Rider Mc Novels & Stories

“His name is… Rider.” “Rider?” Mercy repeated the name, not just because she wanted to make sure she heard him correctly but also because she wanted to see how that name fit on her tongue. She reached into her mind for a memory, any memory, of someone by that name. But she came up empty. “Who is he?” “He’s from another pack… a nearby pack. One on the other side of the river.” “The river I came through to get into your pack lands?” August nodded. “He says that he bought you, and that your name is… Pandora.”

He stretched out his hand. “Alexander.” I shook it. “Jaxson.” The other twin followed, quieter. More guarded. His eyes assessed before he spoke. “Adrian.” I nodded in greeting. James looked between us, clearly pleased. “You guys would get along.” I raised an eyebrow slightly, unsure. “They’re bikers,” James added. That clicked something into place. Alexander’s eyes lit up with interest. “You ride?” “Yeah,” I said. “My dad owned an MC.”

Lilac said. Millie put down her memo pad and sat on her chair. “This country is huge—you’re aware of that, right?” Millie asked Emily and the latter nodded. “Blue Moon Pack is the strongest of all packs, including your recent pack,” she continued, “…our Alpha is the strongest among the alphas. Rumors said that other packs tried to get an alliance to bring down Drake. But they don’t know that Drake became stronger and bolder day by day as they tried to bring him down. However, even if the Alpha was strong, the border would collapse if the orders or the warriors lack training.”

“And you, D? How was your trip?” “Well, K, it was productive,” I smirked. I’d been playing house with the boss of the MC that runs the next city over, Ashworth, a man with the road name Blaze. Blaze is an absolute twat of a man, I wouldn’t have been there if I didn’t have to be. The truth of the matter is that we had reason to believe someone in my club was working with Blaze, and I needed to find out who and why they were willing to betray me.

His muscular chest was rapidly rising and falling, his neck already soaking wet with sweat. But I didn't listen. I went even faster, feeling the intense passion and the electricity running through the core of my body. The glass railings of the rooftop seemed to shake with every hit of our bodies. The sound of our skin slapping together in the middle of the quiet night was driving me crazy. "Matthew... ahh! Matthew!" I repeatedly moaned his name, no longer caring if Marky heard me, as long as I was enjoying his father so much! "You're driving me crazy, you witch..." he whispered tightly before lifting me up slightly and roughly pinning me against the cold glass railing while our unity never b

I screamed, but it was too late. Jax and Vulture grabbed me, hauling me off the bike as Ruan opened the throttle one last time, heading straight for the wall of Iron Disciples. He wasn't riding to win. He was riding to buy us time. As I was lowered over the side of the bridge toward the waiting boat, the last thing I saw was Ruan Montague, the King of the Phantoms, disappearing into a sea of green and black, his chrome revolver flashing in the moonlight like a dying star.

Music hums low from the speakers near the far end, drums layered under a steady beat, not loud enough to drown conversation but strong enough to keep the energy alive. It’s a celebration. It’s a mourning. Riders move through the crowd with bottles in their hands, leather jackets patched and polished, some laughing too loudly, others standing quieter near the memorial fire set off to the side where three helmets rest on a wooden table. Names carved into fresh wood. Flowers laid carefully. My chest tightens, but I don’t let it show. Ryder stands beside me, dressed in black as usual, sleeves rolled up, tattoos visible under the torchlight. His presence alone shifts the atmosphere. Conversations

“But maybe you can help me with something better.” The second biker chuckled. “You sure you’re in the right neighborhood for that?” “I’m exactly where I need to be.” Before they could say more, a low rumble filled the air — the sound of a bigger engine, deeper, meaner. The crowd around the lot shifted. A matte-black bike rolled in. Its rider dismounted slowly, pulling off his helmet. Jace Malone. Everyone called him Viper. President of the Vipers MC. Mid-thirties, maybe.

"Twelve months, performance reviewed at six. Rider access only, track, training facilities, scheduled media appearances as outlined in the standard rider agreement." A short silence. Petra looked up from her summary. "No brand ambassador component?" "No." "We usually offer the top tournament finisher an extended package," Raymond said carefully. "It's been our model for three years. Sponsors expect a certain level of rider involvement in." "The model is changing," I said pleasantly. "Rider contracts will reflect rider responsibilities going forward. If Mr. Blackwood wants an ambassador role he can earn that conversation at the six month review." Raymond and Petra exchanged the briefest look.

The final moment of the race was a contest between Lauren, Wanda, and another top rider. Lauren pushed herself to the front, her brows furrowed in fierce concentration. “She’s going to lose,” I whispered, smiling. Kendra looked puzzled. I knew every expression Lauren could make in every circumstance. She couldn’t hold on. No sooner had I spoken than Lauren faltered. Wanda crossed the line first, followed closely by the other rider. Lauren crashed heavily onto the ground, and the riders behind her surged forward, pushing her rank off the first page entirely.