Motorcycle Night Rider Novels & Stories

I said. "248 people placed a bet on you that you were going to win tonight. Do your best," he said as I nodded. I went back to my bike as the lady began to calm down. I ignited my engine more and more. The only images flashing through my head: Blair being kidnapped. My dad is connected to it. It can't make any sense.

The figure gradually materialized, clad in desert attire, their face hidden beneath goggles and a scarf. As the dirt bike drew nearer, the rider skillfully navigated the uneven terrain, eventually coming to a stop a short distance from Lin and Hunter. The engine's growl diminished, leaving behind an uneasy silence. The mysterious rider removed their goggles, revealing a face marked by determination. "Lin, Hunter, I've been tracking your journey," the rider spoke, their voice tinged with urgency.

Fear clung to them like a second skin, so obvious I could smell it from here. Humans. They had humans here. “What’s going on?” I asked Zeus, trying to keep my voice neutral. He dismounted with casual grace, like we were at a social event instead of whatever nightmare this was. “A biker race.” The way he said it, so matter-of-fact and unconcerned, told me it was anything but a simple race. This was judgment, or execution. Something terrible disguised as entertainment. “Why are you racing at night?” I asked, looking at the dangerous terrain barely visible beyond the headlights. “It’s too dangerous.”

“They say that if the pipes are loud, ongoing traffic will hear them, but the sound from the exhaust goes straight out of the back end. All it does is make them go deaf prematurely—” “And piss pedestrians off,” Brennan grumbled. As the bike approached, I tilted my head to the side, recognizing that it wasn’t a Sunday rider on the back of it. “Biker,” Conor confirmed. “No tags,” I murmured. “Does there need to be? Nearest MC to us is the Sinners,” Brennan pointed out. “He’s not wearing a cut.” I lifted my cellphone and as the biker drove by, I snapped a photo, full frontal and a real beauty, then immediately sent it to Conor, whose own cell buzzed as he received it.

It makes for a very entertaining dynamic I can tell you that. I forgot about mom and her unexplained 'visit' a few hours later as I went for one of my midnight rides. There's nothing like the feel of a powerful bike between one's thighs as you race through the night. And for that reason I think the motorcycle is one of the bleeders' best inventions. It's almost as freeing as flying high above the trees and feeling the wind against one's skin. And it scares humans less that's for sure. They're a timid bunch these bleeders, afraid of everything including their own shadow.

Over the crest of the hill, headlights appear. Two. Then four. Then ten. Then twenty. A wall of light descends the ridge. The roar becomes deafening. It drowns out the whine of my Ducati. It drowns out the rain. The pack is here. I see the lead bike. It’s a massive black Harley. The rider is a giant in a shredded tactical vest. He rides with one hand on the bars and one hand holding a shotgun resting on his thigh. Drakon. He isn't alone.

The roar of a motorcycle rumbled down the quiet street, a bulky figure clad in black leathers sitting astride his iron horse, the helmet visor blacked out so no one could see who was behind the mask. Slowly the bike and its rider gathered stares as they passed, some from children playing in their front yards, others from parents wondering who was in their midst. All wary of the power radiating from the stranger riding his Harley, there was another Alpha in Howling Warrior territory.

Desperation had its advantages. By evening, Valentina had bought some essentials from the dollar store and settled into her room. She sat by the window, watching motorcycles pull up to Mack's below. The Riot Kings. Duke's motorcycle club. Her stomach knotted. Would she see him tonight? Was he even still in Riverdale? Maybe he'd left like she had. A familiar rumble made her heart stop. She'd know that engine anywhere. The custom Harley with the modified pipes that growled rather than roared.

Chapter Two The night was alive with the rumble of engines. headlamps cutting across Raven’s stalled Harley as Sabrina clutched her waist with trembling hands. The Moonburn Riders had come, and their formation wasn’t random, it was deliberate, primal, the way a wolf pack isolates prey before moving in.

“We should head back. I still need to fix my hair for tonight.” “Yeah,” I said, smiling faintly. “I should probably get ready too.” We turned toward the lodge, the sound of insects filling the air. Then the distant roar of a motorcycle engine cut through the evening calm. Madison’s head snapped toward the sound. “Whoa, who’s that?” My stomach tightened. I didn’t even need to look to know. The black bike came into view moments later, gliding across the gravel road. The rider wore a dark jacket, his hair slightly messy from the wind, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.