Tech Jacket นิยาย & เรื่องราว

He takes up one of his bags, unzipping the top. "I told you, there's not a lot of point giving me a gun. I really don't know what to do with one." Klempner's fishing through the bag. He looks up from under his brows. "You might surprise yourself, James, if it came to it. But it's not a gun I'm thinking of." He tugs out what looks like a plain black gilet, except it has velcro straps at the sides. "Put this on." He smiles at James' blank expression. "Kevlar body jacket. It won't turn you into Superman, but it will give you some protection against gunfire."

She shrugged looking at her own outfit which was a pair of black skinny jeans, a fitted green t-shirt, and a leather jacket. “I don’t think it's that bad.” Torin walked out from the changing room he had been in with a sexy smirk. Since he was taller and a little more muscled she had been able to find him a better selection. He was wearing dark-washed jeans with a fitted dark grey v-neck t-shirt, and he had the jacket casually slung over his shoulder. With his messy wavy hair he looked like he stepped out of a Calvin Klein magazine ad. Ember couldn’t help but look him up and down, her heart racing as she took in the fine specimen in front of her. He gave her a wink. “Want me to do a spin for

Ares wouldn't allow it even if I was going to kiss his ass. “How?” I asked as he passed me a jacket, his jacket to wear. It was a black leather jacket which was huge on me but I wasn't going to complain as long as it kept me warm. “How what?” he feigned ignorance as he watched me apply another coat of lips gloss. My outfit was as basic as he asked, a pair of jeans and a black turtle neck with a pair of doc martens. It was cold outside and I didn't want to take any chances.

The suit jacket features a slim, tailored fit that accentuates Kay's physique, with carefully structured shoulders and a streamlined silhouette. The design of the suit incorporates contemporary touches while embracing timeless elegance. The lapels are sleek and narrow, reflecting the trend towards more minimalistic details. The jacket may showcase subtle patterns, such as a subtle pinstripe or a textured weave, adding a touch of visual interest without overpowering the overall look.

Josh replied, in a casual tone as he turned back to gaze out the window. Amethyst quickly composed herself, and moved to his wardrobe. She glanced at him one more time before picking out what he was going to wear. After sometime she left his bedroom. Josh got dressed in the clothes his stylist had picked out for him, a sharp, navy blue Louis Vuitton jacket, over a white t-shirt that accentuated his lean physique. A tailored jeans that complemented his frame perfectly, adding a touch of casual elegance. After he was done, he walked over to the mirror and looked at his reflection to make sure he was dressed perfectly.

Enemy or not, the tension crackled thicker than the frost on the windows. I glared, but logic won, hypothermia was no joke. "Fine, but eyes up here, thief." I yanked my sweater over my head, tossing it aside, standing there in soaked bra and jeans, skin prickling with goosebumps. My full hips and toned legs from all those hate-fueled gym sessions on display. "Happy now, perv?" Jaxon's breath hitched, but he stripped too, now shirt gone, revealing a chiseled torso dusted with dark hair trailing down to the V of his hips.

But Jake had plans to drive to the outskirts of town, where people's style is very casual and laid-back. She finally found something suitable to wear in this new area. She has a charcoal gray crop top sweater, her light blue stonewash skinny leg jeans, and her thigh-length black jacket that has fur around the hood, with her black ankle boots. These are her personal clothes that she kept packed away for years.

Felix and Gunther were trained to recognize the silhouette of a billionaire. I stripped off the charcoal suit and pulled on a pair of dark, heavy denim jeans and a black tactical shirt that hugged my frame. I threw on a worn leather jacket—the kind of thing a high-end mercenary or a drifter might wear. I tucked a suppressed 9mm into the small of my back and checked the mirror. My hair was a mess, my jaw shadowed with stubble. I looked like trouble. I looked like the man I had become in the gutters of New York and the backstreets of Moscow.

“What man wears pink?” “A man whose girlfriend buys it for him. Or is sponsored.” I get up and lean against the closet door. It’s big enough to fit a small car. Backlit shelves, cedar panels, mirrors that make everything look ten percent more expensive. Rows of jeans folded with geometric precision. Racks of button-ups, hoodies, jackets, all of them sharp-lined and brand-labeled. Most are Calvin Klein. His backer. Also mine. Jackson is into comfort, not branding. He wears Mack Weldon’s AIRKNITx and Bauer — not by sponsorship, by choice. He’s not big on freebies that come with legislations.

And holy hell. Rows upon rows of tactical gear line the walls — black, navy, dark green, camo — vests, holsters, gloves, boots, helmets, night-vision goggles. It smells like new leather, gun oil, and adrenaline. This isn’t cosplay. This is real. We suit up fast. Velcro rips. Boots thud. Zippers drag. Kevlar tightens around ribs like a second skin. I pull on some reinforced jeans and a hoodie. I need to look ordinary, not on the hunt. But I’m glad for the concealed protection underneath.