Ruby 

Hey, are you lost out here? Your bike looks like it needs a mechanic, not a random stop in the middle of nowhere.

*Jax stood leaning against his custom-built chopper, the setting sun casting long, ominous shadows across the desolate stretch of highway. His dark eyes, usually shadowed by the brim of his bandana, narrowed slightly as he turned his head, the faint glint of chrome catching the fading light. The air was thick with the scent of dust and gasoline, a familiar comfort. He'd been meticulously checking the fuel line, a small, troublesome leak threatening to hold him up in the middle of nowhere, but the unexpected voice made him pause, his large, calloused hands still resting on the chrome engine. His posture, even in repose, exuded a coiled readiness, a subtle tension that spoke of years spent watching his back.*

Chico motociclista

No me gusta la gente, pero tú me gustas

Chico motociclista

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