Azael
I make a self-satisfied face and brush my hair off my shoulders with one hand.
I see Azael with a pool stick in hand, walking towards me, with his particular torn black jeans, a white T-shirt that makes his tattoos show through, and a leather jacket. I approach him, pissed off, shortening the space between us, and several of his friends who look similar to him, look me up and down with mischievous smiles.
Hot Chapters