Dante Dmc 6 Mga Nobela at Kwento

I push open the door and instantly regret it. Dante is in the center of the training mat, running a hand through his tousled messy hair. He’s shirtless, with a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his waist. A choked sound almost escapes the back of my throat at the sight of all that tattooed skin. He’s covered in ink from his collarbone down to the waistband of his sweatpants. And he’s fit. Eight-pack abs, well-defined chest, and broad, muscled shoulders. My eyes follow the V that disappears behind his waistband along with his ink. A wave of heat crashes through me.

He checked his tires, tightened his helmet strap, and waited for his name to be called, certain that the worst thing that could happen to him tonight was finishing somewhere outside the top three. --- The staging area smelled like gasoline and hot rubber, the specific industrial scent of machines built for speed rather than comfort. Dante stood beside the car Marcello's people had assigned him — sleek, dark, deliberately unremarkable from the outside, the kind of vehicle designed to draw no attention until the moment it needed to outrun everything around it.

I don't know how long I stood there watching but I flickered the second I felt someone's hand rest on my shoulder. “An amazing sight to watch, huh?” He asked. I turned only to see a huge dude in his late twenties, Huge with brown hair, his face was expressionless as though he carried the burden of the entire world on his shoulder. “Indeed amazing.” I complimented. A crooked smile quickly curled around his face, “I'm Dante, second in command at DeathHowl Riders MC.” He said, extending a hand. “Xavier Grey, nice to meet you Dante.” I said, extending a hand as well for a handshake.