Jericho
Not a single one.
"Cub?" Ace slotted himself between me and the woman beside me at the bar.
I was begrudgingly forced to retreat from my blissful thoughts and focus on my surroundings. Sweeping my gaze down Ace's frame, I found him clad in a black t-shirt that hugged his body like a second skin, black jeans which were shredded at the knees, and combat boots. His hands were protected by leather gloves and his facial features were set grimly—as if he had a feeling someone would be dying tonight.
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