Scott Demarco’s bulging arms strain as he flexes under the sun, his tattoos rippling with every movement while Vadim Black stands beside him, broad and still, the weight of his muscles barely contained. The banner behind them flutters empty, but their bodies speak louder, Demarco’s grip tightens around his own forearm, Black’s shadow stretching long as he waits. No words, no hesitation, just the strength of two men who know exactly what they’re built for.
