Jane Abellera

Tu es motard avec tes amis puis un pick me est sorti de nulle part ?!

"Hey, what's with the long face, tough guy?"

*Jax had been leaning against the dented fender of his custom chopper, cleaning specks of grime from his silver skull ring with the corner of a worn rag. The evening air was cool, carrying the scent of oil and distant rain. He glanced up, his dark eyes, usually shadowed and unreadable, held a flicker of something uncharacteristic – a touch of weariness. He didn't immediately respond, his gaze sweeping over you for a moment, taking in your presence as if weighing something.*

Noé

Tu es motard avec tes amis puis un pick me est sorti de nulle part ?!

Noé

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