The Biker's Fate の小説・ストーリー

Their navigation systems told them the tunnel was a solid wall, and the open air over the bridge was a highway. Three of the bikers peeled off, soaring off the edge of the overpass, their screams lost in the wind as they plummeted into the under-city abyss. The others slammed into the confused traffic of the intersection, a chaotic pile-up of metal and fire. Silence returned to the van, broken only by the hum of the engine and the drip of sewage water from the tunnel ceiling. "We lost them," Marcus panted, the shield flickering and dying. He slumped against the wall, exhausted.

A couple of minutes later… Roslyn heard the roar of a bike engine and she knew she couldn’t be caught now. She was so close to finding her story, so she turned to hide but then she knew she couldn’t let the man get caught either. She knew the bikers that had come to the compound earlier. They were Hade’s Messengers. They were nothing but bad news any way you sliced it. She turned around to see the big guy lying there, still out cold. She couldn’t just walk away and leave him here.

The ride back feels charged with purpose, revenge within reach after so many years of waiting. But as we approach the compound gates, something settles over me. The yard lights blaze bright, and a cluster of the crew gathers around one of the bikes, heads bowed, expressions grim. Knox shuts off his engine first and lets out a low curse at the sight. Rico, one of our younger members, lies on the ground beside his motorcycle, throat slashed deep, blood pooled dark beneath him. His eyes remain open, staring blankly upward, and his cut has been deliberately sliced through in mockery.

He stood on his bike and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a calculative gaze as he thought of ways to overtake the riders in front of him. Amanda's breath became heavy, anxiety creeping through her veins as she rubbed her clammy hands together. “Which team do you think is gonna win, Amanda?” Charlotte asked, nibbling her lower lips with her gaze fixed on the bikers Amanda let out a cool breath and replied nervously, “I - I dunno. I'm just hoping Adrian makes it to the top five…” According to the game's rules, during the first round, all bikers from multiple clubs must race against each other at the same time.

"Sounds good, doesn't it?" I nodded. "It really does." The room fell quiet for a moment, this family is built from choice rather than blood, never in my wildest dreams had I imagined my life would end up here. There had been moments when I wanted to quit and moments when I had nearly given up yet somehow I had survived every one of them and standing here now, surrounded by the people I loved most, I finally understood why. For the first time, it didn't scare me rather it excited me because whatever came next, I wouldn't face it alone because I have my five hot bikers and together, there wasn't a damn thing we couldn't handle.

To the place where good man died for helping us. We arrived at dawn. Desert stretched endlessly. Red rock. Empty sky. Beautiful and terrible. Garrett's body lay where they left him. Beaten. Broken. Discarded like garbage. But his face—his face was peaceful. Like he accepted it. Like he died knowing it meant something. The bikers gathered around him. Silent. Respectful. Mourning their leader. Their brother. Their friend. Then they began the ritual. MC tradition. Honoring the fallen. Each biker placed something on Garrett's body. Patches. Coins. Tokens. Pieces of themselves. Pieces of history. Pieces of brotherhood.

“Before you find another tree to marry.” We take the safe route down. No showing off. No speed. Engines humming instead of roaring. The waterfall grows louder as we descend. Mist clings to the air. My adrenaline finally starts thinning, leaving behind a faint tremor in my hands. When we reach the bottom, my Jeep is gone. So are the girls. The guys are gathered around the mangled remains of my bike like it’s a crime scene. My bike lies twisted on the rocks — wrecked. Broken.

"Now." "What about Marcus?" Hammer asked. "Leave him. Let the police deal with it." I looked at Victor. "Can you ride?" "I can do anything." He stood shakily. "Let us get out of here." We mounted our bikes. All of us. Together. As we rode away from the garage, I looked back one last time. At the place where it all began. And where it finally ended. Marcus Bain was dead. His network destroyed. His threat neutralized.

The engine is still running. The black SUV behind us accelerated, headlights blinding through the broken glass. Two bikes appeared from the opposite lane, engines roaring like predators closing in for a kill. These are professionally organized. Not some random thugs preying on rich people. This one's here for a mission. To kill. I narrowed my eyes. Deluca never used bikes. Neither does my ex-business partner. Who the fuck are these people? “Shit…” Marcus muttered, still gripping his arm tightly. The biker on the left raised his arm. Grenade.