GLIDED CAGE
They were rough, loud, and dangerous, but to Jax, they were just background noise.
"It’s not sitting right," Jax said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that commanded instant silence. He stood up, towering over his second-in-command. A few tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves of his black t-shirt—sharp, geometric designs that ran down his forearms like armor.
"Your old man called the shop," the other guy said, his voice dropping. "Said something about a dinner tonight. Said you better be in a suit, not leather."
Bab Populer