Jackson Teller Harley Davidson の小説・ストーリー

Jack smiled. "Harley, you could be the start of my better life."

"And if you try to run, I will find you. And I will break both your legs." I believed him. Jackson was waiting by his bike. He wore dark jeans, a black t-shirt under his leather cut, and sunglasses that hid those cold gray eyes. He looked me over slowly, his expression unreadable. "Get on." "I have never been on a motorcycle before." "Then today you learn." He handed me a helmet. "Put this on." My hands shook as I fastened the helmet. Jackson swung onto the bike and looked back at me expectantly. I climbed on behind him awkwardly, not sure where to put my hands.

She searched his face for exaggeration, but Tank’s eyes were steady, his tone simple. “That’s Tank for you,” Hawk muttered, shaking his head. “Looks like a grizzly, heart like a damn teddy bear.” The laughter that followed was rough, genuine. ________________ Hawk tipped his head back, blowing smoke into the night. “Fine. My turn. Out on the I-40 run couple years ago, Jackals thought they could tail us. I cut back on ‘em, made ‘em eat gravel. You should’ve seen the look on that bastard’s face when his bike slid out.”

I dropped into my chair and waved off my wolves as they tried to rise. “Good of you to show up,” said my Beta, Harley, with a snort. She was a tomboy, her black hair cropped short and her ears glinting with multiple silver piercings. It still seemed odd to see her with her natural hair colour – back before the Eternal Winter, before our trade with the other packs had dried up, she’d dyed her hair pastel pink. Tattoos inked her whole body, with the words love and hate across each set of knuckles respectively. She flexed the hand with hate on and smirked up at me.

BELLA “You could’ve told him to shove that empty file up his fat ass,” Harley said, gulping her fifth tequila shot. If I hadn’t known her better, I would've been surprised. Harley’s limit, which an average person called drunk, was only getting started, whereas I was on my fourth and my head was already hulking with the beats. “I seriously don’t want to talk about it on my night off. God forbid, we don’t get many of these.”

If there had been a deep hole in the stone floor of the keep, her boots would have gladly crawled right into the dirt to hide. Leroy stammered, his eyes wide as he looks across the room, "J-Jackson, it looks like your resources were completely scammed by a rogue on the trail. Even the great Dr. Aicker says your peak pill was a total fake!" Jackson silently curses Talia's loud mouth in his mind for bringing this up again before the master healer. Even so, he maintains a completely composed front for the family and says smoothly, "Well, Leroy is right about the trail. It seems some low rogue merchant was foolish enough to dare scam my family's name. My own claws will make sure Elder Douglas ge

“Tell me something I don’t know about you, Rick.” “What?” She nodded. “Go ahead. Tell me something. Anything.” “Uh, I don’t know.” I paused, trying to think of something quick and clever to tell her. Nothing came. Not a damn thing. “I’ll go first,” Harley said, shifting in her seat. Her black top plunged perilously low, flashing her full cleavage. She had no clue just how dangerous it was for me to be so close to her. “I think I’m going to quit coordinating The Streets after this year.”

Two massive guards stood there, holding modified shotguns. "Toll?" The guard grunted, blocking the path. Jackson stepped into the dim light. His tuxedo was shredded, his face bruised. But his eyes were terrifying. "I am Jackson Sterling," he said calmly. "And I don't have time for tolls." The guard squinted. Then he laughed. "The Billionaire? On the TV news? I heard you blew yourself up. You got cash, dead man?" "I have something better," Kael stepped out from behind Jackson.

The rider had a full-face helmet on with a tinted visor, and his head had turned our way. Something—in fact, everything—about it pinged all my instincts. “Harley dudes don’t usually wear helmets like that,” Jack said, putting part of my misgivings into words perfectly. “Actually. Hang on. That’s one of the bikes that was parked outside the bar last night.” “Are you sure?” Motorcycles were motorcycles to me. I could tell a Harley from a sports bike, but my expertise, and interest, ended there. “He could be stopping to look at us just because the car’s bouncing like a funhouse ride.”

I curiously asked. “That’s my husband.” We got into the car, Packer taking the front seat while Kate went to the back seat, “stop,” I ordered as Doreen’s husband signaled us to stop. “Mr. Matt Coleman, it’s me, Jackson,” he said when I lowered my window. He seemed familiar, but not so much, “I was your PRO for the C.O.L.E. MAN company in New York. I never believed I was going to find you so soon.”