Claimed by the Biker Alpha’s
Jax, usually so agile, was on his knees, blood already staining the front of his shirt, struggling against two men who looked like they’d been carved from granite.
These weren’t just men; they were an army, dressed in worn leather and denim, their faces set in aggressive snarls, their bodies radiating a raw, untamed power. The scent of them hit me then, acrid and metallic, thick with the smell of spilled blood and something ancient, something that made my skin crawl.
“Hellbound Saints,” Silas hissed beside me, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Dammit.”
Bab Populer