Motorcycle Stories Novels & Stories

He announced and Suddenly loud beating drums rang out as the huge gate that was opposite where we were standing began opening with a creaking sound. Our gaze darted to the gate and there, we saw two handsome motorcycles. The motorcycle on the left had the designs of a cheetah and I believe it belonged to Ace while the one on the right had a dripping blood design on motorcycle's body and I also guesses that it might be the bike he kept for me but I didn't like either of them. No motorcycle could ever beat my Wolf Bike. He was the best out of a million bikes. Plus I couldn't trust Ace. He might have tampered with the engines of the motorcycle or given me a low powered bike that wouldn't give m

I don't know how I can get them to trust me. I stepped out of her house, just to get some fresh air until something shiny caught my attention. But once my eyes landed on the most amazing thing I had ever seen; it was more than just shiny, the beautiful beast that lay before me was a Ducati Diesel 1260. It's literally one of the best motorcycles ever, this is Dawn's. Whenever my uncle would come to the palace when I was young, he used to teach me and Malcom the basics since he had a motorcycle of his own.

A man on a motorcycle was passing an eighteen-wheeled truck carrying sheet metal when one of the sheets shifted of and fell off the side of the lorry, neatly cutting off the motorcyclist's head. His headless body continued on its route, overtaking the truck. The truck driver saw the headless biker overtaking and immediately had a heart attack, severing his truck off the road into a ravine. I don't own any of this stories. I found them in some creepy books. I'm thinking of writing my own scary stories, but not anytime soon.

Dad still didn't look at me. Michael couldn't share a smoke without sharing stories of some of the close calls he'd had on bikes over his long years. The conversation took on the flavor of a lecture about bike safety. I kept my features pleasant, nodded respectfully at the right times. I could do this. Be a man. I groaned internally. After stories hi-lightning the dangers of riding a motorcycle, there were other stories of how his bikes had saved him on a few occasions. Michael had lived an adventurous life in his time. Some of the stories were intriguing. I found myself asking the occasional question or making comments.

The crowd noise dropped by several degrees. The Hayabusa. Suzuki's 1999 superbike, six units produced globally, five of them damaged beyond recovery. One remaining. The single most sought-after collector's motorcycle in the world, and the one that every serious rider with serious money had tried and failed to locate for the better part of two decades. The owner had no public profile. No known contacts. The bike existed in the category of things that people in this world spent years chasing and never found. Zachary caught the helmet one-handed without looking at it.

How did two wolves need all this space? I took a staircase down to the ground floor and followed the sound of engines. The garage. I pushed through a set of double doors and stopped dead. The garage was massive, easily the size of a warehouse. And it was filled with motorcycles. Dozens of them. All custom, all beautiful, all perfectly maintained. My fingers itched to touch them. I walked slowly down the rows, examining each bike. A Harley Davidson. A Ducati. A custom chopper with flames painted on the side. A vintage Indian that must have cost a fortune.

He bought me a handmade silver bracelet with a tiny motorcycle charm that made my heart lift in delight. “You’re such a…..,” I teased, but I let him clasp it on my wrist anyway. “Only for you,” he shot back with that rare, crooked grin. After that we drove out to the lake, ate greasy burgers and fries on the hood of the truck, and skipped stones across the water like kids. He told me stupid stories about the club….the harmless ones, mostly about Kaleb falling off his bike during a rookie run. I laughed until my sides hurt.

"That's a beautiful motorcycle you have there too." "Thanks, man. We're on a weekend ride through the mountains," another biker said, also coming over to shake Liam's hand. "Nothing beats the freedom of the open road." Liam shook hands with a couple more of the bikers and exchanged a few friendly words about cars and motorcycles. Even though he was feeling very stressed about his personal problems, he tried to be polite and social with the strangers. "Well, I hope you all have a safe trip," Liam said before walking toward the restaurant entrance.

I asked. “Yep. Just some club stuff,” he said. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about but I do have to go.” “I understand. Ride safely, okay?” His crisp blue eyes connected with mine, and I held my breath because he was studying me, something else that all his brothers shared. His eyes raked down my body, taking me in as he revved his motorcycle to life. My nipples were standing at attention behind my bra as he straddled his motorcycle. I thought about what it would be like to take him right there on his bike and to suck on his cock until he came down my throat as his legs hummed with the engine underneath his body.

Tears rolling down my cheeks uncontrollably. “She was lying on the side of the road. She’d been hit—hard—by a motorcycle going at a ridiculous speed. It wasn’t a soft hit. It wasn’t a mistake. It was the Xander Motorcycle Club racing on the road with no care for human life. And the worst part? The bikers didn’t stop. They didn’t check. They just left her there.” A tremor ran through me. Even now it felt unreal. “The rain started shortly after,” I whispered. “It washed her blood along the gutter. I dialed the ambulance with shaking hands. I kept praying she would talk to me, open her eyes, anything. But at the hospital… everything crashed.”