Straight Jacket Novels & Stories

He also wore a black hooded jacket with a high collar that shields his neck from the cold. The jacket had zippers on the sleeves and pockets on the sides, which provided easy access to his weapons. Underneath the jacket, he has a tight black shirt that clings to his chest and abdomen. The shirt has long sleeves that cover his arms to the wrist. His pants are also black and are made of a flexible material that allows him to move with ease. They have a slim fit and reach down to his ankles.

This was a huge event and a lot of eyes from the high-society community would be on me. Christina shook her head. “No good. I took a look at it yesterday. The suit jacket is a cap sleeve bolero style. We’re going to have to cover these in makeup. Is it tender?” I winced as she pressed against the area. “Ouch. Yeah, a little,” I replied. “But not to move it. I should be fine as long as no one touches it.” “Let’s hope so,” Christina replied. “I don’t want to be the one to try and explain these.”

It had a certain edge to it, a boldness that was undeniably her style. “This jacket,” she began, turning to face the board. “Is made for the woman who wants to make a statement. It’s versatile, comfortable, and high fashion. The asymmetry represents modernity. The bold color accents convey confidence. This is the kind of piece that sets the tone for an entire collection.”

I violently hurled my phone against the wall and slumped deep into the leather sofa. After dark,like a masochist,I played the estate's security footage on a loop. Suddenly,a frame caught my eye.Lila sneaking out and throwing a men's leather jacket into the backyard dumpster. I rushed downstairs and dug out that jacket. The moment I grabbed it,the pungent scent of cigars and custom cologne hit my face. It was Marcus's jacket—the son of the boss of the Tomahawk Bratva,our syndicate's biggest rival on the West Coast.

He buttoned it up methodically, his long fingers moving with practiced ease. Next came a charcoal gray suit jacket, tailored to perfection. He slid his arms into the sleeves, adjusting the shoulders until it sat just right. The trousers followed, their pleats sharp and creases crisp. He fastened a black leather belt around his waist, adding a touch of formality to the ensemble.

Donald bought himself a cheap $1 new outfit. His long-sleeved, hide jacket covers him to well below his waist and is tightly tied with string at the bottom right side. The sleeves of his jacket are wide and reach down to below his hands, they're decorated with several thread linings at the sleeve ends. The jacket has a rectangular neckline which reveals part of the rather simple shirt worn below it and is worn with a thick rope belt, which is held together by an ornate pin.

SIX MONTHS LATER “Sofia! Another order just came in!” I lifted my head from the paperwork spread across my desk and saw Jane sliding a fresh order form toward me with a smug smile on her face. “What is it this time?” I asked, already suspicious. Jane leaned against the counter, folding her arms. “Another pink leather jacket.” I groaned dramatically. “I can hear that grin on your face, you can stop now.” “I told you,” she said proudly. “Those jackets were going to sell like crazy.”

Draped over his broad shoulders was a sleek, charcoal grey jacket, impeccably fitted to accentuate his masculine frame. Beneath the jacket, a crisp white dress shirt hugged his torso. The shirt's collar, perfectly pressed and secured with a silver tie pin, framed his chiselled jawline, adding a touch of refinement to his already distinguished presence. His pants, a matching shade of charcoal grey, hung effortlessly from his waist, tailored to perfection and embracing his legs with precision. Overall, this man epitomized timeless style and sophistication, leaving an indelible impression on all who had the privilege of witnessing his debonair presence in formal attire.

"I saw you naked... and you're so hot... I'm just being awkward. I'll shut up." I couldn't help but laugh. Jax was rarely thrown off; I loved that I had that kind of power over him sometimes. I pulled my festive sweatshirt over my head. "You can turn around now. I'm clothed." He turned around slowly as if he didn't believe me. Once he realized I was, indeed, clothed, his eyes hovered on my sweatshirt. It had a portrait of Santa holding a white claw on it. "Santa Claws?" Jax asked, "Where did you get that?"

High above, on the rooftop of a towering building, Isaac stood concealed in the shadows, a silhouette against the city lights. Dressed in a meticulously tailored three-piece black suit, Isaac blended seamlessly with the urban backdrop. The suit, though refined, bore the subtle creases of countless missions, a testament to the life he led. The jacket hugged his frame, hinting at a well-maintained physique, while the pressed trousers elegantly met polished black leather shoes that barely made a sound on the concrete surface.