Motorcycle Night Rider Novels & Stories

If he rejects me, I’ll literally have to transfer universities by mor– My thought is cut off suddenly by the deafening growl of a motorcycle engine. Everyone turns as a massive black sports bike tears down the dirt path, kicking up dust before braking hard at the edge of the woods. The rider kills the engine, kicks down the stand, and swings off. Pulling off the black helmet, he shakes out his hair, and under the string lights, his features come into view. He isn’t boy-band handsome like Shawn. He’s dark, dangerous, and devastatingly rugged, with slicked-back dark hair and full, stern lips.

"Are you fucking insane?! You almost killed me!" The rider didn't say a word. He kicked the stand down, stood up, and slowly pulled off his tinted helmet. The moonlight caught his sharp jaw and his messy bright blonde hair. It was Noah. I stepped back quickly, my eyes scanning him from head to toe. He was wearing a leather motorcycle jacket that made his broad shoulders look even wider. His icy blue eyes were bloodshot, fixed on me with a terrifying look that made the hair on my arms stand straight up.

I will have to be more careful at night. A new door attendant is at the door when I wake up and leave at six the next morning. I hop back on my bike, half-sleepy. It is not the best way to drive, but I do it safely and before everyone else. I like to speed up, especially when there is nobody else on the road. This is the best time to ride a motorcycle. No matter how tired I am, riding a motorcycle gives me the adrenaline I need. I wait a while for my co-workers to start showing up. Everyone is there except the manager who needs to open.

The narrow cobblestone streets of the small town above Lake Como hummed with evening life as the sun dipped low, throwing long shadows across buildings that had stood since long before anyone currently alive had a stake in this story. A lone rider on a black motorcycle cut through the traffic with a precision that had nothing to do with being late for dinner — full helmet, dark clothing, gloves, moving through the crowd like something that had learned a long time ago how to be forgotten the moment it passed.

Ryder POV The roar of six motorcycles echoes through the mountain pass as we approach Nightshade territory. Jolie rides behind me, her arms wrapped around my waist, silver light barely contained beneath her skin. I feel her tension through our bond—not fear exactly, but anticipation. Like a warrior preparing for battle. Luna and Knox ride to our left, Cass and Phoenix to our right. We form a tight formation, pack colors visible on every jacket. Iron Fangs in bold silver lettering, wolf symbols stitched across our shoulders and backs.

- Taylor - Damn, I was late. I never liked being one of those riders, the ones who drove ninety miles an hour weaving in and out of traffic. They give all motorcyclists a bad name. But I admit I opened my cruiser up on the way home. I hadn't been able to sleep, so I'd gone out to the warehouse before dawn, figuring it would be the best way to burn the hours until Aly came over.

A cloud of dust rises as a sleek black motorcycle roars down the desolate highway. Its engine growls with power, propelling the bike forward with unstoppable force. The rider, known to many as Dante the Lycan hunter, sports a rugged leather jacket adorned with countless patches and insignias. His eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, He exudes an air of mystery and danger. As he approaches a weathered roadside bar, the sound of his engine echoes through the open landscape halting at a bar.

The rider soon pulled up into the neighbourhood with a cloud of dust behind him, flashing a powerful luminous headlight that outdid the street lamppost. The final destination was a wall covered with graffiti made with coal, cheap paints, blood and other human matter, that still smell through the arts, most likely the work of juveniles and junkies. The rider dismounted gracefully, clad head to toe in an all-black leather outfit, with every detail—from the reinforced boots to the armoured gloves, dark blackout Kala Carbon helmet and … a rubber duck keychain? Whoever, the unidentified rider was, they definitely had a weird taste.

That could mean trouble. She turns around, rolls her eyes, and gets back to scooping as if were in a time crunch. "No, one of the guys is here." "Ridge hired a motorcycle guy?" He's never been on the best of terms with the local crew leader. Curiosity gets the best of me and I walk around the island to peek out the window as the man gets off his motorcycle. It's easy to see he is not somebody from the local motorcycle club. He's not wearing the typical leather vest and surprisingly is not covered in tattoos. He looks almost normal. Except the fact he is huge. Most of the men who work for Ridge had steroids in their city drinking water. There's no other explanation. If you didn't know how nic

Hungrily… ++++++++++ Meanwhile, in some god-forbidden part of the country, a motorbike continues to swiftly fly down one of the minor roadways in the middle of the night… Finally lost them! Good. And I knew it was her! What the fuck was she doing with that shitface doctor?! Is that her new lover? Who the fuck knows and who the fuck cares? Should have just finished that motherfucking doctor! After about 30 more miles with no signs of cops whatsoever, the biker slows down at a rundown motel by the roadside. He parks the bike in the middle of two cars just to make sure it's hidden from the view of anyone driving along the highway.