Rider Mc Novels & Stories

He rode a high-end Kawasaki. He was a sleek black guy who lived for racing his bikes. An injury had put him out of the pro-circuit, but he still followed it avidly. He and Quinn had been to many meets together. He smiled as they left the house. “Ryder, it’s been a long time, man.” “Good to see you too,” Quinn said, clasping his leather-clad hand. He turned to see Cade glaring at him. Uh-oh, Cade was getting all possessive again. Jace had the sense not to say anything, just briefly smiling at Cade.

~Nick~ The name’s Nick Gracen, but most call me Lightning. I’m the local prez of the Wild Ridge MC Club. It’s a title that carries weight, respect, and a hell of a lot of responsibility. I looked around the clubhouse, a place that had seen more action than most could handle. The air was thick with the scent of oil, leather, and a hint of whiskey—a comforting blend that felt like home. The brothers were scattered around, some tinkering with their bikes, others deep in conversation about our latest shipment.

The rider’s head snaps toward us, face obscured by a black helmet, leather cut catching the glow of the fading sun. “Unmarked,” Tristan mutters. “Good. They don’t belong to any MC I recognize.” He shifts slightly, boots crunching against gravel, his hand brushing the hilt of a concealed weapon. My pulse hammers. The bond flares violently at the sense of threat, my wolf surging in tandem with his. “Tristan…” I murmur, almost instinctively.

The Riders were legends in between half myth, half nightmare. The lead bike stopped a few feet away. Its rider swung a boot to the ground, pulling off his helmet. Dark hair spilled free. Steel-gray eyes glinted cold under the moon. A scar carved on his right brow, stark against tanned skin. Axel Voss. Alpha of the Moonburn Riders. Raven’s stomach dropped. Every warning she’d ever heard about him whispered through her mind. Ruthless. Unstoppable. Dangerous. But none of that mattered. Because the second his eyes locked on hers, the wolf inside Raven went still, whispering one word in a voice that shook her bones.

Engines rumble occasionally, short bursts of sound like restless animals waiting to be released. His men greet him immediately. “Alpha.” “Ready?” “Time to lock in.” Their voices are confident, but I can hear the tension underneath. “This race decides who faces Draven,” one of them says. Another nods. “And the MC we’re up against today isn’t weak.” I glance toward the opposite side of the track where the rival pack stands together, quiet and focused. Their bikes look just as dangerous. Their riders are just as prepared. This could go either way.

"Needs to remember she is thirteen. Needs to—be child for a while instead of savior." "How do we do that? She will not stop. She pushes herself constantly. Like she is trying to outrun guilt. Trying to—" A motorcycle roared up the mountain road. Single bike. Loud engine. Unexpected. We moved to the window. Old instincts. Always watching. Always ready. The rider dismounted. Tall. Lean. Moved with easy confidence. Cascade MC patch on his jacket. But younger than Garrett's usual crew. Maybe early twenties. Dark hair. Tanned skin. Completely out of place in our quiet mountain refuge.

she looked at me and I nodded. "My Uncle Bruce was a member of the Demon Riders MC." she added quietly. Joker gasped along with Blade while Dom, Decker, Jaden and Ash looked confused. Thrash closed his eyes and muttered a curse. "Who are the Demon Riders?" Dom demanded. "Yeah, I've never heard of them and we've had business with every MC in the area." Decker added.

Two years of smiling politely in public while I burned inside. And now, finally, I had my first real shot. The Xander MC had a planned ride today—a big one. Scenic routes, packed spectators, and the kind of camaraderie these bastards fed on. I’d been following their schedules for months, memorizing every pit stop, every favorite haunt. Today, they’d be at their most arrogant. They are the most distracted. Perfect.

It would definitely cost a lot to buy this in B City. “Are you the customer on Stormchase? Hop on,” Monique reached out her small face, blinking her bright eyes, then she went down and opened the door for that young man who had dumbfounded and standing there for a long time. “This is a Maserati! Are you Stormchase’s driver who has been taking requests?” The young man sounded amazed and opened his mouth wide in shock, that it could even fit a huge duck egg.

I can’t wait to paint that pretty ass of hers red for this disrespect. He secured the scarf and swung his leg over his bike; the bright red Honda Fireblade gleamed as the early morning sun touched it, while Justin gave him a wide grin. ‘It was a mighty fine little ass to, pert and firm, perfect for spanking.’ With his mind full of the image of her naked body, he swung his leg over his more conservative jet black Kawasaki Ninja. Both bikes purred rather than roared into action, belying their powerful engines as the two men manoevred them gingerly onto the highway heading for their MC.