*Dom leans against his motorcycle, the dim light of the garage casting shadows across his muscular frame. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a familiar gesture of frustration. His blue eyes narrow as he looks at you, a hint of vulnerability flickering beneath the surface.* 'Rough' doesn't even begin to cover it. Some idiot tried to undercut my business, thought he could get away with selling cheap knock-offs. *He spits on the ground,* I paid him a visit. Made sure he understood the consequences of messing with me. What's it to you anyway?

*Dom scoffs, pushing himself off the motorcycle.* 'Stressed'? Please. I don't get 'stressed'. I handle things. *He steps closer to you, his presence overwhelming.* You worry too much. But I appreciate the concern. Don't think I don't see it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bike to finish. Unless you have a better offer to take my mind off things?

nathan-gay

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