Motorcycle Night Rider Novels & Stories

Aren’t they supposed to be out here supervising us? I frowned when I spotted them sprawled out in their squad car parked a few meters away from our little group, snoring. Lazy fuckers, I could just leave and they won’t even notice. A loud roar of a motorcycle approaching made me turn back to the highway, what the hell? Who the hell owned a Harley in this dead beat town? The roar grew louder and over the small hill, a black leather wearing, dark helmeted rider straddling the meanest looking motorcycle I’ve ever seen came riding.

As soon as we reached a motorcycle that I didn't notice when I walked towards the cabin, I stepped away from him. “Elizabeth…” he called my name out like a low warning, handing me the spare helmet. When he does, he also helps me climb onto the back of his motorcycle and impulsively, I wrap my arms around his waist. The familiarity of his body against mine makes me want to cry and smile at the same time. “I prefer to drive this when I'm out here. Keeps me on low profile,” he said, finally breaking the silence. I don't understand what he means by staying on low profile out here in the woods and I don't ask. “It's okay. I've always wanted to ride on a motorcycle at night.”

"Thanks, Briar." "Don't thank me, boy," Briar mutters, turning back to his satellite screens. "Just make sure you survive long enough to kill Tristan Blackmoor. I want to see his pack flag burn before I go into the dirt." I don't waste another second. I pull my helmet over my head, lock the visor down, and step out into the cold night air of Nightfall Territory. The heavy engine of my motorcycle roars to life between my thighs, the vibration humming through my core, igniting the violent, restless heat in my blood. I kick the gear shift up and slam the throttle back, tearing away from the Silverfang Hall like a bullet shot from a barrel.

A Ducati Panigale V4 S. It was a high-performance beast that pumped out over 210 horsepower, screaming from 0 to 100 km/h in just over three seconds. It was exactly what she needed—and exactly what she had always wanted, though Ryder had been against it. To him, riding a motorcycle was not “ladylike” or safe. A respectful Luna needed to be in the back seat of a large, blacked-out vehicle with bodyguards, not racing through the streets like a teenager. She knew buying it now was reckless. It would leave her nearly broke, but as she looked at the defiant red finish, she didn’t care. This was her first act of true rebellion. Now, none of Ryder’s rules mattered.

Or the floor, or the ground, or up against a wall. I gave a tiny shudder and gave myself a concussion-inducing mental slap. I had to stop thinking about him in such an erotic way. He wasn’t my type and I was certainly not his. I’d seen him in the gossip pages, and at awards events, with blonde bombshells who looked so perfectly put together, they could have been supermodels. Some of them are supermodels. Interestingly, Niamh is a blonde bombshell with her white-blonde hair and stunning figure. I haven’t cracked any mirrors lately but I can safely say I do not look anything like a supermodel. Not even close. I fall into the category of a mousy girl next door. Or maybe a girl down the road, so

all because he was fucking someone else. Headlights suddenly appeared in the distance, cutting through the heavy rain like a single bright knife. A motorcycle slowed down and pulled up behind my dead car. The rider turned off the engine but left the headlight on, illuminating the pouring rain. He swung one long leg over the bike and walked toward me through the downpour, with water streaming off his black leather jacket and helmet.

She opened her mouth to scream when the sound of motorcycle engines roared down the street. Six bikes appeared from around the corner moving fast. They weren't Vipers. The engines sounded different. More expensive. The bikes pulled up in a half circle around Maya and the three men and suddenly the air felt different. Heavier. The riders killed their engines and the silence that followed was worse than the noise. They climbed off their bikes and Maya saw their vests. Iron Wolves MC. She didn't know if that was better or worse than the Vipers. One of them walked forward and the others followed. He was tall with dark hair and the kind of face that probably got him anything he wanted. His leathe

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.

The blinding sunlight hit my eyes as I searched for a way to find Andrea. The real question I should've been asking myself was how could I find her? This was the Vice. . .She could be anywhere at this point, depending on when she left. Seeing some guy roll up to the traffic light with no one else in sight on his motorcycle, I ran towards him. "Hey, I need your help!" I screamed to him, waving for his help. He took off his helmet and looked at me. "Why, what seems to be the problem?" He asked. Parking his bike towards the sidewalk, I came up to him and pulled him close.

A little too fast for my liking. Fran was silent, and from the way he was driving, I didn’t want to distract him with questions. We quickly reached a corner, and as if by magic, we saw the motorcycle again, parked further ahead. It was a very modern white-and-black model that I barely got a good look at. The rider was still on it, wearing a helmet, and clearly a man based on his build. I looked at Fran, confused—it was time to ask. "Do you know that guy?"