The Biker's Fate Novels & Stories

Finn told me, and I don't know how I somehow relate it to my own story. “I can see that this is going to be much more interesting than”, I replied, and in the next minute, a bullet was fired into the sky. The competitors moved the bike and the crowd cheered. I looked at the wide screen the moment they began to move. Everyone was full of anticipation. I don't exactly know what was going on but the guy with number 2 on the back of his shirt was actually faster than all of them. He managed to dodge their attack and also knock out three players when they finished the first round.

THE BIKER KING CALLS Despite how dangerous the atmosphere of the room felt, dinner was… quiet. Arthur stretched subtly in his seat, looking over at the plates set neatly on the long wooden table stretching through the center of the room. A single overhead light glinted off the rim of his glass as he sipped on his wine. Slowly, he looked around at the plain walls and the men standing at the dark corners of the room. A few had their arms folded, others rested their hands behind their backs. Every time they moved, their leather jackets would lift, revealing guns tucked into waistbands and knives strapped to their thighs. None of them spoke. None moved unless Victor told them to.

“What’s your name?” He hesitates, like he’s deciding whether I’m allowed to know it. “Jude.” “Nice name,” I lie without blinking. The corner of his mouth twitches. Is that… a smile? I keep going. “So, Jude. This Reaper of yours. Your boss?” He tilts his head instead of answering. Then I see it. The motorcycle. My stomach tightens and I rub my wrist again. Motorbikes have always meant bad things for me. Broken doors. Raised voices. Leather jackets and fear. Last night, the alcohol made me brave. This morning, the nightmares reminded me who I really am.

"Get the bikes. The North Ridge trail. We stay on our side of the wire." "Of course, Alpha," Ezra bowed his head, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a flash of triumph that should have set off every alarm in my head. We rode hard. The roar of a dozen Harleys tore through the midnight mist of the Black Fang forest. I was at the front, pushing my bike to the absolute limit, the engine screaming as I leaned into the sharp, gravel-strewn turns of the ridge. Behind me, Kai, Ezra, and ten of our most lethal enforcers followed like a funeral procession of chrome and leather.

“I need space, Jax. Please. Everything is happening too fast. I almost got taken. You almost lost control of your pack because of me. I just… I need a minute.” He stepped back. Anger flashed again, mixed with something sharper. “Fine,” he bit out. “I’ll give you all the space you want.” He turned on his heel. His shoulders stayed rigid. He walked straight into the trees without looking back. His partial shift faded as he moved. Soon the blizzard swallowed his figure. I stood there alone. The clearing felt huge. Three dead bikers. Two abandoned motorcycles tilted in the snow. Blood everywhere. The metallic smell mixed with exhaust art...

the commentator said. The crowd turned silent, all eyes on the two bikers on the screen, ignoring those who stopped halfway and others who were barely catching up to them. Dexter overtook Rider K half a mile in and the crowd roared in screams, but before they could relax, Rider K was close to the finish line, Dexter a few paces behind him. I was focused on watching Rider K. My eyes moved from his well tinted helmet to the gloves on his hand as he rolled the throttle of his bike. His movement was steady, precise and relaxed, like he knew he had this in the bag.

Now that was the Ty I knew and loved. "We still haven't seen him yet but if you tracked him here and that book ties in then there are only so many places around here he could be hiding out. We'll get to the bottom of it. Just one more player, he should be here..." Just then Chaz opened up the gate and a whole fucking crew of bikers came riding in. The leader dismounted off his custom made top of the line ride with his wife's name emblazoned on the side and headed for us. One smooth motherfucker this one, and the shades just tipped that shit over the edge.

Juniper shouted. The bikers spread out, one pulling up alongside Adrian’s side of the SUV, another pressing close to Juniper’s door. The leader—wearing a skull-painted helmet—grinned before pulling out a sawed-off shotgun. Adrian jerked the wheel, slamming the SUV into the biker’s side. The man lost control, his bike skidding out from under him. “One down,” Adrian muttered. Another biker pulled up—this one with a pistol aimed directly at Juniper.

If he saw me talking to another man, the bruises on my body were going to multiply. The bruises from last time were still yellow and fading. I wasn't ready get into any more trouble. “She asked you a question,” the trucker sneered, taking a step toward me. “Or are you too stupid to—” The biker moved faster than I thought possible. One moment he was feet away, the next he had the trucker pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against his throat. “Apologize to the lady.” “I ain’t apologizing for shit,” the trucker choked out. “That clumsy bitch—”