The Night Rider Motorcycle Novels & Stories

He said while grinning. My heart was pounding. He was teasing me. "Fine! Take me home." I rolled my eyes and pouted. He chuckled. We went out and walked towards his motorcycle after Kyle made sure my car was parked correctly. "Wait. You're making me ride in this?" I asked, pointing at his motorcycle. "Well, I didn't use a car princess so yes you'll ride in this. Come on and wear this." He said while handing me his helmet. He rode and started his bike's engine. It was a Ducati Desmosedici D16RR NCR M16 which cost around $235,000. This is one of the most expensive motorcycles in the world. Did he get rich in just a year? I wondered.

He asked. “Sure. I don’t mind it.” She replied. The guy sat with her and started a conversation with her. She learned that his name was Damon. He was part of a biker gang called Lobo's. He had a low-rider cruiser made by Harley Davidson. When he learned that she rode an H2R Ninja, he was in awe. It’s rare when you find a girl, gorgeous and sweet, loving fast bikes. She enjoyed that evening having an innocent, but simple conversation with Damon. He didn’t know it, but he helped her forget about her problems for a moment. It was one of the best nights she endured since the second she left home.

It would take Laura several days to get back to him and Tynan used that time to do his stealthy research on her background and past using the information he learned about her. The first thing Tynan learnt about was the type of bike Felix was. A Honda Rally was a dual-sport motorbike that could be used legally on the streets and off-road. It could also be used to enter some motorcycle races. Laura was right about it being on the smaller side but when Tynan took his time to dig into the technical details of this bike, he understood why Laura loved it so much. In fact, the bike resembled the owner. For something so small, it was very powerful and it reminded him about the little spitfire inside

My eyes searched the many vehicles for the nice black motorcycle I saw when I left for school earlier that day. It had moved since I last saw it. No longer right up front, but off to the side with the other finished cars and bikes. Rick once told me that a row of finished cars represented his money. When the owner came to collect, so would he. The motorcycle was black all over except for a silver plate that read Kawasaki and the grey letters on the side that read Ninja. It stood apart from the other bikes on account of how clean and new it looked.

"Just watch and learn how a real racer handles business." I clicked off the comm and turned my attention back to the line of riders. Paxton was three bikes down from me on his black Ducati, and I could feel his eyes on me even through his helmet visor. The tension between us was electric, crackling in the air like lightning before a storm. Tonight ends everything, I thought, revving my engine and feeling the raw power of my Kawasaki Ninja H2 respond instantly. After tonight, there won't be any question about who runs this scene.

Big bully Ben was just catching up to him outside the bus, ready to grab him by his bag when the sound of a smooth running engine suddenly filled the vicinity. The whole of North Atlanta High, including Nat and Cassie, had to stop and marvel at the motor bike that rolled into the school before stopping in front of the bus. "Who is that?" gasped Cassie, mesmerized. They watched the rider slowly get up from the bike—a red Ducati Monster 795. He was clad in a classic red leather jacket and blue jeans then stepping on the ground with black boots. The rider went on to take off the black helmet, revealing a boy with thick black hair which thinned out from the sides of his square head down to the s

He took a deep breath, ready to shout, to charge into the teeth of the trap. A new sound cut through the night—the high-revving snarl of a powerful motorcycle, echoing off the canal walls. It came from the modern city side of the bridge, behind Kaine. A single headlight speared through the gloom, blinding. The bike, a black, sleek machine, shot onto the bridge, its back tire sliding on the wet stones as it skidded to a stop between Kaine and the far end. The rider was clad in black leather, helmet visor down. In his hand was not a gun, but a cylindrical object. He raised it and fired into the air with a soft thump.

The underground circuit was alive tonight—rubber burning against concrete as the crowd buzzed with anticipation. I pulled up on shadowfang, my custom matte—black ducati panigale v4 with red accents. Crimson underglow lit the street beneath it, red rims spinning like fire. A wolf fang etched near the tank, and a nitrous boost sat hidden under the seat. This bike was tailored for one thing— Dominance. I climbed my bike, pulling off my helmet— the chill of the night slammed in on my face as I shook my hair. My eyes swept across the circuit. This place was like a second haven but I didn't come for fans of fame. I always came for the rush.

The road ahead curved hard to the right and far deep at the head of the curve stood the infamous night bar of The Sons of Darkness. As we rode nearer, I saw that it was a very big bar with a petrol station right before it. Motorcycles were parked in a long straight line, side by side, their shining rims and silver polished engines gleaming under the crescent moon. There were over sixty parked outside. It seemed like it was a full house tonight. I pulled my bike to a stop and parked alongside the other bikes. Miles and Jamal did the same. “I am beginning to think that this may have been a bad idea,” Miles said as he looked towards the bar. There were people outside with bottles in their hand,

By the fifth morning, I finally snap. At four-thirty in the morning, I bolt upright in bed, staring into the darkness of my room. Sleeping has been impossible again. My thoughts are too loud; my chest is too tight. I need air. I need movement. I need freedom. Before I can think better of it, I am already out of bed. Twenty minutes later, I am standing inside my garage dressed in black bike leathers and boots, staring at the motorcycle parked beneath the dim overhead lights. My Yamaha R7. Icon Blue paint gleaming softly under the fluorescent lighting. God, I have missed this machine.