Motorcycle Stories Novels & Stories

she said. The revving of an engine caught my attention and I pulled away from Hannah. As the two of us held hands, I felt someone wrap their arm around my shoulder. I looked up at my father as we all stared out toward the main road, watching as a couple of lamp posts flickered with the need for a new bulb. “What’s that racket?” Mom asked. “Motorcycles, I think,” Dad said. The rumbling got louder. Bigger. Stronger. I felt my ribcage shaking as a motorcycle peeled around the corner. There was a group of them. A large group of them. I counted four. Five. Seven. Eleven.

I might as well label myself as crazy too. I'm really sitting on Cedric's red motorcycle. He drives it carefully, rarely overtaking other cars or motorcycles, waiting for vehicles in front to turn if there's a speed bump or pothole, he doesn't press the brakes too hard. Occasionally, he asks how I am behind him.

Big fucker with a missing tooth. “You fight pretty good, son,” he said to me. “I’m not anybody’s son.” “You ride motorcycles, kid?” “Yeah,” I said. “Why? Wanna become friends and talk about them?” He laughed. “You hate the world, huh? That’s okay.” “Don’t hate the world. Just hate this fucking place.” “True. Can’t fault that.” He leaned up against the wall next to me. “You ever heard of the Sandcastles Motorcycle Club?”

She asked, hope lighting up her eyes. “No, so we can take it out on today's adventure.” Her bold front cracked into a full-blown incredulous look. “You must be crazy. I'm not getting on that bike.” “Why?” I lifted my brows. “Why???” She parroted in a horrified voice. “Do you know that the risk of dying from riding a motorcycle is 37 times more than from driving a car? I mean, I once saw a motorcycle collide with a car. The car driver only had a few scratches. The cyclist died on the spot.”

he told me like he never muttered the meanest statement a second ago. I smiled sadly before I got on the motorcycle and he drove away and the whole ride, I was so scared. He was very careless with how he rode the motorcycle. He made me to never want to be on a motorcycle ever again. I was too young to die.

CHAPTER 1 The Knights MC The Knights Motorcycle Club is made up of 18 guys retired from special forces, thier name is Knights MC. Due to their love of motorcycles and wanting to continue the team mentality like they had when they served, the club was born. They have three teams of six men each. They call them teams A, B, and C. Team A has Prez, Scribe, Cash, Doc, Chopper, and Data on it. Team B includes VP, Soldier, Rocket, Patch, Edge, and Hacker. Team C has Radar, Tracker, Ace, Navy, Jammer, and Gamer on it.

Observing her exhaustion, Tim, who was standing next to the motorcycle, spoke in a soothing tone, “You didn’t need to rush like that. I told you I’d wait.” Estelle extended her hand and gently touched the motorcycle. “I didn’t anticipate that you’re also a motorcycle enthusiast. Nowadays, many women enjoy riding bikes, often favoring lighter models. You’re quite unique in your preference. Among all the women I’ve known, you’re the only one who has a fondness for heavyweight motorcycles. Allow me to introduce this particular bike to you,” Tim offered. He retrieved his phone and read the information he had recently looked up on the Internet. Several minutes passed, and Tim eventually completed

“Let’s go?” “Sure.” I climbed on his bike, and he revved it up. It purred and roared off down the road. The trip to the pack house was thrilling as I rode with Knight on his bike while the guys used the SUV. “Maybe you could slow down a bit. Even if I heal fast, I don’t want to take any chances. Maybe it was just a mishap.” I was yelling. Even with my helmet on, I knew people still died in a motorcycle accident.

I teased, gesturing to the cars. “Those were brought here from other places. My dad was really into cars. Something he and my brother had in common,” Spencer said. “Not you?” I was surprised. Spencer looked around, then pointed to a bay at the back. “Those were mine.” Six motorcycles, all covered in bags, sat abandoned and neglected. “Daredevil type,” I said. “Good to see your death wish extends beyond challenging the king. Way to stay on brand.” He chuckled. “No more dangerous than the way my brother drives.”

It was easier to think of ending one's life than actually doing so. Weston unconsciously rode towards Cody's house. It was a childhood habit of his that whenever he was upset, he would land up there and spend a few days with him to feel energized again. However, in his dazed and heartbroken state, he was too absent-minded to notice a speed-breaker on the road and lost control of his speeding motorcycle. Before he could realize what was happening, in a split second, the motorcycle crashed onto a wall nearby and he was flung off with force. The moment he hit the ground the motorcycle fell upon his legs with full force, crushing them. The excruciating pain on his legs made him lose consciousnes