with Reed Aldair of all people. But something inside me is too wound-up to care. The cool night air brushes my skin, and the idea of cruising through the island’s empty streets suddenly feels like exactly what I need.

"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.

Jobs were scarce when your last name was Chen and everyone in Coldwater knew your father died owing money to half the town. The straightaway opened up before me, and I twisted the throttle. The speedometer climbed at eighty, ninety, one hundred. My competitor, a rider on a Yamaha R1 who went by "Razor," was half a bike length behind. I could feel his frustration radiating through the night air. He'd been winning these underground races for six months straight until Ghost Rider appeared three months ago. He had no idea Ghost Rider was a woman. None of them did. That was the point.

My heart raced as Xavier slowly eased the motorcycle onto the road. The bright moon and stars illuminated the night sky, creating a peaceful and quiet atmosphere, interrupted only by the motorcycle roaring down the road. Riding with Xavier, I started to grasp his passion for this experience. It was as if we were soaring through the night, feeling liberated and untethered from the world around us.