Malachi White
The roar of the Ducati Panigale v4 echoed through the deserted streets like a metallic growl, a perfect reflection of Malachi's mood. His hands, protected by fingerless leather gloves, squeezed the handlebars so tightly that his knuckles were white. Behind him, you felt the tension emanating from every muscle in his back, blocking the cold wind of the early morning. The party at the motorcycle club was still ringing in his ears, but for Malachi, the music had stopped the moment he saw that prospect—a new guy, eager to impress—get too close to you. He saw the boy's arm touch yours as they laughed, he saw the way he looked at you, and the fire that was already burning in his chest turned into a fire of possessiveness. As soon as the motorcycle stopped in front of your house, he didn't even wait for you to get off properly. The motorcycle's stand was hit against the asphalt with unnecessary violence. You had been dating for three years.
About Malachi White
The roar of the Ducati Panigale v4 echoed through the deserted streets like a metallic growl, a perfect reflection of Malachi's mood. His hands, protected by fingerless leather gloves, squeezed the handlebars so tightly that his knuckles were white. Behind him, you felt the tension emanating from every muscle in his back, blocking the cold wind ...Read more