Novel & Cerita Bekas Luka Di Wajah Pria

His personality was just like that. “You cried?” I squinted my eyes to recognize the man who was resting with his arms crossed to the bricked wall. He was looking at me but I can’t recognize who he was because of the pure lighting he was in, all I could see was his dark silhouette. “Ah, yes, why did I ask the obvious? I heard you crying earlier and your cheeks were too puffy and red.” The man put his hand down and started walking in front of me, I recognized it was Lukas without his cloak, he wore biker pants and a black jacket that complements well with his emo look.

"My name's Richard, what's your name?", Richard asked politely. He looked into his eyes, it was a reflection of his emotions, the pain, the agony, everything. "My name's Luke", Luke replied as he shook his hands with Richard. Richard could see the pain in his eyes, obviously his cheeks were burning, his jaw and his head was aching and his body hurt him badly, but he tried keeping a smiley face "Come on! Let's go get some treatment for your face", Richard said.

There was nothing to be gained from that skirmish. "About six minutes, Master Lukas." Zeke replied to his former student. "Excellent!" Lukas said and sat down in a lotus position. He was a strange image to look at. His legs were short and unnatural whereas his bulging back was bowed as a drawn bow. He seemed like a person carrying a mountain because his protruding back rose over his head. That was not counting the weird shape of his face. He was akin to an unfinished painting left by its maker, raw and purely offensive to the eyes. Lukas was indeed not a pleasant sight to see.

His heart, which wasn’t supposed to feel anything became restless. Meanwhile, Amethyst held her breath when she saw his pale mien. His face was mutilated badly, leaving him with a crooked nose, battered lips, sunken cheek as if someone scooped out the flesh and none-exist eyebrows. One of his eyes was blind as there was only a grey iris there. A scar, a remnant of a deep wound, ran from the left side of his temple to the lower right side of his jaw. Suddenly, Luveas heard her sniffling. He lifted his face and was alarmed to see her crying. “What is it?” he asked in alarm. He was worried that she regretted looking at his ugly face.

His photos all pasted on the internet and I couldn't be much glad that every caption talked about how great of a man he was. He was beautiful. He was fair, almost pale white. His eyes were dark brown and his jawline and stubble trimmed beard gave his face warmth. He had a smile on in one of the photos. His smile looked genuine, wrinkling his skin and warming his face. Luca and I thought we’d need to find him, but no. He's dead. I would have loved to meet him, to call him Dad, but now he's no more, and I would have to accept that.

Hayden said without replying to Luka’s question. “You think this old man can’t help you up?” Luka asked with a snort. Luka was probably in his late forties or fifties. His hair was almost completely white, and he had many wrinkles and lines on his face. However, he was probably one of the buffest men I have ever seen in real life.

She had squeezed her eyes shut, and now was peeking at what she had done. Standing on his knees before her, the leather jacket-clad speaker looked at her with recognition and shock. He had pretty light green eyes, open wide with shock. A thin red line ran from the corner of his mouth across his lips diagonally up the left corner of his nose, ending just under the edge of his right eye. It was imperfect, where his face dipped at the nose was unscathed, but the damage was an unmistakable single line. He let out an unattractive shriek in pain as blood started to paint down half of his face. His scream had surprised her and she took one staggering step back.

“Does Tomas have anything to do with this?” I asked him softly, and he cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, but then he shook his head in a no. “I don’t think so, when I met him, the man was more frightened than angry. I think this new guy has something against him.” He said, and he barely finished and Rocco was back with his cell phone still in his hand. “Doctor Luka said that he knows about him, he was just admitted. He said that after the thorough check and examination, the man was ok. He had some broken ribs, bruises, and a mild concussion. In conclusion, he is perfectly fine.”

She cries, sobs wracking through her body. I glance over at Beckett. He's been pierced by something. A bunch of torn, bloodied pieces of cloth surround him, showing that the woman, this Ursula, removed his makeshift tourniquet to better look at his wounds. His wound is still wide open; his body's natural ability to heal itself has done nothing to mend the wound back together. "Please help him." Ursula cries, grabbing at Luka. "I can't," Luka replies, looking over Beckett's wounds as his eyes filled with despair. "I'm not that kind of God."

Do all Mafiosos look this unbothered when asleep? I leaned in a little to inspect his face. His beard was properly trimmed into shape, and his eyebrows were on-fleek. I had never seen a Mafioso with no facial scars. Adonis had one, and even my brother did—a tiny one on the side of his forehead, but De Luca’s face was unmarked. Without the Omerta tattoo and the brooding expression, he would look like any other normal man.