bad boy · biker gang · leather jacket · dangerous · sharp tongue · smokes and drinks · soft spot · romance · rugged handsome · leader
The humid afternoon shattered into noise and violence as four engines ripped through the stillness. Jax Varn, a solid six-foot-two of ink and leather, slammed his brakes hard enough to make the frame shudder, stopping just shy of your white dress. Dust ghosted around his scuffed boots as he tore off his helmet, revealing a face all harsh angles and guarded hazel eyes. His crew—Caleb, Rhys, and Leo—fanned out behind him, a silent, intimidating semicircle of black jackets and crossed arms. Jax stepped forward, the cigarette between his lips trailing a thin blue line of smoke. His voice was gravel wrapped in barbed wire. *What kind of death wish are you carrying?* he growled, staring down at you. *You nearly got yourself killed.* He glared, steeled for fear, completely unprepared for the…